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Category Archives: My Writings

Of Love and Other Sicknesses

Found at Pixabay.com

Found at Pixabay.com

 

Free forming words

rhythm and rhyme

Tone dark/mood light…

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Creative strychnine

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Posted by on 24/09/2016 in My Writings, Poetry

 

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Dwelling on the Cusp

EllieEdonArt

I close my eyes

Entering a forest of yellow hue

turned green, behind lids

an ever changing patina of labyrinthine leafiness.

squeeze them tight

Mingling with gossamer thoughts

Fragile, yet protected

as I finally drift off

 block out the remaining light

to inscribe fanciful thoughts

– contemplations of the forever –

in the stardust of my dreams…

~~~~~~

Thanks to Ellie Edon for allowing me to use her art, check out more at http://ellieedon.wixsite.com/artwork and as ever thanks for reading, I will be visiting again when time permits.

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Posted by on 17/08/2016 in My Writings, Poetry

 

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A Bit of a Rant

 After a week away, only using the internet in short bursts, it was perhaps inevitable that I would come crashing back to the realisation of that crushing disappointment of social media. I don’t normally mini rant about such things but as I am annoyed and it only being a couple of days since my return, I shall. It is probably more pertinent than the ones I usually refrain from unleashing on you but will be brief before normal service can be resumed.

It is worth pointing out that yesterday started well with answering 25 comments from the past week, plus the new ones on the last post, an email or two and the odd status comment on the Facebook but my slap down to reality was inevitable but a few more days would have been nice.

The inevitable unmemorability of the age we live in brings out the insidious beast of loathing in me. The change has been most jarring, after a peaceful eight days I feel like withdrawing further into books than ever before and only coming up for air to catch up on the blog and pick a new tome.

A lot of it comes from the comical incisive yet uninformed comments about the EU referendum vote and the fall out from that, the other part of it comes from the thoughts of our American friends, who seem to plan on voting for the candidate that will most likely do the lesser damage to their economy. How much of both these decisions are really ours and how much is down to the bile funded by big businesses who only want what’s best for their profit margin is pretty clear for all to see. Read the rest of this entry »

 
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Posted by on 29/06/2016 in Life, My Writings

 

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Book Strip

This weekend, I made the mistake of taking a break from the computer (give or take the odd hour) and now find myself so far behind with correspondence and blogs that I am hoping to catch up by this weekend so apologies for not visiting you for a while.  I shall be around your respective blogs tomorrow at the latest, as ever thanks for your patience and understanding and now onto today’s post…

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When I was younger the sight of a wall full of books without covers was galling to say the very least, all those possible adventures and no idea what they were, apart from the titles and a cursory flick through which usually confused me more.  One good thing was not being able to judge the book by its missing cover but still it would have been nice to have a happy medium of knowing what the book I was purchasing would be about, the fiction books always proved a lot more subtle of title than their non fiction counterparts.

Yet there is something more mystical about having to take the time to actually explore prospective purchases, weighing them up and finding some eccentric titles such as How to Look at Old Buildings, that just demand to be picked up and leafed through.  These days I don’t get annoyed by the sight of naked books any more but see it as a chance to take a punt on an unknown author and hopefully find some hidden gems. Read the rest of this entry »

 
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Posted by on 25/05/2016 in Art, My Writings

 

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The Whisper

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The Whisper

A rustle, displacing anticipatory silence
Words barely made out, hinting at enticing possibilities
The gentle breeze of impassioned words, sighed
Coated with sweet passionate pledges

The gentle purr of promises
Seductive susurration
Raising goosebumps
Tempestuous images flow

A sweet and swirling murmur
Conjuring intimate images, crashing through the mind
The frenzied beating of a heart in ecstatic turmoil
The aural effect setting aflame desires

Silence settles, ripples subside,
The calm before the eager storm…

~~~

*Have no clue to the source of this photo just came up on a pinterest, sorry.

 
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Posted by on 20/04/2016 in My Writings, Poetry

 

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Thought Waves

Somewhere in the porous matter of the mind, a though endures, an echo through time of a point when everything coalesced to a moment of clarity, of existing and being aware of that existence, rather than taking it for granted.  Carefully probing through the archaeological strata of thought, this remembrance prevails and demands to be retold in the less than perfect medium of language.

Cheers for this Wikipedia!

Cheers for this Wikipedia!

The problem with that is that I don’t have the language, by which I mean I do but I didn’t at the time.  There is a theory I read about in Dr Glenn A. Bassett’s fascinating book WordPlay that states (and I am recalling this from memory as the book is packed away) that we can only recall what we could describe in words known to us at the time, so the younger you are the less chance you have of solid memories as the vocabulary base you had recedes as you go further back.

One particular day I visited Robin Hood’s Bay, which is the classic small village clinging onto the Yorkshire coastline, it has narrow streets, plenty of cobbles and all the usual things you would expect in such a town, cliffs, predatory seagulls, old houses, local craft shops and boats bobbing up and down in the bay.  It sounds idyllic, which is why it’s popular, a boon and a bane for the locals one would expect.  My true memory of that day though was the ocean, something that seems to pull at us all, the yearning to be beside the seaside. Read the rest of this entry »

 
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Posted by on 21/01/2016 in My Writings, Travel

 

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Tolstoy and the Time Tunnel

There was a Tolstoy quote I had in mind for this post which I can’t quite remember yet know it moved me back in the day. when I first read it in War and Peace.  It was about the sunlight shining through the trees and demanded to be read several times before continuing on with that epic story.

After spending plenty of time looking for my copy I wondered how I could fail to find the 1500 page doorstep of a novel, then the inevitable and ultimately fruitless search through a pdf copy actually saw my frustration lessened by the thought that  perhaps it was a good thing not to have the book to hand afterall.

What if it didn’t move me as it once did and that was a distinct possibility, if I didn’t find my actual translation would a different one have the same impact or the precise phrasing anyway?  Suffice to say, it was affecting at the time and I hope it will be so again once I find my book but until then that vague memory still makes me happy.

The point of the quote was to link in with my latest effort of writing which is a celebration of leafy ways which will soon be lost with the Autumnal flavour in the air:

 

The Arch

Passing through light to shadow
A crescent of foliage genuflects to the glory of the day
Changing the sun’s rays to oases of dappled light pools on the earthy stage.

I pause and sit
Enjoying the coolness of this climate controlled conduit.

Contemplating its aspects both seen and suggested
This is no ordinary path but a time tunnel
An admittance to fey that is a journey to distant times
A communal place of thought
A shibboleth of mysticism stretching throughout the vast span of ages.

There is perfect silence
But for the incomprehensible sound of an aeroplane,
Alien to this out of time and yet paradoxically time bound place
Birds of another form take up song.

Nature and peace reside perfectly in this spot.

The world is a dream as the weightlessness of serenity descends
The age-old trees providing a perfect phalanx to the encroaching outside.

I move on
Touched by what was and what will be again…

 

Thanks to Tom for suggesting the word shibboleth.

 
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Posted by on 18/10/2015 in My Writings, Poetry

 

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