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Saturday, April 22, 2017

The Studio

22nd April
A day behind but this is for a prompt from napowrimo - "Overheard Speech".

The Studio

No, the studio's great man - I've got it three days a week
And that's enough for you, enough time to fit in your,
you know, your creativity.
Yeah, I sit in the armchair and ponder,
I look at the canvas, then my eye sees the brush,
And then, I close my eyes.
And then you start painting?
Grief, no man, no painting, just sleeping, thinking and maybe,
Yeah, smoking, y'know, getting mellow, that's when it happens...
It happens?
Yeah, it happens...
What, what happens?
Well, I see things, things that will be my paintings
That's great. And then you start painting?
No , man, then I go home and have a bath and maybe,
maybe the next day I might remember something
And bring out a piece of paper
A small piece of paper,
And draw something.

how do you work

Friday, April 21, 2017

Question - SSS

21st April

I'm afraid I haven't done much writing on my blog lately .
I will be back soon.
I was at the  funeral today of our dear friend Fr Charles. He was a very busy apostle, making friends wherever he went. That was evident in how many people came to celebrate his life and pray for his soul.
He was chaplain of our little catholic school, giving of himself to the children, the staff and the parents without a care for himself. They all loved him dearly and wanted to be there for him.
So we had two services.
The first last night when the body was brought into the church  and when nearly all the staff turned up as well as many of the children and their families. Maybe about 250-300 altogether. It was such wonderful mass, full of joy and singing.
And then today for the requiem mass. Again a packed church- 300-400 people again. And again such joy. Fr Charles had chosen the hymns and readings . It was fabulous .I've rarely  seen anything like it.
As part of our parish lunch club team I was with a small group preparing food from 8.30 this morning, which we served to a huge crowd this afternoon, finishing about 5.50 pm.
We are exhausted, but happy.

And now, for the six sentence story challenge for this week:


I was sitting on the bus, glad of the rest,  on my way home after a manic night shift at Margate A @ E when out of the blue this booming voice shouted,
"Hey you, go back to yer own country, we don't want you here ,taking our jobs an'  'ouses 'an all!"
She was accompanied by four others, all of them teens, scantily clad and with tatoos spread rather decoratively over bare arms and shoulders.
It took me a few moments to realise that they were aiming their venom in my direction, until I remembered the Brexit vote decision of the previous day at which point I scanned the bus for an easy way to get off, but decided they had me trapped between themselves and the door.
With no easy escape route, my heart racing and wondering what I should do, I decided to be brave.
With knees knocking, my stomach churning I stood at my full height and asked them this question: "Where, exactly would you like me to go,which country, given that I was born in London?"
Not giving  them the chance to answer, I swept by them, terrified they might attack me and hoping that I would make  it round the corner out of their view before being sick.

Monday, April 10, 2017

In Praise Of Sound.

10th April 

Unfortunately I'm still a day behind.  Hopefully I'll get two poems written today .
So the first one, for yesterday :

9th April :
For a few months I have been troubled with poor hearing. It was probably wax and has since cleared up - well almost. Whilst not being able to hear that well I discovered how much I value ( or should value) that particular sense.

In Praise Of Sound

It occurs to me to be thankful 
That I can hear those sounds.
The voice of my husband,
A whisper,
"Are you awake?"
Delicate song of birds greeting 
The day.
Welcome sound of water running 
In the kitchen,
Kettle boiling,
Cups clattering, 
Soft steps on the stair,
When he  brings the tray
With morning tea.

Buzz of a bee circling the garden,
Water bubbling in pond 
Disturbed by fish.
Engine of aeroplane 
In distant blue.
Revving of neighbours car
Like clockwork.
Fluttering sound of trees 
Rustling in the breeze.
Screams of joy from children 
Two garden down.
And the doorbell ringing
Calling me urgently 
To come and answer 

For all the above 
And much, much, more,
I am so thankful

Saturday, April 8, 2017

7th April The Mountain

7th April ( but written on the 8th)

A bit late. Preoccupied yesterday with family coming to stay.

The Mountain

I build a mountain , a monument to passions,
Daily piling on more earth,
The soil of attachments,
Keeping me from getting close
To you

So much stands now in the space between us
The space that isn't space
Filled as it is with life's distractions
Cannot even get close enough
To see you

And all of a sudden it all seems like dust
A pile of nothing but rubbish
And what's important I see now
Is how will  I get  close
To you

So, with a teaspoon I begin to dig at the face
Of the huge mountainside
And little by little with each swing of my arm
I Throw the dirt behind until I get
To you

Thursday, April 6, 2017

6th April- Strangled

6th April


Ivy and brambles grow tight into the structure,
Roots going deep into mud walls
Concealing the entrance.
With hacksaw and pain in equal measure,
I attack the wildness with vigour,
Thorns tearing at my flesh.
Driven by an impulse I can't ignore, success
Depends on this challenge and though blood
Drips all around,
I carry on.
I fight my way through the years of misery
And with every cut, with every root discarded,
I get nearer to the self I lost.
Then a gap, a small hole and I peer inside,
Squint to see what is there  in the dark
And carry on, renewed.
I will find my way in, the way to the present moment
And with God, find peace.

Wednesday, April 5, 2017

April 5th Walk By The Beach

April 5th 2017

Walk By The Beach

Two boys, about eight maybe, kicking up the pebbles,
A dog paddling  in shimmering water, black head stretching
Towards a red ball thrown out to entice.

Gulls squawking madly, fighting over luncheon remains,
Fly away suddenly when a lone teenager gives them the chase
Firing stones at them - not at all nice

And we walk on, hand in hand along  the beach,
On towards Reculver,  the sun warming our cheeks,
Evening threatening to come too soon.

We share stories as we go and talk with more ease,
Sorting the differences that will always be there,
In the sky the sun  joined by the moon.

The rhythm in our steps mirrored by the shushing of waves
Keeping time unconsciously with the gentle ebb and flow
Our bodies one with  nature around us

Moving further out of the town , two figures travelling alone
Scent of sweet lavender  -  an old aunt comes to mind,
Quiet reveals winged insects,  unknown to us.

Tuesday, April 4, 2017

4th April- Burgundy Red

4th April

Burgundy Red

The  pile of clothes grows on the bed
And with it, deep inside , so does my dread.
I want to go, yes, I want to,  that's for sure
But how am I going to get out the door?

A fiftieth birthday a milestone to celebrate
So I have to be there, she is a best mate .
And I know when I manage to get myself out,
I'll enjoy the whole thing , of that there's no doubt.

So I find some trousers  stretchy, comfy and black,
At least I'll be sitting - won't look like a sack
And and old, but fancy top, my colour-burgundy red
The lipstick that matches, yes, it's there by my bed

So I'm ready, but I don't want to be the first one there,
Not know whether to stand and wait or go sit on a chair.
So I leave the house at the time we have set
To meet at the restaurant, so I know I'll be met.

What a greeting I get when I walk in the door,
Champagne on the table and more on the floor.
The intention , it's clear, is to have a good crack
Laughing all evening to the moon and back