The snow it will part,
when grow you first start,
twas the deal, you made with the snow.
When given the task,
of flowers to ask,
compassion, the thing you did show.
He found you were fair,
your colour would share,
in exchange, you’re the first one t’ grow.
A § M
31/05/2018
Goodbye dear Elan…
As some of you may have picked up on, I have a dog, Spot. But she was not the only dog from the end of my failed relationship, there was also her dad, Elan. Who sadly has ‘passed away’ from ill health and old age in the time between my sons last visit and this one.
It was a tough decision on which dog to leave behind because I could not take both, Elan was a cracking dog, but my son had begun a strong bond with him…Hand feeding him from the bowl whilst he stays on the couch will do that. So the decision was made easier for me, my son would have a faithful dog and friend.
Elan was chosen for a name from one of the American Indian languages, it meant ‘friend’, he lived up to that name.
I am grateful that whilst we were looking for frogs, my son tried to deliver the news. He struggled a little, but enough was said for me to ask the question…”Is Elan still with us?”.
And I am also grateful for the fact we can talk about the feelings connected with this loss. And that when he talks of him, it is of love and affection, with a smile on his face.
So goodbye old friend, and if there is a heaven…Please don’t get too excited and piddle on Gods foot.
A sad message for my 200th post…
Prestatyn – the top beach,
a day at the coast.
Shoes off, socks off,
it’s time for a walk.
Along the wood path,
built in the dunes.
High views of the beach,
the sea and the golf course below.
First though, the car parks
hot rough tarmac.
With a minefield of stones,
some rough, some smooth,
which will it be?
Sand reached, relax
toes can sink in.
Hot sand, sun warmed
on this bright chilly day.
Not so, when sand deep underfoot.
Hot sting to deep chill,
as my footprint sinks down.
Warm planks, offer chilly reprise.
Though spiky dune grass pokes through the gaps in-between.
I walk down to the shoreline,
and quickly retreat.
Ice cold the wet sand,
toes in a tingle.
I’m barefoot in winter, what else did I expect?
A § M
07/03/2019
Some of you may have noticed that a poem came out earlier in the week, this is from a batch I have not published, for whatever reason, I thought I had until trying to show someone a poem via this site.
And it was not alone.
In all there will be a poem scheduled every week until August.
Allotment news…The green houses have been moved/dismantled, still work to be done on the raising platform and getting the old area cleared of rubble, but it is a lot closer now to completion. My gate has become the gate of ‘wow’, although all I see is a building site still. But one nearing the end.
And this week also started a ‘trial’ gratitude journaling course at the West End Centre. So far it is a book of affirmations toward gratitude and colouring in, but I may be missing something. We will see.
A poem,
about a cup?
Just what can I say?
An item,
for granted,
I take every day.
No thought,
for the process,
it took to get here.
Or why,
it is this cup,
a breakage I fear.
This one,
a tea cup.
This one coffee.
One for,
hot chocolate.
name chosen for me.
A unit,
of measure.
For baking a cake.
It’s size
became standard
for potters to make.
What then,
before that,
a time before scales.
Was used
as a measure,
for cookery tales.
But I am,
the black sheep;
one uses a mug.
Though often,
referred to,
a plant pot, or jug.
A § M
15/03/2019
The battle between man and beast has started. Seedlings have started to disappear under a trail of slime.
One has made a conscious decision not to use pellets up the allotment, but the method I was going to use cannot yet be done. The temperature rating/recommendation is steadily over 5deg c, and we keep nipping down to 1deg c. So the blighters have had a head start.
The pond is showing life, I counted 3 frogs there last week, and 2 more under upturned pots. Any hedgehog has gotten a home built for it by myself and my son, and it has free access onto the plot via a hedgehog arch in the fence.
It is because one wants the wildlife to eat the blighters the decision has been made to forgo the toxins. Nematodes, my trial for this year, do not poison the creatures that eat the slugs, but they do kill the slugs, from the inside out.
We are not allowed up on the plot after dusk, so we cannot go a hunting with torches and a bucket. So that leaves traps, with an attractant in them. This does seem to be counter intuitive, attracting the slugs to the plot in order to kill some of them. One would rather not attract them at all.
Fingers crossed the greenhouse platform and move will be done this week and my young seedlings will have a moat of water protecting the legs of the stand they sit upon, This has yet to be built, as it is going to be made from the greenhouse frame that is not going to be used. The buggers will have to swim to get them then.
Wow, another week where routine has been out of whack, and I am mixed on what day it is. And more trouble due to a bank holiday.
This time my meds have been affected. A change to one and a lack of supply for another. That and another change of doctor at the mental hospital, which means I may, or may not get more meds. Although I ran out of them on Thursday.
The idea was if I ran out I could go get some more. That proved to be anything but true. I am still waiting, from Thursday, to find out if I can get more. But by the time that sorts itself out, the need, hopefully will be no longer.
I am so fed up of this “treatment” plan. Well, the down stream medicating for all ails if I am honest.
This cannot be the best way to help someone to get better. Can it???
 | michelle on Tick Tock…poem |
 | pobept on Reflections 2019 w40 |
 | joannereedauthor on Grum…Poetry |
 | MyStoriesWithMusic on Pennies…Poem |
 | A wander through the… on Reflections 2019 w20 |
A wander through the mind 