Identity is something we shouldn’t have to defend As through the labels and tags of life we wend Be this, or be that I can tell you off the bat Only a ruler for drawing lines has no bend
To know what is or isn’t you’ll just have to wait As identity flows in a fluid-like state Never feeling it’s all one way And that’s fine for today I’m not a ruler so I’ll be damned if I’m straight
In the days of Arabian Knights And mysterious desert lands Beneath the skies of Persian lights Genies lived in lamps buried in the sands To find one a prince’s quest To fulfill his heart’s desire For genies make wishes come true Over dunes the heat of the sun a test And starlit nights beside the campfire A treasure hunt without any clue
But if a prince should find such a thing And summon his genie to come What wishes will give his life zing Riches, a girl, to me that seems dumb In the lands where no rain ever falls Perhaps more water for his people to drink Would be a more sensible choice Maybe the genie should advise when he calls That wishes are rare and a prince should think Before giving his desires a voice.
So, I’m writing this on a Sunday morning at my mum’s house, so just a wee ditty poem jotted in my notebook before an overexcited mum opens her birthday pressies and cards
Pink Hydrangea Form: Free Verse
Latte lazing in a cup as croissants bake to melt butter for the jam waiting on the table by the window Sunday morning window gazing at the bustle of birds chasing fruits and seeds on the old wooden bird table for the cat is too busy snoozing in the shade of the pink hydrangea
A chance to try my pen at Urban poetry, which is a literary art form for expressing feelings that are related to living in urban communities. Themes include poverty, social injustice, stress, struggles, and survival.
City to City Form: Urban Poetry
In this season of self-obsessed greed spending money we haven’t got while complaining about the cost of living crisis not stopping to think of a man losing his job of a family made homeless squeezed into a one-room bedsit kids not getting a visit from a Santa laden with over-indulgent presents while a dad contemplates suicide in the depths of despair and a mum visiting a food bank in desperation to feed her children nothing fancy a basic meal on Christmas day over-priced turkeys memorialize the tragedy of so many left in the cold from city to city the darkness of decision and old man faces a decision in the darkness heat or eat his pension can’t do both and alone he visits his wife in the graveyard to say “I love you” the kids won’t be visiting this year instead, they are lapping up the sun in a country, he’s never been to still, he feels the disappointed loneliness of old age in a city like any other crowded with people yet no one to care
“Writers need their totems, their altars. Mine, I feel, share the same randomness and utility of those belonging to painters I know, who are relentlessly visual and even poetic.” ~ Kevin Young.
What a banging quote – I have to go with it.
Combining the Two Form: Free Write
I have never really looked at my writing desk as an altar nor have I looked at my home altar as a writing space but yes, there are some similarities between the ritualistic behaviours of my witchery and my writing if I think about it. There are also some marked differences. I think this calls for using my senses.
Incense – I use incense in both my witchcraft and writing. In both cases there is sandalwood, that base note of masculinity really does help inspire my thinking whether for magic or writing. That is where the similarity of smell ends. In the magic circle, the incense reflects the task at hand whether a healing, a cleansing, etc. In my writing space, the scents are often more a part of life as a writer so that of Italian coffee, my preferred blend, and the aroma of roses from the reed infuser. I love the smell of flowers.
Sound – when I am writing I use ambient music such as Enigma, Enya, or similar, the same in the circle. In both cases, it is generating a sense of peace, calmness, and tranquillity. In either case, it helps me, sometimes inspires me, and more often just keeps me company.
Visual – in the magic circle everything is lit by candles, and my writing desk is lit by a daylight lamp as is my easel if I am painting or drawing. This just says my eyesight isn’t all it should be and I need the help. On my altar are various statuary symbolizing the divine in some way. In my work area, here comes the randomness, I have a box of postcards, arty pictures photographs, quotes, word lists, form lists, and other creative nuggets which I often dip into for some random thinking.
Taste – the only similarity here is that of cookies, well, digestive biscuits to be exact. McVites digestive biscuits to be even more exact. I live on digestive biscuits with tea or coffee, and in circle, the said biscuit with mead is a part of the rituals I do. Back in the day, it used to be chocolate but I know I can get absorbed in what I am doing and just kill any chocolate I have before I know it. I am a diabetic I can’t be doing that
Touch – Pebbles, there are pebbles everywhere in my house. I have PTSD so pebbles are a grounding device that brings my crazy head back to the here and now OR takes it off to a realm of fantasy.
