Reblogging a wonderful lady’s post to inspire you all. She runs our amazing local Writer’s Group – and as you will see – so much more! Well done Krissy!


We’ve all experienced that ‘New Year, what am I doing with my life’ moment. It took a mountain for me to realise what I needed to do, but all you need is some scissors and glue.

via Why you don’t need a mountain to change your life – but it helps — Krissy Lloyd

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NApoWRImo! Jumping on the bandwagon day 10 – not that I procrastinate much.


Somehow I missed the build up – and the launch to this months National Poetry Writing month – time to join the hype!

I have read some wonderful poetry tonight and been inspired by all the past prompts but decided to start today with prompt 10.

It called to me and reminded me of a song my daddy used to sing long ago. And then my brother.

The idea of simultaneous events has always fascinated me and I often match past actions with a new friend or lover to see where we both may have been at the same time, say , 10 years ago and have often discovered we were in the same place or passing by yet never met till now. Or equally find that we could never have met as our lives were on very different parallels at that point. Veering toward the inevitablility – or chance? – coincidence? – of meeting one day.

Enough to-do! Its 330a.m in the Uk .

Here is my poem.

 

 

As I lay wakeful, twisting in my insomnia, my insomnambulistic unbliss,

You lay sleeping, curled, as ever, in your embryonic stance.

As this island lays peaceful, lapped by familiar waters, its coastlines quiet yet bathed in Spring moonlit rains

Your mainland is crashed, smashed, with the continual onslaught of doubt.

We are but two worlds in between, a non-collision of existences, never the twain shall meet.

 

Passing passengers in the jaded journey, eyelids flicker and glance away

Meeting Souls on deserted pavements, footsteps falter then run away

We head home with our bubbles, we see all yet encounter none

Are we aware this is our trouble, our loss, our lack of home.

 

As I fall weary, into sleepless dreams

You rise quickly, life ripped at the seams.

As this world keeps turning, this nation of extremes

A global manifestation, nothing ever as it seems.

 

Lives passing lives. Dreams outstripping Dreams. Fate tempting Fate.

 

What will be, will be.

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In the garden is a weather vane…


Well…I say a weather vane

There is a child’s toy windmill on a stick – you know the sort?

Once a bright red and gold, now faded to smoother, subtle hues.

 

Some days it whirs majestically, others it is still.

Some days it judders and jerks entirely dependant on the winds that blow.  On their kindness or ferocity…

Other days it just stands serenely, surveying all around it, the ever changing seasons and the inclimate weathers.

Buffeted by storms, or isolated in peace. Neither one nor the other.

This ‘weather vane’ invariably represents my Life.