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Tag Archives: Writing

Supermarket Meeting…#Poetry#Poem

Supermarket Meeting

I have just seen you,
or maybe I didn’t.
Could be illusion,
of someone who isn’t.

Style of the Eighties,
a decade – long past.
I stand enchanted,
my heartbeat, is fast.

Black T-shirt knotted,
not front, but round back.
Classic are blue jeans,
they’re skinny, not slack.

Mouse blonde is your hair,
T-pau is the style.
Ends with white trainers,
you’ve had for a while.

Sparkling are your eyes,
when flashed with that smile.
I felt a feeling,
not had in a while.

For time that was happy,
I feel my heart pine.
Should I approach you,
deliver that line.

Then is reflected,
the age that I am.
Time of the asking,
has gone with that ham.

Real or remembered,
illusion or not.
You woke a feeling,
I’d left there to rot.

Silent a thank-you,
is sent with a smile.
For thinking that I could;
for just a short while.

A § M
3/10/2017

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Reflections…Week Thirty Eight

Again no poem this week, to be honest I miss working one out, but one has been busy writing.

One would like to say on a book, or something positive. Alas it has been more sombre than that. A couple of services that I use have, under the guise of being — Non Clinical — lost or in the process of loosing funding.

I have written a Blog on the subject (1345 words) , but since it links with both of the charities, I have asked that the donating information be approved by head office. The others are statements from myself on the use of the services and the benefits one has received (3526 words and 1016 words).

I don’t think I wrote that much on my wind generator project  paper at college, and that was worth 40% of the final exam score.

Fed up of quietly complaining, one will endeavour to pick out the positives that have come from the reading of my work, by support workers and head office. In a swamp of bleh, One will try to be a firefly (the little insect not the spacecraft, although that would be cool).

All have said I am talented, writing this still does not make that statement feel about me, yet.

I have been asked if my work can be used by fundraising manager and the chief exec .

That’s my work, being sent to the big boss, and not to get me into trouble.

I have to admit it did feel like one was being reported to the Head master a wee bit more than one would have liked, thank you Mr Street, the fear of being sent to you in infant school has stuck with me, the reason why I was in trouble has not, but now I know this is part of my inferiority complex with authority figures. Knowing this connection is a positive insofar as it can now be worked on.

And, I accepted the compliments, with the grace of a new born foal, but I accepted them. This is on the back of words from the poetry group organiser, because one went, “hmmm”, as thanks for a compliment. I nearly got told off for saying “sorry” as my response to those ‘words.’

So in effect one has written something that could, in its own way, make a difference, a positive difference, to someone else life.

Thats a long way from when I wrote my first blog.

www.awanderthroughthemind.co.uk/reflections-2017

Side note to self- will start work on a new poem Monday.

Reflections…Week Thirty Seven

canstockphoto8630797No poetry again this week. Instead one went the route of writing a short story for a competition, the entry date has long since gone past, but I had the idea for it and therefore it needed to be written. I always have it for another competition that matches the criteria.

At first I thought that writing a short story at 500 words, the last one entered, would be challenging, not that the word count would be too much, rather that since some blogs have gone well past that number, one expected to struggle to keep it from going past. This one, and the reason it was put off so long, was 250 words, to put that in perspective this reflection has reached half that number now.

There is a knack to writing these stories and to those that do it for magazines on a regular basis have tremendous skill to not have each one repeating the descriptive paragraphs used. There is very little room for manoeuvrability in the story line. No time really to lead one down a false path in order to throw in that red herring. It seems to rely heavily on the pace to throw in a quick diversion in order to get away with it. There is no time to be detailed at the description, no Tolkien valley paragraphs, no, this is more a describe the mugger affair.

Even with my limited knowledge and writing skill, I have to say I am quite chuffed with the result!

250 words

Footnote…

Yes I know that getting the word count was anal, but that is how my dysfunctional mind works, at times it can help, at others it’s a prison cell. However it it bothers you or elicited a reaction then you have to ask yourself the question…”WHY”.

