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Category Archives: Writing

Beach Walk…#Prose

Beach Walk

 

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

    

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A Cup…#Poem

A Cup

 

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

    

Oh Christmas Time…#Poem#Poetry#Prose

Oh Christmas Time

 

Oh Christmas time,

what joy be had.

When places known,

in plastic clad.

 

Arrows are placed,

as Santa’s lure,

Blinking, pointing,

to darkened door.

 

Corner turned,

I’m face to face.

In grinning Santa’s,

dead eyed space.

 

Rudolph floats

with ethereal look.

Thought Halloween,

was fears right hook.

 

They should not be,

we’ve had no snow.

But snowmen move,

and snowmen glow.

 

We happy told,

this season be.

So fake emotions,

as we fake tree.

 

And remember,

right present get.

Got no money?

Then he’s some debt.

 

Oh Christmas time,

for some a struggle.

It’s all too much,

it’s all a muddle.

 

So feeling anxious?

or feeling Low?

Don’t grip at mask,

just let it go.

 

Seek some help,

with someone talk.

Before you take,

the sombre walk.

 

Past light that flash,

from all things drape.

This winter,

wonder,

fake

landscape.

 

A§M

20/12/2018

Panic…#Poetry#Poem#Prose

Panic

 

Panic when the pens not here,

Tis what all the writers fear.

When idea comes to mind,

Grab ones notebook look and find.

Has pen in holder,

Gone.

 

Reflections 2018 w48

Can writing be away to get rid of things that plague the mind? Even those we do not know are there.

Since writing poetry, as part go my self improvement, a note book and pen have always travelled with me, for those times one requires a distraction for my anxiety. I just need to find a place to sit and write – even if that is what I am currently thinking – literally anything will be written down. Sometimes it is like removing a blockage and a poem flows out.

Sometimes the shadows move to the fore and grab my attention, but with a sharp pointy object already in hand, they seem to be dealt with easier than when without.

But occasionally something comes from nowhere, gets written down and then disappears. With no indication that it was ever there – apart from the words written down.

Now many years ago I was told to keep a daily journal, to be honest it was never kept on. I was never told the purpose or point of it, and I still do not understand what use one is. But writing stories and poetry has me recording for a reason, a purpose. And taking notes has a point.

Taking notes did not come easily, for at the start, one was told what the theme for the next weeks poem would be. So ideas went into the book for that theme. Only becoming more diverse when the poetry bug had taken a hold and I was writing more than what was required by group.

Now if one has a journal like entry it is solely to get past a writing block. And will be kept for a future poem idea.

So when the bolt out of the blue comes, gets acknowledged, written down, there is a feeling of relief, that follows it; it does make me wonder –

how long has that been there?

 

www.awanderthroughthemind.co.uk/reflections-2018

Yo-Yo life…#Poetry#Poem#Prose

Yo-Yo Life

 

I live life

Yo-Yo style.

 

Down I go,

maybe up.

 

Not return,

to the start.

 

Have not skill,

but have heart.

 

Try and try,

walk the dog.

 

Sideward spin,

bird nest string.

 

Cradle rock,

fail that too.

 

Keep on trying,

what else to do?

 

Gave up before,

but still I’m here.

 

Untangle nest.

Reset the string.

 

And

Down

I

Go.

 

A § M  16/11/2018

    

B-WELL Poster 2…#Poetry#Poem#Prose

Oneself – it starts with a simple seed 

However, not all journey well.

 

Some are shelved,

and gather dust. 

 

Locked away 

in cage of rust 

 

Shaped by others, 

not treated well. 

 

But tis a tree, 

no one can fell.

 

A group you find, 

where nurture taught.

 

A place to heal, 

a place for thought.

 

The tree grows strong, 

n’ fruit will flourish.

 

When shares oneself, 

each other nourish.

 

If self cared for, 

reserves are built.

 

To cope with life, 

when at full tilt.

 

Find simple things 

can set you free.

 

Within B-WELL – community .