Harrods Christmas outing

This evening I met up with my friend Andrew for our annual Christmas jaunt to Harrods. It's the third year that we've gone to Harrods in the run up to Christmas for a gossip over cake and then done some Christmas shopping. 

I like looking at how all the windows are dressed. This year there was a Land of Make Believe theme. 

I really enjoyed the wintery images and the image below of the 1920s style model I really liked. 

Father Christmas was of course on hand. 

Some of the window designs were a little creepy this clockwork girl was rather sinister. 

And this ballerina although reminded me of an old jewellery box I got one Christmas as a child was also quite spooky. 

Here's a picture of Andrew in the fabulous cafe we went to sitting in a rather lovely high back chair. 

The cafe had an awesome aray of cakes

We both went for the chocolate fudge cake pictured at the back here. 

We wandered around Harrods after taking in the chandelier section, for all your crystal light ware needs. 

We also went to the Christmas shop. We worked out that the display of red and purple velvet Christmas decorations costs in total about 10 grand. 

We also came across possibly the worst Christmas tree bauble ever. It looks like a dead bird. I assume it pheasant feathers but it just looked horrible. We then came across a foxes head bauble which was also revolting. Expensive doesn't have to be tasteful! 

Anyway we had a wonderful time and I've almost finished my Christmas shopping now! 

A poem a day 91 - 100

91

Sand specks suspended

In still spring air; what's unseen

Is more dangerous. 

92

The years full circle

Rounds back to the start, bringing

Cake, cards and much love.

93

40 is fabulous!

Friends and family 

From near and far

New and old

Surround me

With their love

Whether they are with me

Or faraway, they reach me

With their kindness

I can not express

How grateful and blessed I am

To have such wonderful 

People in my life. 

Thank you! 

94

Migraine 

Sparked by stress

Fanned by excitement

Bright swirling disco lights

As I spin around the dance floor

Feeling giddy and strange

Leave early walking home in a fog

Like metallic hairspray

Sticking to the inside of my eyes

Waking at 2 and then 4 AM

Head prickling and crackling

Before wham! The white hot searing pain

My left eye aflame

My whole body nauseated and rotten

For hours and the aftermath for days 

Queasiness, soft headed and spaced out. 

Migraine I hate you. 

95

Medusa 

The last tendrils of migraine

Snake about my head

Translucent shreds of pain

Twist and fizzle out like smoke

Anxiety creeps into my belly

Like smoke, now rising into my lungs

Choking my veins with ash

Sluggish and silting up my body. 

This toxic combination of migraine and fear

Is turning me to stone from the inside out. 

96

Watering can in hand

I move around the garden

Pausing at every plant 

An evening ritual 

Of garden ablutions 

Meditating on each flower

Each bud and branch

Cataloging in my head

The vibrancy bursting

From border and pots

Bringing me joy 

And teeming with life. 

97

Thoughts unravel 

Fold about my feet

Like loosened silk

Discarded, detached 

Leaving behind clean skin

But still nothing solid

Nothing to get hold of

Just vagaries and skimpy detail.  

98

Immobilised thumb 

Brings frustration but less pain;

Rest never easy

99

Saturday night 

Remains of a takeaway congeal on a plate

Bubbles escape from a glass of coke

Leaving behind flat warm syrup

Quizzes and straight to video movies 

Flicker across the box

As drunks lurch home along London Road

Somewhere through the darkness

A blackbird sings as if the sun has risen.

100

I learnt to bite my tongue

To pause and not bulldoze in

However much I wanted 

To Maggie Thatcher them with my hands

Or handbag, beat them into submission;

They'd never let me win on my own terms

They'd make me be the bossy boots

The harpy at the meeting table

Unreasonable and unnatural 

So I learnt to bite my tongue

And win the battle in other ways

Using guile and cunning,

It doesn't suit my impatience 

But I had to choose when to fight

To win the war and not be forced 

To play the rules that disadvantaged me. 

Yet deep down I feel like I've let 

Other women and myself down! 

Why shouldn't my words be weighed

By their merit rather than by my gender? 