 

www.awanderthroughthemind.co.uk/reflections-2017

Puddle…#poem#poetry

Puddle

If your mind’s containerises,
each memory then is just a drop.
And when the droplets do combine,
the puddle it grows, it need not stop.

There is no shape to work towards,
no master drop design.
No matter are the bumps bellow,
twill surface not define.

A child can in puddle splash,
and send in all directions.
But most will flow to puddle back,
be still, and show reflections.

Tears will the puddle grow,
whether sadness or of joy.
The saltiness diluted out,
matter not from girl or boy.

From puddle to pool and then to lake,
great depth the surface hide.
And with the wind a movement make,
to ebb and flow the tide.

With water you can take a drink,
or even let it flow.
You cannot cage it with your bars,
around it puddle will grow.

The mind 2 of 2
A § M
22/8/2017

Reflections…Week Thirty Three

Though the week was weighted, a lot got done. Dr’s sorted, several appointments sorted and it ended, well nearly, on a visit to the petting farm.

The Saturday was an extra sleepover for my son, bonus, and boy did he wear himself out. Not long out of a cast to alter his leg position, he went like a bat out of hell on the play areas, this level of activity is a positive thing as it has helped his leg be in far better condition than if he wasn’t.

The goats, as always here, are my favourites. Goats are second only to dogs on animals I would like as pets; if they ever cross bred a dog and a goat I would get one.  Also here are donkeys, ponies, sheep, ducks, rabbits, guinea pigs, a turkey, chickens, a couple of other birds I have no idea what they are, a pig and a couple of lamas.

All bar the rabbits and the pig could be hand fed, if you were brave enough to get near the lamas you could even hand feed them.

I was, with one of them, then the other came running over – ears back head extended, I feel I should point out that I had seen this behaviour with other people before we got over there and it had been followed by spitting, I was expecting a soaking.

Turning sideways, head facing down, like I had been taught  previously with horses, I waited. It seemed confused, but the ears were still flat against its head, the other came over for food, I would have given it some if it wasn’t for those teeth, They must protrude an inch in front of their lips, not going to chance hand feeding without a bowl. So I ended up dropping some food on the floor, backing away gracefully and staying dry. I cannot say the same however for the next people, I heard the spitting around the corner.

www.awanderthroughthemind.co.uk/reflections-2017

 

With “Monster”…#poem#poetry

 

If you have not read the first poem of the two, Without “Monster”, here is the link….

https://awanderthroughthemind.wordpress.com/?s=without+%22monster%22

With “Monster”

Your not here for shopping,
but to me – entertain.
Metal the chariot,
so shiny – not plain.

Kicking and grabbing,
at hand and at cart.
I will go screaming,
right from the start!

Joyous the screaming,
with a laugh and a grin.
Sound effects are added,
as shopping put in.

I am now hungry,
cheese puffs my snack.
My face is covered,
I wear half the pack.

Screech around the corner,
into “that ladies” isle.
With disapproving stare,
on a face with no smile.

Quietly we go past,
with a smile and a grin.
Off to find Nanna,
what isle is she in?

She heard us coming,
from the first isle.
Asks what your doing,
Say nothing and smile.

And so it continued,
till Nanna was done.
I am her “monster”
Her little Grandson.

‘Monster’…Poem 2 of 2

A § M
21/8/2017

Boxed…#poem#poetry

Boxed

A brain is like a box you know,
filled with knowledge as we grow.
we are taught, our lessons learnt,
bridges crossed, and bridges burnt.

The box it acts like our hard shell,
for our social times – that don’t go well.
The box it fills right to the top,
cause our learning will not stop.

The box sides creak as more’s crammed in,
showing cracks and crumblin.
We can’t remove the useless stuff,
if space required – well that’s just tuff.

Until a breakdown when walls fall,
shows twisted rebar – our cell wall.
The strength it added now traps us in,
kept half the rubble – caught within.

Memories crushed, or leak on out,
not just the ones we can do – without.
Out of our reach beyond the bar,
some to recover, but it’s just too far.

So boxes should you no longer build,
with society lines, from roles we filled.
Controlling, this life, I know it seems,
but it is our life, our hopes, our dreams.

The mind 1 of 2
A § M
22/8/2017