The Fur Babies – both Lilydog and Shadow the Ninja Cat make themselves at home in whatever space I am in. Right now Lilydog is curled up cozy under my desk having a second-afternoon nap. At her grand age life is about naps, little walks, and food. Shadow is sitting on a chair impatiently waiting for her tea which she has been doing since she ate breakfast.
I won’t bore you with magic circle rituals – they happen right? I guess I do start my writing day the same way every day so that could be called a ritual. I wake up at sunrise and take a cup of tea out into the garden, with a pen and notebook, and a Lilydog. Rain or shine she mooches around the garden snuffling at things that are not there. Rain, I sit under the shed roof and write a haiku over tea, sun I sit by the pond and do the same. Either way, the world is quiet, so quiet I can hear the koi splish and hear Gabbie’s rose rustle with the breeze. Actually, I start my non-writing days this was too so maybe not a writing ritual as such, but hey!
The biggest difference between my altar and desk is neatness. My altar is spit spot at all times, not a thing out of place. My writing desk – well it’s obvious when I am in mid-project it’s a shipwreck of books, notes, pens, and doodles in semi-organised chaos. I do clear down when a project is finished and ready to start again but while I am doing it – never, I lose my direction and focus and have to restart.
Perhaps, then, creativity requires a combination of random and ritual. I think mine certainly does
There are many reasons autumn is my favourite time of year – pups and leaf heaps is one of them.
Leaves and Words Form: Ars Poetica
A golden carpet in the garden inspiring a poet’s pen to write of sunny autumnal days everywhere a leaf awaits to be raked in piles like words in haphazard verse making sense out of the chaos neatness in disorder each leaf a reminder of smiles or tears their fragile veins bared to the season like ink on the page revealing the soul of a poet in his blood weathered and withered through the year thoughts and leaves in a heap as the shadows of longer nights betray the empty branches like the fingers of winter reaching out each leaf a reason each word a connection carrying dreams of foolish desire a memory of hindsight in reflection
Hell yeah, that quote says it. Trying to fit into planet normal is doomed from the word get-go. I tried doing that for nearly forty years and got to no place but depression and self-hate. I am going to run with that time and in doing so reassure all who read me it is the past, and I am now me. Let’s do this…
Odd Ball Geek Form: Free Verse
I bought into the dresses and lipstick just a man trying to be a girl red nails and high heels watching soap operas to keep up with school-gate conversations and gloss red smiles hiding the tears my crying done behind closed doors and I was never as pretty as the girl next door never as feminine as a princess never as never as never good enough to be she not brave enough to be he purging my senses of masculine purging the closet of jeans and t-shirts so I could stay in there away from the hate alone with the hate crashing mirrors to blind reflections crying alone hiding in fear ‘cos, man, I tried so hard to be just another girl to fit in with a world built on discrimination and hate hate hate hate the freak the odd ball geek in a shirt riding a motorbike and wiping the grease stains into my hair with the angry tears of the silent death threats coming from within fitting in is killing me and I don’t want to fit in I just need to be me
“What a lovely surprise to discover how unlonely being alone can be.”~ Ellen Burstyn. Indeed the quote is correct. If you are in a situation where you have to hide who are to fit in with someone else’s agenda it is the loneliest place on the planet. The last few years have taught me that is a place where I crave to be on my own, as then I won’t be lonely. Add that to a bit of Enigma, which is always good And a sonnet that in effect writes itself. Here goes…
Craving Triolet Sonnet
“If you love…” words that shut me out And so I crave to be alone Love to fill me with so much doubt “If you love…” words that shut me out I can’t be me, no voice to shout In this love, I have come undone
“If you love…” words that shut me out And so I crave to be alone My worthless feelings have no clout “If you love…” words that shut me out Such love can never come to nowt For my soul, none can ever own
“If you love…” words that shut me out And so I crave to be alone
My daddy taught me from a young age that it is in the deepest darkness that our light shines brightest. As I have gotten old I have learned that means I shouldn’t fear stepping into my darkness to see my own truth in the light so I can get back on track. In effect, it is to face my fear. Here goes…
Pinprick of White Form: Free Verse
A tremble rippling down my spine and I know the time is coming to take that turning into an unlit road where no one can walk with me the demons that are my questions waiting and wanting answers and I fight, refusing to go until all I know is fear feelings of afraid of I don’t know what getting worse each time I turn my back on blackness blinding my eyes in the sunlight unable to see but even in the warm sun, I feel cold it is time to lift my face to the sun one last time before turning to face my fear eyes wide open staring into the darkness for now, I am ready to understand ready to walk through the tunnel of confusion to walk towards the glimmer of enlightenment the pinprick of white emergence refreshed, rebuilt, reborn understanding a little more
