By Her Side

Carry forth on angel wings the needs I bring before you,

By light, your dynasty, to her provide,

Make feather-light her troubles and her sorrows,

I need you now to be close by her side.

In absence of my presence be her friend there,

Envelop her in love and bring her ease,

Cushion soft her blows, I need this from you,

Expectant faith I have so hear my pleas.

Shelter her from more of life’s hard taskings,

Enough is more than anyone can bear,

Be near her now and comfort, hug her closely,

Hold her gaze and let her see me there.

Light upon her, give her joy, I’m asking,

Tenderness where lack has been long gone,

Carry forth on angel wings the needs I bring before you,

Be her strength for me till she’s made strong.


Distant Voices

Almost there now

In the unbegotten,

A time or two

Should see to history,

Nearly over

Voices vague, forgotten,

 A spell or two,

Absent magic, invisibility.

Lessons learned there,

Uncertainly remembered,

Mistakes repeat,

Repeat, repeat, forget,

Hold the moments,

Abstinence to treasure,

Voices distant

Not quite unforgotten yet.

Cloaked Hearts

Last night, her truth revealed to me,

Her pride and self-possession,

Protective, panacea’d cloak,

For me, a timely lesson.

Neglect of her in such belief

That she was self-sufficient,

My mistake, ignored the signs,

No self is so omniscient.

Twas in a dream I saw the life

Of one I love, still dear,

To nurture this relationship

Must needs to keep her near,

As near and dear as blood can be

While distance tears apart,

Though just a dream, I see torn seams

Rending many hearts.

Strange the way a dream returns

In moments least expected

While water flows and cleanses clear

The mind has recollected

Mem’ries fond, from time beyond,

When girls held childhood toys,

When sharing all held joyful angst

And secrets told of boys.

In witches’ tales, stories regaled,

Imaginations shared,

Troubles halved, the tears, the laughs,

Two different yet ensnared.

Days now gone and men replace

The boys that we once knew,

The fashions, styles, so varied then

In the years that breached we two.

But holding on to all we had

This promise to correct,

The lion roars but in her roar

Is softest heart so few suspect.

The yellow road is paved so clear,

And ruby are the shoes,

We witches, by default, hand dealt,

To home, hearts’ feet pursue.

More similar now than then perhaps,

Bi-faulted in our ways,  

Separated by our years

Amid weathered changes to our days.

Storms arise and dreams reveal

What mind in day may lack,

Self-possession, pride, by two, 

Cloaked hearts feel own way back.


On The Wing

Freedom’s just another word for floating on the breeze,

A flightless bird that’s found its song and wings,

A carousel suspended in current’s twirling ease,

Carousing, fulsome-throated as it sings.

Flight, another fantasy, for rising in the air,

Above the noise and fracking far below,

Penchant of the pensive and all dreamers everywhere,

New direction for a world that spins too slow.

Upwards is a preference as onwards to the wind,

Uninhibited, unleashed, euphoric verve,

Harmonious high in helium’d mind,

Flight of visions distant, sought by nerve.

Evolving Seed


New earthbound dream,  

Nothing quite as it would seem,

No one seen quite who they are,

Virtual reason, virtual stars,

Pictures painted,

Landscapes viewed,

Ungestured words believed, imbued,

Compelling world of make-believe,

Open, honest or deceive.

Venture where

Once footsteps trod,

Meet your nemesis or your god,

Faith in all enacted there,

Hidden ascension excluding stair.

No eyes to search

Nor touch convey

Friend or enemy, predator or prey.

World where judgement matters most,

Five senses voided, sooner lost.

Uploaded sixth,

Evolving seed,

Certified at point of need.

Embrace, escape, first sanctify

With power disclosed from inner eye.

Connect the bytes,

The matrix really,

See the feel, virtually.

May Music, Day 13 – Never forgotten

The only person that fits the category of ‘former friend’ according to my initial understanding of Twindaddy’s 13th question in the 25 day music challenge is one I choose not to remember, except to say:

Pernicious she was,

Vampiric bleeder of souls.

Better in the past.

I’ll take it instead to mean friends I’ve lost touch with for one reason or another. I still think fondly of them and know it would be like picking up where we left off should we meet again. Those people I consider as friends are never lost to my affections. One, in particular, I hope to catch up with in the fairly near future, all things going well.

For all friends that I may have lost touch with, because life takes us different places, I think of James Taylor with ‘You’ve Got A Friend’.


