Fiction, prose

no one is around (part one)

“Can we just lie here for a moment? She knows what to do
and it’s so much easier to make out the words if you press
your ear against the stone.”

He hated this place. But she promised it would be the last time.
And it had started to snow. It would hopefully slow the others down.

They needed to leave. He was too scared to look at his watch
and he was struck by how beautiful she looked in this light.
That pink light, reflecting from the tears frozen on her face.

He pulled her gently up from her mother’s grave.


mother they are coming again
they come to shoot what we already lost
mother they are coming again
our silver covered by their rust

father they are coming again
they come to jail the things that i have seen
father they are coming again
burning minds to keep the ruin clean

no one is around

„little girl there’s safer ground
follow the sea and you will find that place
little girl there’s safer ground
come take your years and put them in their hands“




100 Word Wednesday : I was a dream running down her face

I love Gina’s creativity. What a beautiful post, words and photo.


100ww_w56Image by Matthew Henry

I was a dream that ran down her face, in rivulets. I was washed down by the rain into the drain. I became a dream in a stream. She slumped over her phone, texting. As she cried, I ran faster down her cheeks.

Someone touched her shoulder from behind; I heard a voice speak louder than the dripping raindrops. She turned around and I stopped. I stopped running down her cheeks, I was soaked back up into her heart.

“Sorry I am late. Am I allowed to kiss you here?” the voice speaks. She nods, I feel safe, for now.

Thank you Bikurgurl for hosting 100 Word Wednesday. I have missed writing stories. This is my first after a long time. Visit the link to read more tales.


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Download my love poetry book Sweet Whispers here!

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a little fun or something, personal, prose, Uncategorizable

Surprised by a blogging award, namely, Liebster!

Thanks to my friend erroneous choices, we are having some fun with the Liebster Award, ie, she nominated me. Thank you dear friend ❤

She feels as I do, and that is, I have never really understood blogging awards, and haven’t really got involved with them, (apart from one over a year ago) no offense to anyone, but I so enjoyed reading the questions posed to her and her answers. Actually, she combined the questions from two different awards so I am going to keep on with the fun and just pick and choose…

1. What drew you towards the art of writing?
This is a good question…I have felt so shy and awkward for most of my life, I guess, as for a lot of people, it was a way to express myself, and hopefully make some sense of my thoughts in the process. I sometimes wonder that when I was little I subconsciously did it as a memory tool, because my memory is not that great. I remember I always liked to write everything out, even in the air, words, numbers, math problems…I liked to visualise it, and I loved the way certain words looked. Yikes, am I rambling? Sorry…

2. What is the one thing you like about yourself and why?
Um, I have never really liked this question.
But, if you insisted, I would say I do laugh easily. Especially at myself. I can have a good time, even when things are not going so well.
But it has helped to diffuse a number of tricky situations…humour, laughter is powerful – Captain Obvious 🙂

3. What is that one change you want to see in the world?
That people would stop yelling. Literally, figuratively, all kinds of ly-s. (Unless it is for humourous purposes).

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A.S. I love you

such a brilliant, thought provoking, and beautiful piece of writing!

Fighting the dying light

I’m the man in the iron cage, the pilgrim with an unrepentant, unyielding heart, the prophet who has regressed into a poet with anguish breaking through bone, and then skin, the tendrils tying my tongue, muting my real howl and creating a soft shriek which they consider beautiful. I’m the Kierkegaardian stereotype, a freak tortured and tormented by his panoramic paranoia, a twisted, fucked up birds eye view of skulls and enemies, of corpses punching keys and hate, and I can’t see a horizon. I’m the label of everyone’s disgust, an animal in an asylum which sensibly speaks, but in alliteration—the zookeeper’s delight. “Look now, here’s Mr. Bipolar. Hysterically jump or flat line, it’s your prerogative, but make sure you entertain, because they’ve paid with their time and energy. Be Quick!” But the more I rattle, the more they rile. The more I lie, the more they cry, until I…

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a little fun or something, General bewilderment, personal, prose, Uncategorizable

it begs a poem, doesn’t it?

pin cushion (2)

I was recently at my parents’. 
And I saw this-

a small pin cushion I had made for my mother when I was in high school, when I first learnt some cross stitching.

I can’t believe my mother is now eighty years old, and she is still using it!

Her sense of humour well and truly intact, as that spear of a needle in its right ear, was, initially, right in the middle of her forehead (that innocent bunny’s, not my mother’s).

It is funny about memory, because I had completely forgotten about it, of course, but as soon as I saw it, I remembered how upset I was that I had made a stitching mistake on its left ear. And I had somehow missed a couple of stitches on the other ear.  My sweet mother didn’t want me to fix it, but I remember how utterly crushed I was.

Yesterday I watched a video on a science site about intelligence.
Behold a short conversation I had with my husband this morning:

Me: I watched a video yesterday…blah blah…and it turns out I could be a perfectionist.
Husband: slowly closing refrigerator door…
come to think of it, I can’t describe, accurately, the look on his face…

General bewilderment, personal, prose

resemblance? reassemblance?


I am on Facebook. And a number of things have happened recently where I have really re-pondered social media.