I practice divination, and while I will never say it gives you the complete picture of the future or one’s destiny, it can provide a useful peek into what is possibly to come, and if needs be act on things to change the direction as oft happens. Well, here goes…
A Little Foresight Form: Free verse
Cards, runes, and crystal ball open my eyes to see potential coming into view black silk and sparks of light bring the universe into my sight with arcane words of ritual magic spoken across the blue before simple questions asked in truth seek the answers within starlight senses soaring into the sky into destiny where my soul can fly but what of the shadows haunting the light where the end of days isn’t quite right open my eyes to all that is wrong so I can be free from that negative grip releasing my heart’s darkness to another place hold me in the universal embrace to walk my path of sacred bliss Father Sun and Mother Moon unto my journey’s end protect me in love and light
This is one of those prompts that I see with a sinking feeling as I don’t want to write that stuff, but I know I will. As a dear friend says it might help someone so that makes it okay, right? No form with these types of writing they have to be free to be. Here goes…
Destination Unknown Form: Free Verse
He sat there a pink bandana on his head the starting point of a journey without a map with no destination he sat there his voice speaking his thoughts being revealed for the first time he could talk not baby words but the words of aman taking his first tentative steps into the unknown world of transition alone but he wanted to do it alone without the opinions without the judgments and without discrimination he wanted his journey to be his alone and has he answered more questions each answer a step in his direction his path forming behind him not ahead as each step forward was into the unknown
Tunnels of darkness meandering around going in circles travelling up and down like a cart on a rollercoaster ride high points the mile stones of getting there before crashing back down into the abyss into the dark tunnels of frustration and pain anguish and depression hormones raging into the insanity puberty and menopause at the same time where all he can do is cry before snarling with rage when will this end
He sat there on the edge of the bed like a train at the station this is not the final destination but he needed to stop here he sat there waiting looking out the window towards the sea blue skies meeting blue waters until he had to walk down down the corridor where he laid down and the world went black bright lights of mid afternoon tightly wrapped chest he wanted to breathe they stood him up and he shook seeing his feet nothing blocking the view down he sat there there on the edge of the bed unable to speak just smiling his ecstasy
Confusion cascades in now what where to go what he should do opinions pushing him into a corner concerns that should never have mattered calling his shots as he sped into coma burning with infection and in the darkness he knew he must stop
He sat there his lips moving between the facial hair speaking his words with gruff throaty tones his voice deeper as the train moves onward to another stopping point on the journey blue jeans mingle with the other guys looks like one of the crowd now he’s on his own journey a new destination further down the line and it is still destination unknown
Poetry is often reflective writing whether that is personal reflection or reflections on an event or aspect of history. For me as a poet, I have certainly used poetry to address and focus on aspects of life and the living of it. It may be buried deep in something else but nonetheless writing it has been one way of reflecting and clarifying things. Here goes…
Speckled Glass Form: Pentastich
I watched as Alice chased a tardy rabbit and listened as the queen demanded to be the fairest of all and wondered as she poisoned the apple how jealousy enraged her to kill just what was in that old mirror
I stared into the speckled glass even a mirror shows its true age as always the demon with grey eyes stared back with twisted torment and glared right back like a wild brat
I heard her voice calling me ‘my darling what are you looking at? Tell me, what do you see?’ I covered that glass with a dust sheet ‘Nothing, Grandma, nothing at all’
Later as we sat drinking tea I asked if mirrors told lies ‘I wished they did then I’d still be beautiful’ she said and I sighed ‘you are beautiful to me’
Grandma smiled, dunking her shortbread And she said ‘the mirror may lie but some reflections do not for the eyes of child see truth revealed in their innocence’
It is true we creative types need someone we can trust to give us honesty, good or bad, about the things we create. For me, that person has to have the ability to over ride my biggest critic – and that is me. It takes someone special to do that – and I think a sonnet is in order. I think they know who they are
Rio Form: American Forte Sonnet