May Music, Day 6 – Best Friend

I saw my best friend at a bus station on the way to college for enrolment. We got on the same bus, each eyeing the other as if we had met before. When we both headed for the same place I made a point of speaking to her. I was 17 then. She has been and continues to be, a wonderful friend. The song I most associate with her is ‘Tapestry’ by Carole King. She too was a product of older siblings’ taste in music. And Nancy could sing this one beautifully. So, when Twindaddy asked which song we associated with our best friend, this one seemed perfect because that’s kind of what our life has been. I like to think that we all know that friendship.


We met before we met, I’m sure

you’ve met her,

checkpoint on the road I call my living.

Encountered once, you will

not forget her,

our threads are woven closely, stitched by giving.

 Like telepaths, we know when we are needed,

for friendship’s sake

we call and we are there.

One glimpse, one word was all it took

to feel it,

surprising meeting; starting with a stare.

 We must have known that time

would be a stranger,

in early days when talk was fast and true.

Chosen paths mean

frequency no longer

but still our hearts are bound and so pursue

 the knowing of the girl into the woman,


still held so very dear.

We met before we met, I’m sure

you’ve met her –

A friend of worth, inside, is always near.




Round In Circles

I don’t really have any right to accept the Liebster Award because my followers exceed 200. Yay! But, I haven’t followed the rules with these awards for quite some time. So I’m not going back in time to the early days of blogging to abide by every rule. Once I’ve broken a rule I quite like pushing to see how far I can go. I had a tame teenage life so I have to rebel now…and again.

Lovely Hillary at ‘‘Why Is There Bread In My Kool-Aid?’’ (fab title, eh? I’ll let you check out why), thinks I deserve it. So, given that I spent my earliest years and so many in between thinking I didn’t deserve things, I’m accepting it.

Now that makes it sound like I didn’t get things or was a bit sad about what I thought I did/ didn’t deserve. But it’s not like that at all. Like so many of my generation, it was indeed a different world back then. Less was more. And expectations were limited to what you believed possible. Money was that thing dad gave mum, mum managed and was spent on rent and food and stuff that kept the homefires burning. It was for camping holidays or the odd B&B. Most of those wouldn’t take a clan at one sitting so camping it was. It was for Christmas and birthday presents, essentially, of my mum’s choosing. And I was always pleasantly surprised.

Except one year when I got a pair of ball-bearing skipping ropes and a bag of pick ‘n’ mix. This is what occasionally happens when your birthday is in January.

What I really wanted was what my sister had received in October. A silver sharpener. I kid you not. One with two holes that took all sizes of pencils. I don’t know what else she received that year. I just couldn’t see past that sharpener. God help me, I’ve been fixated on stationery all my life. Very sad I know. But I just love those shops. I get quite moist and excited going into Paperchase or WH Smith or the aisles in the supermarket devoted to such. My kids go mental when I start browsing there. I love it. Like book shops. I go a bit dreamy eyed and cross-eyed in those too.

I don’t know if it’s because of that silver sharpener or not. That would probably require more psychoanalytical skills than I possess. And maybe a bit of hypnotic regressive therapy. But I like those two little addictions. Who am I gonna hurt with books and sharpeners, eh?

I’m in heaven now in my own little home office. Where I get to have my bits and pieces around me. Staple and staplers, index cards and labels. Lots of paper. I know. I might be quite anal, actually. Except that I don’t necessarily use them. I just quite like having them. Except the paper. I use reams of that stuff. I still love the feel of a pen on paper. It’s mesmerising to me. Sends me off on one. Even just doodling.

Now why am I blethering on about crap like this?

Well, god knows really. Except that having less meant making more of what you did have. So I read. A lot. A lot, a lot. Like all the time. So much so that my mum said I wasn’t an ordinary child, ‘for the love of Jesus go out to play.’ Well, that was ok sometimes. Like playing ‘kick the can’ or hide and seek. Or rounders. But the best times were when dad took us on forays on a Sunday, out to the country. Which was local then. Now it’s built up so much that he wouldn’t recognise it. My granda would have kittens at what they’ve done to the greenbelt. I’m having kittens at what they’ve done to the greenbelt. Despite protests.