A poem a day - Day 79-90

Day 79

Lorraine

My dearest friend 

Who I don't see enough

Who I forget to tell enough

How important she is to me

How loved and respected. 

Lorraine,

Pottery in jolly colours and shapes

Made by her gifted hands,

Mugs of warming, soothing tea 

Buckets of healing laughter, 

Walking Ollie the dog in Scottish countryside

As Ben runs on ahead 

as creative and caring as his Mum,

Shopping for trinkets and the unusual

Gossip and dreaming shared over 

A pint or coffee and cake,

All the small things that mean so much

Shared with my friend, bring me joy! 

80

I stoop towards the flowers

Secreters poised, ready to snip

I rummage amongst the pale green blades

Of leaves, searching for the base of a stem

When suddenly

Pounce! 

A cat leaps Out at me,  

eyes flashing emerald in the sun

The soft grey panther disturbed from her lair

Stalks off across the lawn, tail high.

81

Pain

Jagged white 

Barbed wire tight

Digging into my wrist

And waking me at night

At other times

Gun metal grey ache

Keeping me awake

Not letting me knit

Or forget about it.

Pain please go away!    

82

Head spinning

Heart racing

I'm not pacing

My work load 

Event organising

Stress rising

Ministers, MPs

Other local dignitaries

Meeting points, ETAs

Bus panel overlays

Press release and twitter feed

Developments rocket at light speed

The world and it's dog all have their say

But, wait, stop take a deep breath

It will all be over by this Friday

82

Bitchiness

Words 

clatter 

fragments

spilled 

carelessly

Mind you don't cut yourself

On that throw away remark,

As it lies in shards on the floor. 

Traps set

hidden meanings

in every turn of phrase

every compliment 

hides a trip wire

every syllable a bullet

trajectory well planned

I'm too old and too tired

for this kind of battle

plus when I put my mind to it I always win, 

which is actually quite boring. 

83

Ribbon

Green silk slithers

Through my fingers

Discarded from a present 

Snaffled by me

For my magpie collection

Of haberdashery. 

84

4AM stillness in Kings Cross

Just as London briefly pauses 

A blackbird flourishes his song

Lifting my spirits across the rooftops.

Not woken by the singing but by pain

Aching like the grey dawn bleeding 

Through the night sky, glimpsed 

Through hotel curtains that don't quite meet.

Watching light quicken as traffic trickles 

Back on to the roads surrounding, 

Rumbling trains and nearby buses

Are felt even up here in the eves of this hotel. 

The day's activities are still before me

But right now, wrapped in this duvet

There is just me, the rooftops 

And the blackbird's sparkling song. 

85

Restless

Time scraping

Dragging raggedly,

My consciousness

Uncomfortable 

Insomnia stretching

Ahead of me 

Through the darkest hour

Into the greying 

Last breath of night,

Day laps towards me

Soft and foggy

Only now wrapping

Me back to sleep.

 

86

Don't forget that the clocks spring forward by an hour tonight

Losing some sleep is the price we pay

For an extra hour in the evening of light 

And making the most of the lengthening days!

87

Long lazy Sunday

Sun slanting through glass

Casting a triptych in light

Across the living room floor.

Cats laze, 

their snoozing snuffles soothing me

As I read Stephen King on my kindle.

Outside a salmon pink tulip,

The first of the year,

Gradually unfurls it's pale petals

Exposing its dramatic heart

Of crimson and black. 

88

In 4 days time I turn 40 

Causing me to pause 

And look back

At the many places I have lived

11 houses, 3 flats and 1 static caravan

I've been surrounded by trees

Enthralled in the city,

On a hill looking down, 

In the flat, big-sky, arable land

And I've lived at the seaside. 

I still don't know where is home

As the years pass it seems to matter less

Home is where I want it to be

Right here or a million miles away

Home is more a feeling than a place

It's a sense of comfort and of rest.  

89

The surgery

Anxious people sit and wait uncomfortably

Sighing and shifting and looking at their feet

Or the brown speckled carpet, 

That Drs voice, the booming one

Reaches us muffled but forceful 

From the room downstairs

Like a father lecturing his kids

None of us speak. The patients.