The one who keeps me going when I can’t And sees through my darkness to see me shine Don’t give up, Mister, and I know I shan’t Because for her I’ll make my art divine From the depths of hell to words sweet as wine Just to see her thumbs-up, that job is mine From words to strokes of paint I want her smile One more edit to go the extra mile Can art and poetry really beguile To take her mind to where sea breezes blow Yet still, I question is it worth her while To sail with me where poetic seas flow And for this sonnet her name is Rio Though it’s not, but it rhymes and nicely so
Sometimes memories are all there is, and it is so easy to feel sad and alone because of that. I made a decision to accept the wonderful memories I have of Gabbie, embrace them, and keep the love going until we are together again. Our hand fast was for all eternity, and it does mean forever. We both wanted it that way. If, as I believe, time has no meaning in the spirit world then I am glad, as on this side of the veil it’s a bloody long wait.
White Roses Form: Nonet Theme: Love
My words are not enough to recall The joy of love you made me feel Yet years seem like yesterday When you were here beside me But I can’t see your face I can’t kiss your smile This emptiness Is it all I have Left
But is it emptiness that I feel As I know our love surrounds me It’s the coolness on a breeze Sunshine’s kiss on my face And a gentle thought To remind me You always Will be There
No, my words will never be enough But it’s not because I forget Never can I forget you In my heart, in my mind You will always be And memories Are enough To know love
As I was growing up I saw the man within as my evil twin, I now know he really isn’t but “twin” probably is the closest description to the way it felt sometimes. This is really appealing to my darker mind, I hope that is okay. Here goes
Thin Line Form: Free Verse
I fear it that existence on the otherside yet within within my on fear at the darkest edge where rainbow colours begin and never shine it lies waiting, anticipating for the moment when balance loses its sense of compassion creeping and growling through the shadows slowly moving in silence crossing the thin line through the crying soul to whisper temptations of vengeance its potency intensifying curdling through the blood twisting the mind with the desire for that pound of flesh deep within it takes shape the immoral flip side of the coin mocking compassion and kindness into oblivion as it serves that dish cold on a steel blade
“Stay focused and stay determined. Don’t look to anyone else to be your determination – have self-determination. It will take you very far. ~ Justice Smith”
Now that quote reverberates through me. Over the last few years I have come to know just how true those words are, and in the last six months or so self-determination has become a mantra of survival – here goes
As Gloria Sings Form: Italian Octave
Too long drifting without hope nor desire My heart, broken and life starting to fray The question: would I see another day? Did I want to, did I still have that fire? As life mercilessly acts to conspire Those words against me are all they can say I see no way out, no cards left to play Let go, drift back and let the fates inspire
Gently refocus love to love myself And rebuild again every bloodied shard Of my heart, the fucked up mind will be hard The drifting too much damaged mental health So long in hiding and living in stealth So carelessly how I let down my guard Even though all signs warned I’d end up scarred And scarred I am but that is now my wealth
From love’s blades, the same that tore into me Ripping all sense, all feeling from my skin Came something stronger waiting deep within Like a warrior fighting to be free Released in deep breaths refocused to see A new day shines, a new life to begin Nothing to lose, everything to win For now, I determine what’s right for me
Sometimes we just come to the end of a road in life and that means we have to change direction to keep moving forward, onward to better things. That and this morning on DAB is Boys II Men – really, Classic Rock having a bad day, obviously but okay here goes…
Greater Reward Form: Envelope Stanza Theme: Love
Love cannot breathe in the stale air The mind lost to a broken heart It’s time to move on, time to depart Let it all go, breathe in self-care
Nothing can be seen with blind eyes Losing sight of the wonder of life To toxic thoughts of pain and strife That’s not living, that’s a demise
A screaming point at the road’s end When love has gone beyond insane Discarded sanity brings pain There’s nothing left, nothing to mend
So let the tears cry, let them go Change direction without the fear Of self-destruction drawing near Follow instincts and let them flow
Open the eyes to a new dawn A fresh start from which to rebuild New hopes and dreams to be fulfilled From shades of darkness light reborn
Believe in self, stepping forward As sadness blows out on a breeze And remember life does not freeze But moves to a greater reward
The word ‘middle’ certainly carries a lot of possibilities, and I’m not liking many of them as they seem to say settling for second best is a good thing – it isn’t! I’m well into middle-age now-whatever that means – but all that means is I am far more cynical, don’t trust easily, and so on. Oh well to the garden before it rains, coffee and pen in hand and here goes.
