The Bird Feeder

there's a fluttering and a flailing
there are flashes of orange
there's a chirping and a cheeping
there are falling leaves
burnt ochres, umbers and yellow green
and such showers of seeds
birds feed.

Wolf of Winter

The wolf of winter whines and whips white waves about the world.
The wind whispers a warning while war is waged out at sea.
We wonder and watch and wintess.
Will we wake to the worst of the weather?
While the woods are washed
and we are warned.
Woman, return to the womb
to wait out this waning moon.

Young Crow

He sits on the wire

up high above the rooftops.

All black and dishevelled

all gawcky and noisy.

Waiting for breakfast

from mum and from dad.

A shaggy teenager

with too many feathers.

Trying so hard

to get them to lie flat.

Preening and gwaucking

almost falling.

Waiting for breakfast,

for mum and for dad.

A Pennies Worth

The water ripples like a sea snake

along the edge of the reeds.

All along the tow-path

feet skipping over weeds.

Behind me there’s the sloosh and the chug

of the boat.

I smell tea in a tin mug

and wisps of charcoal smoke.

"There's the spot

throw me the rope".

These dragon flies are so very turquoise

and when I stop to listen now

there is no noise.

There are just the wisps of charcoal smoke.

No more sloosh and chug

of the boat.

I can taste the tea in my tin mug.

Just above the reeds on the tow-path

the sun is setting

with a quiet laugh.

Going Home

All alongside the railway line the air is filled with the downy seeds of rose-bay willow herb and creamy white butterflies desperate for each other's company in the still sunny afternoon.

In the distance float church steeples above fields filled with wheat. Fat, full heads bent over in conversation with the warm earth.

Perhaps they contemplate the rush and swoosh of the air as the thresher swings it's way through the acres of gold and ochre grain.

The Green Monk

My familiar and me

having early morning tea.

We are the shadows

left over from the night.

Stretched across the garden

by the first sunlight.

Ripples

A stone falling from the cliffs alongside the river

causes ripples that fan out and make the water shiver.

As each wave connects with the shore

it disappears, and things are

as they were before.

Everything is impermanent.

Evening Light

Across the rooftops the evening light

chases clouds towards the night

and blackbirds call families home.

The Kite

We have let go of the paper kite
and watch as the winds
toss it about and out of sight.
So trust returns
and once more the fires burn.
Sight restored.
The threads of silk
hold all still.

The Hare

There's a hare in the Hartwood
and the silver moon
shines soft through the window
and into the room.
She is out on the moors
running deep in the grass.
The old owl watching, flying fast.
When morning comes calling
she'll wake, yawning
and smile.
Oh, will she smile.

A Gentle Place

The sands scrunch under my bare toes
and the sea water licks my ankles
wet, cool and salty.
The sounds of the gulls fill my ears
and the wind my heart.
Perhaps some more gentle place
where the sun plays
and the wind blows
and the trees and grasses conspire
to fill the empty space
left when the rain washed away
every trace
every everything
that I tried to hold...................

The Holy Magnolia

The magnolia tree
with her arms flung wide.
She wears her blooms
in such profusion.
Large silky cream flowers
so luscious and fragrant.
The magnificent magnolia
is the Goddess of Spring.

Blackbird and Robin

Blackbird and Robin
singing holy hymns.
Greeting the light
of the rising dawn.

The quarter moon floating up high
a shimmering crystal over there in the sky.
She's reflecting the sun's light,
whispering goodbye to the night.

What Must Be Said

What do you say
when you don't know
what to say?
When something must be said
but something said
is always misread.
The unsaid 
sits like lead
and the hurts spread
and the heart sheds
tears
and the mind shreds.

The Closed Door

The closed door
seldom opens.
Behind it lives
a technical hive
where battles are fought
in virtual time
and fantasies live vicariously.

The dust gets deeper
and never shifts.
The air is stale
and sometimes so thick
it seems to be filled with
anger and sadness,
frustration and guilt
and these are not the bricks
from which a home can be built.

It's the middle of the night

It's the middle of the night
when the shadows come creeping
and the moon shines bright
that I find myself weeping.

Everything is sleeping and so still.
The air in my room is so cold.
Jack frost has been painting the sill
and the body bereft has grown old.

The stars all reflect in the mirror.
Who is this who sleeps on my pillow?

Chance meeting.

And so it began.

The frosty morning, like something sharp, pricked the laziness and caused it to crackle. The pieces, delicate as eggshell, started to fall and tinkled to the ground like crystals falling on stone.

Once in a while a brief encounter, gentle as a whisper, as if it was almost not there, can bring change. Like magic, like the touch on bare skin of just one ray of sunshine.

