Reena Saxena

The phone buzzes… someone wants to check on my well-being.

I switch off social media notifications. The frequency is higher than normal.

I like seeing the well-dressed news reporters on television. There’s a normal life out there somewhere – people dressing up for work, interacting, going live …

I say my gratitude for the internet being on. I wouldn’t know what to do without it.

I like the recorded voice on Google Home. It responds to what I say, and gives status updates if the internet is not connected.

there’s human presence
everywhere – our thoughts connect
guess I’m still alive

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The Garden of Lost Memories by Ruby Hummingbird @HummingbirdRuby @bookouture #BlogTour #Extract #NewRelease


Firstly I wish to thank Sarah Hardy, representing Bookouture for inviting me on the Blog Tour for The Garden of Lost Memories by Ruby Hummingbird.

The Garden of Lost Memories: A heartbreaking page turner about learning to love and remembering to live by [Hummingbird, Ruby]


Just because you feel ordinary doesn’t mean you aren’t extraordinary to someone else.

Sixty-two-year-old Elsie knows what she likes. Custard creams at four o’clock, jigsaw puzzles with a thousand pieces, her ivy-covered, lavender-scented garden.

Ten-year-old Billy would rather spend his Saturdays kicking a ball, or watching TV, or anything really, other than being babysat by his grumpy neighbour Elsie and being force fed custard creams.

If it was up to them, they’d have nothing to do with each other. Unfortunately, you can’t choose who you live next door to.

But there is always more to people than meets the eye…

Elsie doesn’t know that Billy’s afraid to go to school now, or why his mother woke him up in the middle of the…

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Bay Watch

Peacock Poetry

Bay Watch

Prior to one of the inner leadership retreats that I attended, Android and I enjoyed five days by the sea in Sitges. It was a really relaxing break and we were fortunate to be located near to a locals beach which was practically deserted one morning due to an imminent storm. In the prelude to the heavens opening, we took refuge in the crook of the bay and I penned the following lines.

New Waves

The waves expand like giant hands

that gesture me to open

They spread across the burnt-brown sand

and chant, you’re here, you’re coping

My thoughts drift out, it’s all about

the sounds of intuition

Do more of what feels good, no doubt

the sea’s wise to my mission

I feel attuned, it’s opportune

The sun should hide this morning

We’re sheltered in the bay’s half moon

More gratitude is dawning

For sure the…

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Reena Saxena

It’s a landmark day in my life. I decide that others’ opinions on my existence do not matter.

I see moving lips around me, voicing disapproval, but I go about doing my work with determinate ease. Those expressions are not very pleasant, but it is about them, not me. I don’t feel a need to react.

There is unusual silence both inside and outside – all noise has disappeared.

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Jonah, on #LisaBurtonRadio

Entertaining Stories

Lisa Burton

Welcome to another edition of Lisa Burton Radio. I’m your host, Lisa the robot girl, and I’m excited to be on the air in this time of national crisis.

Many of us are sequestered away right now, and that leaves room for a bit of reflection. I think we can all form an idea of what that’s like. Which brings me to my special guest today. “Welcome to the show, Jonah.”

“Hi, Lisa. Thanks for inviting me.”

“My bio says you’re alone on an island somewhere. To be honest, that sounds like a dream come true to many people. What can you tell us about that?”

“Oh, yeah, dream come true. Let me tell you about that. It’s anything but a paradise. The whole island is covered with tangled brush with thorns and stinging nettles. And that doesn’t even include the poisonous flowers that burn the skin horribly. But the…

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Everything crumbles once time dries it up,
Music fades and songs stop playing,
Gardens wither and bees stop singing,
The songs of nature grow quiet
And the air falls
Into serenity, a graveyard slumber.

No wind or flow
Of water and melted snow,
No paint sticks on Picasso’s masterpiece,
Art and life all blended –
And poured down the drain.

‘No one stays long enough till Christmas’
No one stays long enough within these walls.
Everyone leaves,
Everyone finally goes and perhaps
It’s to a better place.

