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Showing posts from December, 2017

Diary Poem 2017

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One A5 silver diary has been the recipient of the many lists and appointments and events this last year. Everyday I have noted a moment that made that day particular to itself, a mindfulness exercise. Reading them through revealed a sort of diary poem so I applied some editing and here it is: 




January
Trees sing like whales in high wind. Cold bright day, looked at the sea, ate fish. Ate too much sugar, structured a poem. First snowdrops seen. What I thought a lupin turns out to be a hellebore. Slept beautifically.
February Storm Doris, bins akimbo! Rescued scarecrow. So many rainbows it's raining rainbows! Stabbed in thumb by hawthorn. Dog had toast and sausage. Saw deer bound through sparse snowflakes.  New Storm Doris blows over hellebore. Did all my Tae Kwon-Do patterns and hid biscuit tin. Watched hailstones bounce off camellia leaves. Pancakes!
March Brown patch on sock does turn out to be coffee.  Stuck in brambles with Dog. On release, shared pasty. Misplaced slippers. Wearing leopard print dres…

Yule Tale 2017

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Titania's Curious Other Life





‘It’s been this way for… I don’t remember…
Like I’ve just been born out of this… box? It isn’t an actual box, of course. It’s a room.  A room in my mind. Location regardless, I’m trapped in it.  Here I am trapped. In a room. In my mind. It doesn’t matter how much those idiots say oh, get dressed up, go out - I can’t! They can’t see that I’m trapped. Because it’s in my mind. Not their minds, they don’t have any. They are just tin, hollow tin. They don’t even want to go out, they just wait for orders.  Being stupid makes them content, they are boxed up, lined up, they can’t see life should be anything else.’
Titania sighs. She has given her monologue to a row of cardboard angels, and gets blank smiles in return.
‘Not hiding. Trapped.’
It is hard for them to understand, she knows, but she wishes they would make more of an effort. They look at her as though she were a shy child hiding behind a sofa.  As though they are pretending to go along with the trapped story. 
‘Ugh.…

Wasp And Map

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So, where are we?

There’s a wasp in the bathroom again, wandering on foot, has an air of lost yet determined.
Can relate. I photographed it.

Where was it we wanted to be?
Can’t recall. Mostly we have dropped the habit of expectation. There does need to be space for spontaneity.  A map point check, that’s what we need.

We had started out on this journey, let’s presume a mountainous route, not on the mountain at all, but way below sea level. Mountains were myths.  Nevertheless, we trudged upwards.
Trudge is an apt word. Eyes almost shut, one foot at a time, weary, that word holds the feeling well.

Don’t be sorry for us though, we also had good coffee and places to go wild swimming, and car park picnics, and belly laughs.

And a sort of destination.

A bit of land to call our own. A house we built. A sanctuary. I want a lake, and woods, and probably a pirate ship, and a hillbilly hot tub, a sauna made of old tyres - it’s all so real in my head, but we’re not there yet, we shouldn’t over-design…