And now, once more, a place often dreamed of, beckons. I can smell the salt and grass as though they somehow know me.

A Reason

I lie a'bed
with an empty head.
Clouds drift one way
the birds another.
I can hear life outside the window.
I lift myself from this downy pillow.
There's a day to be had.
Find a reason to be glad.

Wild Wind

There's a ribbon in the sky,
flying high, flying high.
Swirling in circles,
circles within circles.
Rising and falling
through the clouds.
Riding the wind,
the wild, wild wind.
A Spring wind full of birds wings,
flying!

A Crockful of Cooking

There's a crockful of cooking going on downstairs.
The sweet breath of garlic, shallots and leek
are whispering to me.
They have snaked up through the bannisters
and left their promises.

The comforting smells and sounds
of my daughter cooking in the kitchen.
I can feel the love being stirred into the pot
and I cannot wait to taste it.

Pictures Words Paint

Deep contemplation of 'Right Speech'
and now once more before I speak
what is it I am listening to?
My words will paint pictures
around the world
and what pictures
are these that I am painting?

Necessary Words

I know my brain doesn't want to put more than a few necessary words one after another. Never mind a whole creative sentence that might paint some pretty picture of somewhere or something pleasant and possible even if it is in some other world away across a rainbow or on the other side of the beach through a cave in the cliff wall where the waves crash and cannot fully follow and who bellow their frustrtaion at the rocks that rise above them and grind away the sand as they gather momentum to heave at the walls once again.

Pink Clouds

Tiny peachy pink clouds
touching fingers so tenderly
with the rising sun.

Early morning bird noises
cooing doves
chirping house sparrows
cawing crows
and Robin's morning cheeps.

They are all I can hear
they are all I can bear
my thinking is so far from clear
Oh, another tear.

Small Stone that isn't

I wrote a small stone for today but
it sounded so inane now when I re-read it.
The rain is so incessant.
Tomorrow is tomorrow
but today I can't help fearing it.
Once more poison in my veins
and days to come of just more pain.
So here it is - today's small stone;

Again
the rain
against the glass.
I wish
I were
on a tall ship.
Sailing
on a blue sea.
Standing
on a sunny deck
a sail
flapping on the mast.

Down the Drain

growth brings change
changing shape
sheds skin
leaves fade and fall
branches break
love lost
sand slipping
hands not holding
rain running
down the drain
empty.

Frosty

Icy frostiness,
swirly patterns,
and Robin sings.
The light slips slowly
over the horizon
changing the sky
to the softest blue.
Another cycle
begins again
and all will be new.

 

 

The Black Silhouette

The black silhouette
of the tall tall trees
and the rattle of the rain
as it falls from their leaves
when the wind blows.

Birds Wings

Have you ever listened
to the rush
of wings?
Birds overhead
flying
like the wind.
Going home,

Teacup

The slow, almost hypnotic rhythm
of stirring tea in a cardboard cup.
It's almost matching
the clickety clack
of the train on the track.
The long dark of the night
sliding past
outside the carriage window.
There are street lights,
orange fireflies.
I am hung in my seat
words dripping and drowning
my otherwise thoughts.

  

Not So Small Stone

'Lift my heart' I cried
send the beat
deep
into my mind.
Smile, smile, smile
though my feet ache with every mile.
Where do I go?
Do I travel too slow?
Do I even Know
where I am headed?
The next moment, dreaded?
Seeds of hope.......
scattered
battered
tumbling like a stone
through the hollows in my bones.
Down a steep slope.
Hope?

Morning Pages

Walking round and round inside my head
I spill the words as yet unread.
My morning pages scribbled down
with black ink letters on the run.
One smudge, two smudge, now they're done.

A Knock on the Door

I am sure I heard
a knock at the door.
I stumbled downstairs
to the ground floor.
Fumbling along, it was so dark
and the wind was blowing
so hard.
I heard something fall
and someone's voice call.

It was next door.

Copyright 3rd February 2013

Down on the River

Down on the river
where the big ships dock
there's a clank,
a clunk,
a seagull's scream
and the bell 
on the boat
rings the seaman's tea.

Copyright 1st February 2013

50 word story

The problem touched me as her story unfolded like the steam that rose from the warm and wonderful hot chocolate that I had in front of me. I inhaled the aroma and somewhere from the image of roasted cocoa beans came the solution – she could use the old coffee sacks.