Heads bowed, eyes low

Waiting to be summoned. 

  

90

Soft wedding dress gauze

Veils the morning sun

Against a sky of pastel peach

Saharan sand suspended in air

Brings ethereal beauty

Mellow mists and air pollution. 

A poem a day - 77 and 78

77

Fuzzy Velcro mind 

Thoughts sticking and knitting close

Forming bright new dreams

78

Budget day blues

I hated the budget when I was wee

It totally messed up children's TV

All kids programmes would be cancelled for a day

So Nigel Lawson could chunter away 

About tax on tobacco and tax on beer

None of which filled my parents with cheer

Now I'm grown up the budget still fills me with rage

Same old politicians strutting about on their stage

Doing nothing to help those who are in real need

Just pushing an agenda of selfishness and greed. 

A Poem a day - day 69 to 76

69

Ruby force of life

Blooms brightly out from my palm:

Freed by accident 

70

Morning 

Slow train crawl, then trundles to a halt 

Hemmed in on either side, by

Bright graffiti sprayed walls

Above us insipid sky

 Evening 

Train rockets along at speed

Through pastel spring sunset

Taking weary travellers home 

To replenishment and rest. 

71

Hidden from view

Silently churning the fog

Hated by some 

But today there is no view

For the turbines to interrupt

I love theses space age wind mills

Elegant aliens milling electricity 

No longer wheat. 

72

Tendrils of mist lift skywards

Like these minutes spinning away from me

As I sit in this conference room,

Through the gauze covered windows

The sky clarifies and solidifies 

As the sun sucks up the fog

But in here our thoughts remain opaque

Rubbed smooth and blurred

By the presentations, key note address

And a feedback session stretching on forever. 

At lunch time I escape 

To a day gleaming like new healed skin

There's a shininess and shimmer to the roundabout

That I sit by, sipping a latte

As drills gurgle from building sites 

London is in a hurry 

But the conference room I'll return to

Will gently snooze through the afternoon

Wrapped in the duvet of grey corporate fluff.

73

Grey cloud,

Fog,

Papery sun

Glimpsed through mist

A day of soft edges

Slow moving thoughts

And stillness. 

  

74

Robin

Perched on the highest branch

Red feathers blazing in the sun

To me his song is a chilly lament 

A melancholy remembrance 

Of lonely long ago winters

Breathtakingly beautiful

But to other robins his vocal acrobatics

Are like a football hooligans chant

A thugs shouted taunts

A landowners growling threat

"You're not welcome round here!

Get off my land!

Stay away from my woman!" 

75

The edge of the flood plane

Sloping sunlight slices through the trees

Their dead leaves rattle, brittle fingers wagging

The land ahead of us has been churned by machine

Made ugly with tracks cut deep in grey mud

What was once verdant now looks desolate

Scrubbed empty by flood waters before the digger arrived. 

76

The empty house relaxes into its self

Walls creaking softly as the heating clucks,

In the kitchen the fridge grumbles 

And the clocks tick slightly out of time. 

I feel the space around me expand

As these quiet usually unnoticed sounds

Fill the space and flourish. 

 

First frappe of the year

Its so lovely and sunny today I've had my first frappe of the year with a mocha frappe from the Surfin Cafe in Biggleswade. Mmmm 

Garden 9th March 2014

Garden 9th March 2014, a set on Flickr.

I've been gardening today in the beautiful sunshine. Apparently it was 20C in London and Kent today. Felt about 18 today in Biggleswade though hotter in the sun. I was mainly planting primroses and pansies today and enjoying my crocuses. The cats as always wanted to help :-)

A poem a day - 64 to 68

64

Human League on my iPod

Zooming synth rockets me back

To my 80s childhood 

Endless yellow edged summers

Like the old photographs

Me in pastel dresses

With ribbons in my hair

deep snow drift winters

Always outside, all weathers

Climbing trees, riding bikes

Running everywhere 

Never time to walk

Time measured in seasons

Tadpole season, conker season

Term time and holidays

Piano practice and Sunday school

Seems so long ago and just like yesterday. 

65

"Old steam train passing"

The train driver told us

Over the PA

We craned our necks 

Expecting what?

