Sunday, 22 April 2012

Messages from a 5 year old me

I'm not quite sure that this poem is the finished article, but I wish to share it anyway, as a poem note (thank you Liz for introducing this idea to me) because I feel really attached to that 5 year old me in this moment. Spending time with my young nieces has bought back the amazing memories of being small. I encountered a lot of negative experiences in my childhood, meaning I often forget that there were quite lovely thoughts and moments too, which I must hold on to. 
Messages from a five year old. A poem note.

When I was five...
I discovered a  forsythia den, 
A glowing fortress.
Her twisty arms wove a maze of patterns.
Streaky light danced on my face,
Making me giggle,
As I crouched on the rich, earthy ground.
I yearned for white frilly socks of softest cotton,
That the other girls wore.
Their dainty edges were butterfly wings, 
Fluttering with every jump of the skipping rope.
Instead I wore blue socks.
The adventuring type.
I pointed my nose as far as it would reach
To peak over the post office counter.
Stacks upon stacks of sweets a glorious wall.
With every breath an ancient musty smell
Of rustling letters and sprawling ink encircled me,
The soft thud of stamping an accompanying lullaby.
I smiled with a shrug at the English language,
Imagining myself an alien
But in many hues of pink rather than green,
Landing far away from Germany.
I conversed with gatherings of dolls,
Discussing my days as I held court.
My imaginary crown gave me voice.
Animal hearts began to beat
As soon as the light switch clicked.
With abandon I joined their secret invitations.
I lost myself in Grimm’s tales.
A story collector of great importance,
I drank in illustrated pages over and over,
My fingers tracing letter shapes in meditation.
And tapes with turn the page beeps
Unfolded scenes by the dozen in my soul.

I believed that a sweet toy tortoise,
Left on a train many miles away,
Could navigate her way to a healing aunt,
Who appeared one day
With the returned wanderer Mimi;
Somewhat larger and with both eyes in tact.
I was an artist with pens defined by fruity scents
And a bouquet of coloured pencils
Kept in the  strictest rainbow order.
The best rubbers were in the shape of elephants.
The straight line of a ruler unheard of.
Blank surfaces shouted my name.

I loved that dog in the swirling snow,
Who stole my knitted gloves from my pockets
And spun in circles in pursuit of his tail;
Soft ears flapping wildly,  lucid eyes alight.
Together we stuck out our tongues
To capture orbs of ice.

I idolised the gods and goddesses,
Who made life shine with their presence,
Smelling of strong coffee and exercise books.
They gave ME time.
I’d watch them intently
And decide who I would have for parents.
I wished for a best friend
With the shy passion of an introvert.
The thought of it all deliciously foreign.
Along the edge of the playground I stood,
On the lookout for that golden flicker
Of feeling known.
I treasured small objects,
Seeing them in minute detail.
When told to dispose of such rubbish
I gently tucked my findings into new hiding places.
Sometimes I carried a stone with me for days
Just because it was my stone.
I feasted on pasta in the shape of cartoon characters,
In gloriously  red tomato sauce.
Carmel puddings and slices of ham
Glanced back at me with grinning faces.
But necklaces made of sugared beads?
No,I couldn’t destroy their beauty.

Friday, 20 April 2012

The golden hour

Prompt: The golden hour.

It has rained every day for a week since prompt 52 was posted. I held on and on, desperately hoping that the sun would make a late afternoon appearance, but to no avail. And so, rather than dipping into my archives, I have captured the light of my week instead, and found a rather wonderful poem by John O'Donohue in the process.

Sunday, 15 April 2012

Spring fling

Prompt: Spring fling!

Then the delight, when your courage kindled,
And out you stepped onto new ground,
Your eyes young again with energy and dream,
A path of plenitude opening before you.