When dad was there I was safe. ‘Cos there were big scary bastards out playing with us. And some wee ones I was terrified of too. All age groups mingled. And some of them swore. Seriously, they did. They used bad words that offended my ears. And I was a crapper. My wee sister learned to say, ‘fuck off’ quite early. And therein lay her courage and brave shadow that I could hide behind. Cowering. In case there were monsters. That’s what happens when you read too much and your imagination is allowed to go into overdrive. Monsters everywhere.

I got better when I learned how to swear. Seriously, I was about 14 or so. My eldest brother winded my sister – the brave one. And I called him a, ‘Bbbbbbbaaaaassssttttaaaarrrddd’. That’s how long it took me to force it out between my lips. He was gobsmacked! It was wonderful. He even tried to get back on my good side and ask me not to tell mum about it. He knew he had crossed the boundary when I actually swore at him. How liberating.

I didn’t take to it like a duck to water or anything. I kept it for what my brother liked to call ‘special occasions’. He was usually the recipient.

Now I’m somewhat more liberal in my use of expletives. I got to realise that they’re words. Just words. But some words have more power than others. Depending on who, when, why, what.

And this brings me back right round. I do usually get there in the end.

Words. I love them. More than anything they make me gaga. More than staples and paper. Yes, even more than paper. Which I just love. Have you felt the quality of some of that stuff?

And ‘words’ is where the Liebster Award comes in. It’s where I came in nine months ago. To WordPress. When I fired a few posts out. Well, a lot actually. I had found something, somewhere to talk where, even if people told me to shut up, I could just put my fingers in my ears and go, ‘la,la,la,la,la.’

Sooo, yes…talking a lot. That would be from the quiet child over there who couldn’t say, ‘fuck’ once upon a book ago.

What I really want to say is thank you. It’s not a year that I’ve been here. But it also feels like a really short life-time. Thank you to those of you who read my meanderings and poems that start off one way and finish up another. Thank you for commenting. Thanks for sharing your mind with me. For opening up and not being the big scary bastards I might have once thought bloggers were. And who knew what blogging was anyway? Not me, for sure.

I’m not going to answer any questions for a couple of reasons. One, I’m not entitled to this award. And two, if you really want to know just ask and I’ll tell you.

These are the questions I will answer if you really want to know. Or you can ask me anything else. And I might answer.

Questions from Hillary to me:-

1. What’s your favorite genre to read?

2. When you write do you require silence or can you have “life” happen around you?

3. Do your friends and family know you blog?

4. Have you been published?

5. Are you an introvert or an extrovert?

6. When you are writing, does it swallow you up or do you allow yourself to be interrupted constantly?

7. What program do you write in?

8. What has been your least favorite job?

9. What has been your most favorite job?

10. What brings you the most peace and contentment?

11.  What makes you snort with laughter?

Nominees. Now this I’m going to do. For some reason people are very backward at coming forward when you say, ‘Grab!’ So, here are the ones I’ve discovered fairly recently through links to other people I follow. A funny mummy It only takes Google translate to use words across the world. photography and a few rants that I can’t help smile at even while sympathising with the reasoning.  Gorgeous poetry.

I have no idea except for the first whether these blogs ‘qualify’ for the award based on numbers. But I figure they deserve note. And when else am I gonna walk on the wild side where I can break a few rules?

If you want to follow the rules here they are. Good at passing on the rules, you see. Might speak volumes that. 😉


  • 1. Thank the blogger who nominated you:
  • 2. Answer the 11 questions given to you
  • 3. Nominate 11 other blogs
  • 4. Post 11 questions for your nominees to answer
  • 5.Tag your nominees & post a comment on their blog to let them know you nominated them

new-leibster So, thank you, Hillary for the thought and the award. Thanks to all of you. Many, many thanks for letting me bend your lugs. 😉 x

P.S. To all you lovely people who have nominated me for other awards I hope I have remembered to thank you individually and not missed anyone out. I just don’t always do a post on them unless it comes up my humph. And it did tonight. I still appreciate them so much. But if I followed all the rules I’d never write anything else. And I just can’t do that. Love to all who show their caring in this way. And thank you.x


I never felt it coming;

Spectral form seeping through

And into,

Wisping and mingling

With my air.

Breathless seductions


Inhaled to mix with my blood;

Cells cleaving,

Time transfigured.


I never heard him leave.

He glided through the door


My sigh at his parting

Louder than

The soughing air

Around his form.

He melted into nothingness

But left with my heart.

I never saw it leaving.


I never sensed such silence;

Void without his voice,

No beat from a heart.