Big shiny engine

Chugging out billowy clouds?

Sooty kerchiefed engineers 

Waving from the foot plate?

Dragons nesting in the fire

As more coal was furiously shovelled in?

Or just a rather small steam train

Followed by ornate carriage

Looking lonely on the track

As we rocketed past. 

66

Gathering in the night

The sky folds in on its self 

Revealing a planet

Hanging like a hot air balloon

Waiting, watching a never blinking eye

Of my alien nightmare

Recurring but shifting in nature

Always feeling the same

Wonder and terror in equal measure. 

67

A confection of blossom 

Frothing effortless fecundity

A smothering of bees

And the honey sweet scent drips

Bewitching passers by to stop

Admire your brazenness 

Take pictures of you against

Deep blue sky and marvel

At your delicate, 

Gone in a weekend beauty. 

Flirt 

68

I'm accompanied on my walk by

The larks tinkling feedback loop

Punctuated by the chirps and whistles

Of field birds unknown to me

Then out of nowhere the keen of a gull

Far from the sea but still speaking of it

Lifting my spirits like the white horse surf

Until a grumpy crow gets heavy 

With gruff growling caw caws

Seeing off the gull back to his sea, 

As I turn down the lane I enter garden-bird-land

The blackbird gossips and the bluetits giggle 

From roof tops and blossom trees

Gardens buzzing with bird talk and song

And deep in the hedge a wood pigeon grumbles

That it won't be long until the return of the swifts. 

A poem a day - 62 and 63

Day 62

Bulbs

Emerging 

from soft 

winter beds

green fragile 

fronds feather

towards the light

papery petals 

soaked in 

newborn wetness 

arrive 

violent lips 

framing 

dark mouths 

crying their arrival

demanding attention: 

Look at me! 

Day 63

My mind is like an attic 

An exciting attic of childhood adventures

Old chests brimming with costume,

Button boxes, a dress makers dummy

Draped in exotic cloth,

An old Hong Kong paper parasol 

Eclectic, well loved treasures 

I can simply wear or parade about in

But sometimes this attic feels like a hoarders den

Stuffed to the rafters with bus receipts 

Strewn carrier bags orange and blue

Filled with resentment and resignation

Empty crisp bags rattle with boredom 

I drown amongst the detritus of my life

Swamped in frustration

Worst of all is the nightmare attic

Cobwebs drift, corners shift with shadows

Dust chokes thick as smoke

Rats scurry startling me 

sharp teeth bright eyes

Gleaming through the gloom

As something creaks back and forth

Wheezing out of view. 

I'm trying to redevelop 

Revamp and renovate

Create a space I'm happy in

Full of light slanting 

Cutting through the dust

Turning what was once scary

Into golden shining motes

Cobweb corners into pristine patterns

Of fascination and wonder

Serenity and peace. 

Pancake day happiness

Today Jase made me scotch pancakes for pancake day. As I wasn't expecting them they were a lovely surprise. So I'm including them in my #100happydays challenge! 

100 days of happiness challenge

So it's apparently "an internet craze" to take a photo of something that makes you happy every day for 100 days. I like a challenge and one that helps me seek out the positive in each day. I'll be posting my pictures to twitter but I'll also post some on my blog too. You can find out more and join in here

Anyway here's my positive happy picture for today and the story behind it:

It's a photo of some purple crocuses growing in a plastic pot in my garden. I'm also growing some crocuses in a lovely pottery bowl by my kitchen door but they aren't even in bud yet. I kept thinking - when are these crocuses going to flower? I hadn't even noticed that my plastic pot of crocuses at the back of the garden near the garage were in flower! I noticed them at last today! So the plastic pot is now in pride of place by the kitchen door!

 

 

Posted with Blogsy

A poem a day - Day 61

Stormy Night

Scrabble of rain drops on glass

As the night wraps our house 

And all those around us 

In its glistening blackness

Like polished obsidian.  

Our town's lights glimmer

Through this boisterous night

A welcome sight for travellers 

Creeping along the great north road

As they've done since Roman times. 