Flown Form: English Quintain 1
Sat in the dawn of quiet contemplation A moment of peace my escape From being caught in the middle of the drama And the sense of self in a drape Of nothing sealed up in Sellotape
Sipping hot coffee Inhaling on a cigarette Question self in the dim light As feelings close in like a net When did love turn to regret
A promise is a promise And there is no way out Forced to choose what I don’t want In the middle of so much doubt Is that what love is about
In the middle of nowhere No place with common ground There’s nothing left to hold us tight As I long for the cacophony of sound Of morning birdsong with you not around
This life is screwy and I’m heading for that emotional fall With no beauty worth loving for I want to run but can’t even crawl Trapped in the middle of it all
My happiness is to escape To quiet moments alone But I know I’m worth more than that Now you put down your phone Too late, honey, this bird has flown
I’m not sure where this one will take me, possibly into my lifelong love affair with art. Scrappage, a play on the words scrap and collage, is a new art form where an artist takes what most of us would see as junk, and pretty much unusable junk at that, and creates art. And I think it’s wonderful. So here goes….
Sculptures by Michelle Reader
Scrappage Form: Free Verse Theme: Waste:
An old man sits on an old park bench watching the lake pondering what was and what is defined in art rusty fences no longer required contorted into the shape of a man two drunk beers on the way home bottles left on a wall piecing green eyes old tyre on the roadside a pair of shoes yesterday’s news within the wire shrouded behind plastic bottles and old tin cans his jacket sparkling in the sunlight casting jazzy reflections on someone’s discarded jeans an old tramp sat patiently on an old broken bench yet nature is kind and sends her love to grow in the spaces of time gone by flowers bloom with new life old junk constrained for eternity in modern art
Waking up to Frankie’s Power of Love on my DAB and the quote “An arch consists of two weaknesses which, leaning one against the other, make a strength.”~ Leonardo da Vinci – which is on an arty poster on my bedroom wall. Pen ready, here goes
Love’s Portico Form: Free Verse Theme: Love Subject: Arch
That night I held your tears that wept from your shattered heart tears of injustice tears of sacrifice and you thought you were broken your soul left tired and weak drawing on my determination and inner resilience we put the pieces of you back together stronger than ever before
That night you held my fears echoing screams from my nightmares fears of it all happening again fears of no escaping the past and I thought I was nothing my body aching with the anguish hearing your whispers of calming and words of grounding we put the shards of me together stronger than before
This night we hold each other stronger and wiser my darling, we are unbeatable together
This one feels like a free verse and letting the muse do her thing and see where it goes. I have been writing a lot of love and happy poems lately I have a feeling this will be somewhat darker – indeed, I need a dark write. Bipolar has been an issue most of my life and my writing helps release those darker thoughts. So here goes
Jaded Wings Form: Free Verse
There is no room for love as hope begins to fade and jaded wings bereft of flight mantle in a defensive shield refusing to yield for a damaged soul needs to heal no time to escape into imagined worlds while reality kicks the heart down no drink nor drugs to free the mind from this unkind world and there is no escape except that one yet through a cracked door whispers a beam of light a guiding beacon speaking louder now open the door just open it take that one step out one step away from the abyss of self-destruction one step is all it takes to escape and jaded wings take flight
I didn’t get much further than the DH Lawrence quote “Instead of chopping yourself down to fit the world, chop the world down to fit yourself” to be honest. And sure enough, the mulling creatures of my mind are rolling it over – and I swear some are looking at me saying ‘that’s you that is’. And as I’m thinking, Planet Rock is on my DAB and Fleetwood Mac comes on – Ok JezzieG, grab your pad and pen, and a brew, of course, and to the pond to scribble.