See the following: http://www.scottishbooktrust.com/the-50-word-fiction-competition

An addendum to today

 I will carry on with these small stones as they have become a lifeline through my chemo experience. I have noticed how the feelings change with each stone. Looking forward to the Writing Our Way Home https://www.facebook.com/writingourwayhome newsletter on vulnerability as it is a subject much in my mind at present. Today I shall be able to go out into the garden and fill the bird feeders and drink in the miniature irises which have decided to bloom. From my window I have noticed the daffs beginning their awakening and I want to celebrate with them.

Small stone bonus for the end of the month

Small stone bonus for the end of the month or because the image from yesterday suddenly popped in for a second cuppa.

Yesterday morning
an unexpected visitor
came to call.
Mrs Sunbeam
crept in unannounced
through the kitchen window.
As her fingers touched the sill
and her gaze fell across the floor
one hundred dust bunnies froze in awe.

 

 

Window Panes in Aeroplanes

Window panes
in aeroplanes
look out on the clouds
that shroud
the land.

There are always blue skies and crystal castles out on the far horizon.

Copyright 31st January 2013

Small Stone 30th January 2013

Deep
in the centre
of the clear quartz crystal
there is a mystery
and a message.
It asks only that we listen.
Then,
when stillness
rests in us
we will hear it.

Copyright 30th January 2013

Small Stone 29th January 2013

When there is nothing but rain
and when rain becomes the main
topic of conversation
somehow pain rises to the top
and floats thoughts
like sunken boats
seeking everlasting life.

Copyright 29th January 2013

Days Drowning

The day is drowning.
Drowned by the rain 
and such waves of sorrow.
I was thinking........
of purpose.............
when the courage
to allow vulnerability
dies.
Souls drown in their own grief.
Just as the day
when clouds refuse
to let the sun shine through.


 Copyright 9th November 2008

Small Stone 28th January 2013

I turn and face the roses
tumbling around the old wall.
The sun is hot and the sky so clear.
Where are you my dear?
A thin breeze
lifts the leaves
around me
and I hear your voice.
Somehow so cool, somehow so near.
Where are you my dear?

Copyright 28th January 2013

Small Stone 27th January 2013

Friends on the edge.
Warblers in the sedge.
Songs so far away now.
Where did they go?

Copyright 27th January 2013

Small Stone 26th January 2013

Skipping days
like skimming stones
on the lake.
Ripples on the water
rippling across my heart
like fingers on the strings
of a harp.

Copyright 26th January 2013

Small Stone 23rd January 2013

I am stuck
like wellies in the mud.
Love died.
We lied
but this pain will kill
something, somehow.
I live still (for now).

 








Copyright 23rd January 2013

Small Stone 21st January 2013

Rudely awoken
deep sleep broken.
Up on the skylight it looks like snow
but no snow
sounds
like a thousand
impatient
newly manicured
talons
tapping
on the bar counter.

Copyright 21st January 2013

Small Stone 17th January 2013

There's a tough time a'coming
tears have been running
silence is numbing
dumbing.

Copyright 17th January 2013

Small Stone 13th January 2013

Anemones

A blue that's bluer than blue
and red, redder than red.
A purple circle, bled
on white
and the light!

Copyright 13th January 2013

Small Stone 12th January 2013

The rain has stopped
I look at the clock.
It's four in the morning!
That's why I'm yawning.
Yet sleep won't come
while my mind's on the run.
Into the kitchen and put the kettle on.
Brew a cuppa and butter a scone.

Copyright 12th January 2013

Hospital corridors 11th January 2013

Hospital corridors
and wheelchair springs.
Cash machines
and wedding ring.
Just my daughter 
and her laughter.
The gap on my finger lets the draught in.





Copyright 11th January 2013

3rd chemo 9th January 2013

My 3rd chemo has turned 
my small stones into boulders.
The effort to lift them from my mind,
too much.
I let them tumble in the flow
of the river on my tears.
Each a little fear being let go.

Copyright 9th January 2013

My body has been left bereft 3rd January 2013

My body has been left bereft
no hair, no breasts.
Through my veins the poisons burn their trail.
Even the beloved left.
No more the beloved's touch,
the beloved's kiss not felt.
My heart has been left bereft.

Copyright 3rd January 2013

Chemo half way through 2nd January 2013

The cloudy umber sky
caught my eye
and made me sigh.
I thought of tomorrow
and tasted the tear 
that slid down my cheek.
To cry? I try
not to.
Chemo, half way through.

Copyright 2nd January 2013

Small Stone 1st January 2013

As I opened my eyes 
the lightening flashed
and the wind spat
against the window pane.
Then the thunder growled
and rolled away into the distance
with the rain.
One star
two stars
and the robin sang.


Copyright 1st January 2013