    

Roads are slick, paths treacherous

This is a night for highwaymen phantoms 

Ghostly horses with headless riders

And spooky tales by firelight

To thrill and reassure.

So settle in for the evening 

With cat purring on your lap

And tell tall tales 'til bed time,

Then tuck yourself in

for a long dream filled night! 

A poem a day -

Day 57

Sun light blanches my view

Turns scrubby Bedfordshire fields

Into a savannah of beige and tan

Exotic, but the only lions are our pet cats.

Last night when an icy darkness

Slunk over this land, we heard foxes calling 

To one another back and forth 

These aren't urban foxes scavenging by bins

These are mysterious sleek coated creatures

Wary and wily hunting for rabbit and hare.

Day 58

Golden stars bobbing

Amongst slender green daggers, 

Big brutal, spring blooms. 

Day 59

It takes a little while for my eyes to adjust 

And for my ears to get used to the night time

The faintest shush of distant traffic 

The reedy call of an unknown pond bird, 

My gaze is fixed on the north, then

A rolling ribbon of light unravels along the horizon

No real colour to it, just faintest yellowish, whitish, green

But as I spot the aurora borealis the fox sings out

As if greeting the northern lights, telling his mate of their arrival

She barks back excitedly until the whisper of an aurora is over.  

I've seen the northern lights twice before

In Yorkshire utterly unexpected 

We did not know what we saw! 

Then in Canada staged amidst mountains 

To a backdrop sequinned with stars

And a wandering comet 

I couldn't have asked for more!

Biting cold but warmed by whisky

Standing with my head thrown back 

Until my neck became sore with watching the lights

Weaving through the sky, wonder, mystery and delight! 

Day 60

The black dog

Blasted black dog

Bothering Churchill

Bothering me 

And 1 in 4 of us*

(*At some point in our lives)

Growling grizzly beast 

Slobbering with anxiety

Embodying depression 

Looming into view 

Even on the brightest of days

Worrying my thoughts like sheep 

Unwelcome companion 

Untrainable, feral  

Haunting hound of legend

Black shuck bounding 

Unstoppable into my life 

Savaging me and those I love.   

Images of Edinburgh

After a long weekend away in Edinburgh here are some of the photos from my mobile phone. 

View from the train window of the coastline near Berwick. 

Our room in the Balmoral hotel came with the statue of an eagle. 

The Balmoral hotel where we stayed, with its destinctive clock tower. The clock  is always 2 minutes fast as sitting above Waverly train station it helps you get to the station on time. 

 

The hotel has a whisky bar which is very cosy. We tried 3 different single malts all delicious in different ways. 

In St Andrews square there's an art installation called Field of Light which we walked around. It was very beautiful. 

A poem a day - Day 56

My mind is a blank,

Well actually, it feels bobbly 

Like the inside of a well used handbag

Or a pocket full of fluff,

The detritus of life, shapeless, voluminous

Just gathering and gathering 

Inside my head. 

A week of poems - Day 48 - 55

Day 48

Rain flickers across

my face, tiny tongues of ice

darting through darkness. 

Day 49

I went to Barbican today

It made me sad;

All that concrete, concrete and glass

Dull thudding buildings bruise the skyline, 

The blank deceptive windows

Throw back at us a leaden sky

Petrol stench from the mouth of a car park

Cement tunnels echoing with

The guttural throat clearing of engines

And ghouls in suits lurked 

Sheltering from the rain 

Hands cupped like claws around cigarettes.

This is a migraine place 

Somewhere I don't want to be. 

Day 50

Snapshots from yesterday

Blood like gleaming garnets 

Oozing into a syringe 

Then topped and bagged 

Off to a science lab. 

A sterile cubicle one side glass

Like a lidless eye

I face and stare at the wall

Answering questions over the phone. 

A windowless meeting

In the basement 

Raised voices including my own

Fills me with irritation. 

A train journey home

Racing into the night

Soon I'll be on holiday 

Escaping to Scotland. 

Day 51

England speeds by my window

Mud troubled fields unploughed 

Still choked by flood dregs

Looking Like the wastes of Mordor.