Then a pastor friend posted this video about Facebook, including interviews with a couple of the original players. It was timely. If you find yourself with a spare 15 minutes sometime, I really recommend you watch it. You may have already seen it, and I know a lot of you have the same concerns etc. (Something I have loved about WP, it seems that generally there is a shared spirit amongst users that it doesn’t become toxic like these other platforms. Of course, it does sometimes, but overall, my experience has been wonderful. I hope yours has too.)

(It does have a clickbait title, unfortunately. But it is a very worthwhile video.)

I have thought about ways to be a little more real on here, too..I did record myself reading one of my poems, but I have had trouble uploading it. Not a hard process in theory, and I followed all of the steps, and it is still not working. I will persevere…

In the mean time, I thought I would add a selfie I took today. I really don’t like taking them, so there won’t be more for a while and it is in black and white because, geez, I don’t want to be that real… Plus, I didn’t want to make you jealous, northern hemispherers, by showing off my tan 🤡 Actually, it isn’t a big deal. I hardly wear makeup, after all.

selfie 25Jan18

And now it is really warm outside, and in the spirit of taking my ponderings seriously about screen time, I am signing off for now to go have a drink with my husband. Hopefully catch you soon as I really do love reading and looking at all of your amazing work! Take care WPers. Let’s make a better world…or at least, try.


Christian, personal, Poetry

something (revisited)

I need a moment,
a moment measured only
in light years,

the oracular thread
through centuries
and non,

encaptured, enraptured
by deepest tones
geographically strata-ed,
through past and present,

eyes so gently gently replaced
with brushes archeologically
bristling with Him,

joyful in newborn

the blind man was healed
and the tenses were spilled

and millennial mysteries unravelled
into new ravelling of me.

and the blind woman was healed



originally posted 26th March, 2017

why don’t I get you?

and kneading
this air with my thoughts,

to soften
the impact from fraught-

ed years
of unconversation,
now hurling at speeds

non sensical,
vengeful misdeeds

of mishearing.

I watch
syllables peeling,

Natatorial surprise –
those little ________ can swim
in the blues of my mind…


This song popped up and I love how Anne-Marie covers it. I had to write something…

a little fun or something, prose

friendship (revisited)

Friendship is simple.
It’s also complex, but let’s ignore that.

It can be what we want it to be.
Well, sometimes. There is such a thing as unrealistic expectations but that’s not what this post is about. This post is simple. This post will simply concentrate on the lovely simplicity of simple friendship.

Take the friendship cats offer just as one example:

Can’t get more simple than that. (And when I say simple, I may mean complex)

Then there is the simple friendship of my five six year old niece, who I have posted about before with her awesome stories. She is also an amazing artist. Here is some of her work, capturing, once again, the simple friendship cats have to offer:


This cat is obviously simple, as it is talking to itself. (But wouldn’t you agree, this art is simply incredible?!)

I love our nieces. And our nephews. All of our family. But especially the ones who are cute. Pure and simple. They make me feel noble things like this:


And that’s pretty much all I think can be said for friendship. Please do not correct me if I am wrong.

[And please do not steal the artwork from this page.]

Christian, Poetry

what are the words for mothers’ day? (revisited as a Christmas meditation)

a day that’s already bled in
(365 times Hallmark)
to our psyches’ movement
through mountained plains

perpetual translating
of the countenanced refrains
that echo
after birth.

The depth obfuscated, unsung
we play punctiliously with undone
and the cardium layers hold hands
tremoring with the ache
of a thousand forms.

And there’s no way to finish these lines
kaleidoscoped mystery of a Child’s eyes…

Fiction, prose

“I don’t want to

give you any of it. None of it. Don’t even bother asking”, was the un-pep talk she gave her reflection every morning.

And the good Lord knew that her mirror needed some un-pepping.

It was greedy for power. And it had to stop.

She wallpapered over it. With the lyrics of songs, scriptures, books, poems. Her favourite people. Her favourite letters.

She stood back to gaze at her soul mirror. While eating her favourite ice cream.



pixabay image


Inverted in space,

suspended in the north

with a southerly persuasion,

my heart grown in two,



Bejewelled moments

I want to break off to keep,

but my weeping hands

sift the fractures in wrong places.


I hold on instead –

ached to this perfect petal,

floated away on familiar

rivered Breeze.


originally posted 30th Jan, 2017

personal, Poetry

agapanthus globe

personal, Poetry


It’s true,

I really am a sucker for shiny.

The projected kind, that is.

Those little humans, the ones over there,

thoughtlessly shooting out

the sparkly ties that find.

The contagious giddy in the fleeting standstill.

Completely undone

in the collective, unspoken cradling

of the fragile glass of now.



Originally posted 26th Dec, 2016. I can’t believe it’s been a year…

personal, Poetry

digit the majestic (revisited upon his passing)


For my friend’s adorable cat…and now, truly in his honour and with gratitude for the short time we spent together…(drawing by my niece).


furtively felining into the room,

unannounced, unruly fur unadorned,

blinking in reluctant wakefulness,

he stares into my dishevelled mind,

eyes sparking in the recognition of likes,

“it must take a long time brushing that out?”


pawing my cerebral textiles

for a loose thread of understanding,

I roll it into a ball

to play with later.


Weighed down by the fire

we sink into the magic napping carpet…


originally posted 9th Jan, 2017