(For a New Beginning. John O'Dononue)

Friday, 13 April 2012

Poetry Love

Poetry and I understand each other. We are old school friends. There for each other during the good, the bad and the downright ugly.  Over the last years though, somehow I had let that relationship dwindle, without realising really, without rhyme nor reason. So when I recently took part in Liz Lamoreux's Create Space course where she included some delicious poetry, which spoke so directly to my poetic soul, a part of me was reawakened. I sat in wonder as I realised just how much I had missed this friend. And so of course I signed up for Liz's current course, Poem It Out, and it is turning out to be the most inspiring  course I have taken part in in recent times (and there have been a few!) Not only am I discovering many new (well, new to me) poets, who totally get where I am coming from, even though we have never exchanged a word, but I am writing more poetry than I have done since adolescence. Liz offers depth, inspiration, thought provoking angles and so much joy. I feel mighty lucky to have a poetry angel to guide me on this particular adventure.

Today's poetry offering is quite a solemn one (I promise there may well be more joyous contributions ahead). I sat in front of my laptop, in the early hours as sleep had yet again left the building, and the words poured out. When I read the end result I oddly felt a sense of closure for addressing the insomnia, for defining how it feels to me.


Cradling whispers envelop.
Stuffed with iridescent motes, a satchel
Blurs the too bright glossy images of day.
A face of fine parchment, 
Creased softly,
Voices delicious promises
Alongside the tumbling particles 
Flowing through spindly fingers.
A feeling of muffled petticoats
As slumber winds through the shadows.
The edge of a tattered cloak
Vanishes beyond a windowpane.
Stricken eyes search for and deny
What they know is there.
Forced, I clamber back into night.
Unwished for clarity startles,
Tangled with fragmented thoughts.
Echoes of what has been
And the might bes and the what ifs
Grip vice like without escape.
Weighted down I lie in the shadows.

Wednesday, 11 April 2012

Sounds of not writing

I promised myself I would write a post today, for it has been far too long since I've shown you more than photographs and quotes. I'm putting my heart and soul into writing at the moment, yet this strangely doesn't seem to have transferred to my blog. Bare with me, give me time. So here I am. Showing up. A little ill at ease, not quite knowing where to begin, as is often the case after time away from a space. I'm not in a particularly cheerful state of mind either, but my intentions for this blog is for it to be an honest space, an opportunity to share the good times and the bad like you would do with a good friend. And so I choose to share a poem I wrote yesterday evening, when the dreaded stuckedness threatened to take over. I didn't think anything productive could come of my frowns and sighs, however the poem that emerged is a part of me. It may not be beautiful or well crafted but it feels raw and real. 

Sounds of not writing

Rain thumps
Fierce races
With haphazard rhythms.
Why does it always rain on me? (I hum)

A vibrating fridge
Demanding audience
Beginning again.
Is she still there
That little girl from the story book
Holding the inside light?
A creaking desk
How can not yet written words intimidate 
Dictator style?
An invisible elephant in the room
Sucking oxygen with deafening silence.
Poor elephant
who put her in a restricted space?
Mind chatter
Jumbled strings of graphemes
Crash and twirl
Without pause it seems.
Can anyone else hear how loud it is?

Friday, 6 April 2012

Shop open...

My dearest friends,

I have gone and done it! I have an Etsy store here (or see the button link on the left sidebar) and I am also trying out a print on demand company named Red Bubble  here (or click the button below Etsy). It truly feels like I am sending my children out into the world! I am full of anticipation, delight and pride. Of course this is coupled with the fear that my images won't find the joy and love I feel for them, but I'm being brave and putting myself out there anyway. I would love for you to take a look at what I have to offer and see what you think. And if you do enjoy my creations I would be so grateful if you would pass on the links to friends and family, in fact I would be over the moon ;) Sending you lots of love,


Wednesday, 4 April 2012

A self portrait

Prompt: Me. Self Portrait

Oh self portraits are tricky things, 
For me the inner critic has a field day. 
My self esteem is nowhere to be found
 When it comes to my appearance.
I breathe in and think...