As we cut a dash to the north

The fields become mossy green

Skies brightest blue, looking

Like the set of the teletubbies.

Spindle trees throw brain shapes

Soon we'll pass the jagged cliffs

Of the northeast and the writhing sea

Viking stalked and sparkling.

Heading north of the wall. 

Day 52

Fresh washed streets glimmer

Under a rinsed clean blue sky;

Edinburgh morning

Day 53

Like a lighting strike 

Spider web filaments 

Splinter out in front of me

In the indigo dusk of Edinburgh

Magical globes in ethereal waves

Of colour wash over the square. 

Elsewhere the city waits, poised 

To unfurl like a night flower

Etched with veins, cobbles and close

Winding streets steep and treacherous

Silent places where mists rise

Lights welcome from an inn window

Where hens and stags carouse 

Rubbing shoulders with the ghosts of Auld Reekie 

  

Day 54

The sun shines on the last weeks of winter

Where everything looks at its deadest

Waiting to spring back to life. 

Speeding home with a heavy heart 

Back to work filled with frustrations

That previously weren't there

Why can't good things stay the same? 

But the seasons turn 

And situations unravel

To be woven again anew

If I don't like the pattern I do have a choice

Unpick it or simply walk away. 

There is always an option.

Day 55

Haunted Edinburgh

Under these cobbles 

beneath my boot heels 

something sinister stirs.

Below the old town, 

that crowds with histories 

competing for the award for

most mysterious and most macabre,

echo the cavernous vaults,

buried closes of underground dwellings, 

once lived in by beggars and thieves,

As we walk in the day light 

beneath us still saunter the

beings of the subterranean town:

out of work actors leading round tourists

students dressed up as ghouls and hags

paid to leap out at the gullible and excitable

to dangle a cobweb 

or flash the silk red 

of the inside of a cloak. 

The crystal white sound of water dripping 

rings out through the blackness

a darkness thicker than a course woollen blanket.

The pretend spook waits 

watching for the torch light 

to throw jagged shadows 

down the vault in front of him,

heralding the tourists approach.

He glances and spies a little light flicker,

splinter across the damp stone, 

but it's not of the torch light 

of his colleague getting closer

but something green

phosphorescence 

unnaturally glowing, 

creeping towards him

like a hand reaching out

with slithering fingers 

scratching, scraping,

pincering for him. 

When the tourists hear his hideous scream

they think it's all part of the show. 

A poem a day - Day 47

Rising above 

The rattle of dead leaves 

In an absent minded breeze

Unsettling sound in the stillness 

Then overhead suddenly

White wings wink 

against a lapis lazuli sky

And the mood is lifted  

By the swoop of feathers,

A different bird to the usual buzzard

Who hovers keen eyes glinting 

Circling, seeking out the slightest rustle

Competing with our cats for the fields' rodents, 

No sign of the raptor today 

Just acres of sky mirrored in waterlogged fields

All is safe for the mice and me. 

  

I forge on across the land 

Leading to crouched farm buildings, 

Alone on the edge of the world

Earth and water slide into one

Strange bird calls vibrate along power lines

As the pylon quakes in the sun

I listen to its electric hiss. 

Sun light blanches

I reach into it 

Stretching 

Climbing

Photon by photon

Disappearing 

Into the ultra violet

Only I can see. 

That's the crux of the matter

The knot that's been pulling 

I can unpick its thread

Here and now

Unravel it fully

And if I want to 

Start again

Regardless 

And In spite of what others have said. 

I pick my way back towards home

Boots sinking into soft sodden earth

No one else knows what this feels like to me

No one else sees the water's glint as I do

And I do not taste this cold air like the hare does

As she leaps across the ploughed ridges,

Also making her way home. 

London afternoon

Today I met up with my friends Ruth and Rachel in London and we had a lovely time pottering along the south bank, Borough Market and had a lovely lunch. The view below is from the Puzza Express where we had lunch looking over the Thames when the sun came out. 