Sapling Form: Free Verse
Sat here alone in the tears of not good enough of always being wrong of not fitting in the right boxes and not being who you want me to be so you can be you and when I’m alone the feelings change to self-hate and the dark shadows of degradation turn on me pushing me closer to eternal oblivion until something screams ‘I can’t keep doing this’ and I think of the oak sapling hidden in the darkness desperately seeking the light alone in the dark it cannot grow before the dead wood meets the woodcutter’s axe chopped down revealing the sunlight above the canopy of leaves and the sapling soars to a mighty oak my axe is that of self-worth hacking and chopping the deadwood of negativity holding me in darkness releasing my spirit to the blue skies so I can grow strong again and fly where the raven soars to go my own way
Written to this weekend’s prompt – thank you Sue and GC
Well no surprise when it comes to me writing about beginnings – it is going to be free verse and with a single line mulling in my mind and at my fingers I have no idea where it will begin or end. Let’s go —
Into Tomorrow’s Dawn Form: Free Verse
Waking up with tears to cry it is dark outside and darker still inside my mind the pain of yesterday echoes around my room looking out into the night my eyes follow the moon shadows to the jasmine tree her petals glinting silver light guiding my slippered feet lightly across the dew laden grass to inhale the scent of my jasmine tree while bathing in lunar tranquillity perhaps, too the moon shall speak to me her silvery voice so gently caressing my soul as she whispers ‘let yesterday go, my child, and its pain fade away take the lessons forward into tomorrow’s dawn for it is not too late to reach for the stars and live your own dream’ as always my lady of the moon speaks the wisdom of truth – it’s never too late to start over
Written to the following prompt and what a prompt – thank you, Sue
Be still, my heart, this one is going to be a sheer joy to write to
“Embrace the seasons and cycles of your life – there is magic in change.”~ Bronnie Ware – well no point denying it I feel that quote echo throughout my heart, mind, body, and soul – so mote it be!
My blessings of love and light for Beltane in the Northern Hemisphere and Samhain, happy new year in the Southern Hemisphere. Let the fun begin
As I live in the Northern Hemisphere Beltane, 1 May, is just a few days away so it has to be the fabulous Inkubus Sukkubus (twice)
Wild Pagan Heart Form: Chant
The longest night, Solstice night Reborn the king of the sun Rejoice, rejoice, a baby’s cry For soon the Winter will be done Cast your magic well, my love
In the deep-hearted mist Awakens the sun No longer a babe For Winter is done Cast your magic well, my love
Wake up the sleeping trees It is time to glow With Beltane’s blossom The time has come to grow Cast your magic well, my love
Sing to the flowers To the grasses and trees The summer is coming On a sun-kissed breeze Cast your magic well, my love
Dance around the festival flame To the music of nature’s song To the rhythm of Gaia’s drum For nights are short and days are long Cast your magic well, my love
Instincts whisper to the soul As gently as butterflies flutter Indigo children see the fields glow With breezy ripples golden as butter Cast your magic well, my love
Swing the scythe from side it side As to the harvest, we must reap The summer’s end is coming fast And Samhain’s secrets we too shall keep Cast your magic well, my love
This holy night we celebrate As the dead re-join our throng The veil is thin as bonfires burn The days are short and nights are long Cast your magic well, my love
The longest night, Solstice night Reborn the king of the sun Rejoice, rejoice, a baby’s cry For soon the Winter will be done Cast your magic well, my love
May the blessings of Beltane be upon all who read In love and light Raven
Well, this prompt fell into the hands of vertically challenged me and I initially thought oooh a haiku – the muse had other ideas and chose an Acrostic – who am I to argue with the muse acrostic it is. Adding a bit of Yazz because oh why not.
Short Form: Acrostic
Standing on chairs to get
Hard to reach places
Of who put it up there
Resolute acceptance
Tall just ain’t my thing
Jezzie G 