We popped into Foyles at the Royal Festival Hall and I bought a couple of poetry books. It's so long since I've bought any poetry. Since I've been writing every day I've really wanted to read some new poetry. I don't know why I ever stopped. Reading and writing poetry has been something I loved from about age 13 until I was about 30 and then I just stopped. I'm so pleased I've rekindled that love of poetry. I've not only been reading new poetry but revisiting old favourites like Sylvia Plath, Simon Armitage, Grace Nichollls, Wilfred Owen, and many more. 

When I got home this evening the sun was setting over the market square so I quickly snapped a picture of it. 

A poem a Day - Day 46

The storm

Last night the house felt like a boat

Rocking on a wild ocean of wind ravaged fields

Our home sounded like a flimsy wooden craft 

Creaking and straining, lurching against a tide

Ripped into a frenzy by a gleaming full moon

Filled with cold indifference to our plight.  

A poem a Day - Day 42 - 45

Mission to Mars

Stretching across space 

Filling the emptiness with intention

Pushing away from all that's familiar

Cosy sun closing in on its self

Weaker and further away from the light

A vacuum of coldness of absence of feeling

A pioneer into the fear of what I'll uncover

My own loneliness and boredom I've already quantified

Measured over and over and over again

But this distance is painful, difficult and alien

I must forge on to reach you

Bring you closer and comfort you

But it's never that easy; 

It's like a mission to Mars.    

A day in colour

Blue black of wings scurry skywards

Soaring over a soggy field.

Fluorescent lollypop lady trudges to her sentry post

Her smile not yet fixed on her face. 

Dark umbrellas inverted by the wind

Flap above heads like ragged birds. 

Tacky red hearts litter shop windows

That were previously colourless and blank.

Comfy blue sweater wraps a man from the Valleys

Talking about transport in a meeting room.

Grey of the tube station hurtles into black

Speeding noisily beneath the city.

I wield my white cane, get out of my way,

Through the crowds and the crush.

Sky drained of rain sprinkled with gold clouds

Float In fathomless blue.

Mauve dusk settles over the suburbs

Tucking us in for the night. 

Konditor and Cook Cake Shop

How I love cake! 

Sumptuous sponge frothing with frosting 

Lemon chiffon silky and zingy

Soft soft chocolate swathed in vanilla

Icing shimmering, sticky and sweet

Victoria sandwiches middles squishing

A muddle of cup cakes too many to choose

A heaven of baked goodness in the heart of the city

And don't worry if you don't live near to their

Emporium of indulgence

They have a cake hotline and they're online!    

Outside the outsiders 

Sadness seeps like the rain water 

Dripping from our coats and bags

Beer and spirits rest in their glasses

A circle unspirals as the conversation 

Skirts round and round like a bird of prey

Hovering but never diving for the kill. 

Am I too old? Too needy for this gathering?

Thinking too hard when no one else does?

I do seem to have the capacity to always 

Feel the outsider even in the company 

Of outcasts and pariahs to whom I'm sent scurrying 

By those who belong.  

A poem a day - day 41

Hormone imbalance 

I feel fragile today

Papery, opaque like an honesty seed head

Shimmery tissue, flimsy, silvery white

I seem to have no substance, just skeletal slender

Housed within a body of shadow and fog

The world around me is out of kilter

All sharp edges and jagged corners 

Hard bright light and clashing sound 

I lurch through the day queasy, uneasy

Wanting to curl myself up away from it all. 

Flooding

We're lucky that the winter storms haven't really been too bad for us. Part of our neighbours roof came down in the storm before Christmas Eve. But otherwise it's just been a bit of a nuisance that it's been so wet and windy. 

In a break between showers on Saturday I went for a walk near our house and discovered the small stream had bust it banks. 

The stream is fed mainly by run off from the farmer's field and flows into a deep pond in one direction and eventually the Ivel river in the other direction. In the summer it sometimes resembles nothing more than a trickling stream. But at the moment it's a small river. 

The flooding wasn't very deep. I could wade through in my willies but at one point it was almost up to the top of my boots. In the photo above you can see it's very close to our housing estate. 

There wasn't much flooding elsewhere so I don't think it's particularly serious and the stream is clearly doing its job as the farmer's fields are free from standing water. 

Below is a photo of some of the berries bringing colour to the garden at the moment as I wait for my bulbs to flower.