And this is the way
To forever be alone, with others by your side,
Every person a guest and everything a lend

Allan M. Kiptoo

My name’s Allan M. Kiptoo, a member of Budding Poets Collective in Kenya. I’m always trying new ways to express myself through poetry and stories. To get my other pieces here’s one of the links



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The View from my Writing Desk…




Although we live in a town, it isn’t an inner-city town. Tucked behind the South Downs in Hampshire, we are just 19 miles from the sea.

An ordinary town really, rows of streets spreading out from the town centre with all manner of shops and businesses. The local council keep it tidy and provide us with well-kept trees, bushes and green areas.

Sometimes, if you know where to look, you can find something special here, something that doesn’t quite belong. Hidden among the sprawling streets, small treasures can be found. Little rivers emerge unexpectedly, creating a magical atmosphere. ( I have recently found another such treasure. Post to follow…)

We have such an oddity in our back garden.

We all have trees and bushes in our gardens, but we have a giant gum tree. Far taller than our house, it dwarfs every tree for miles around.

It seems so much supple than other trees and maybe this has something to do with it being a gum tree. The leaves smell faintly of eucalyptus and it has such a graceful way of moving with the wind.

I watch this tree most mornings as I wait for my brain to warm up, but this morning we had the aftermath of Storm Eric.  The wind was fierce, so the view from my window was dramatic. Strong gusts tried to break the tree, viciously pushing and shoving until I thought one would give way. But the branches were so supple they simply danced away, ducking and weaving like a Whirling Dervish until the wind abated.

We could learn a lot from trees. Most of them have been here longer than we have and will remain long after we have gone. They survive, I think because they simply do what they were born to do and they do it well. They take what comes in their stride (so to speak) patiently waiting for the seasons to change or the wind to stop blowing.

A lesson for us all there, I think…

#Throwback Thursday~#Out of Time… with poem by Anita #MysteryThriller

Haiku Out of Time.jpg


Out of Time

Kate’s life, her mind, is out of time

A savage wind took all

But the brush from her hand.

Her thoughts crash like a wild storm.

She no longer has the will to speak

One last blow to strike

A fake wedding planned by Detective Snow

To trap the beast that waits without.

Will Jack be snared or run again?

The snowman, as Kate calls him,

Will stay with her until the end…

©Anita Dawes

Excerpt from Out of Time…

Kate sat at the table in the Vestry with her head in her hands. She couldn’t believe Jack had found her again, in spite of all the Snowman’s security. She kept seeing the ivory roses, blood dripping from the petals, laid on the altar like an offering. Only Jack could have thought of something that macabre.

The blood reminded her of what had happened to her beloved Dylan, her silver tabby. Jack had ripped him apart in her kitchen, strewing blood and fur all over the floor for her to find. At least this time, she wouldn’t have to clean up the mess.

Why had Michael gone outside?

She knew he was having trouble coming to terms with the fact that their relationship was over. After all this time it must have been a bitter pill to swallow. But going against David Snow’s specific orders was foolish and irresponsible. Maybe his depression had grown bad enough to warrant taking such a risk. Or had he wanted to die?

The voice disapproved. ‘I did ask you to try and be kind to him, Kate. Even though you couldn’t love him, you, of all people, should have treated him better than that…’

It was true; she could remember feeling that bad. Jack had that effect on most people. Just knowing he was out there somewhere had made her suicidal in the past, and the feeling wasn’t too far away at the moment.

The Snowman should have let her see Michael, her imagination couldn’t be worse than the real thing. Right then, it didn’t seem real, and she kept expecting to see him come through the door at any minute. She wished with all her heart that she had run away the first time she suspected Jack was back on the scene. Michael’s sudden reappearance had reawakened all her old desires and dreams, rendering her incapable of thinking straight.

Fate was too cruel. Why had it conspired to bring Jack back into her life at that particular time? If he hadn’t arrived when he did, her brother would not have died and the chain of destruction would have broken.

She wanted to run away but suspected there was no point. Jack would find her wherever she went. The knowledge sunk in that none of them were safe anymore, if they ever were. What would it take to be rid of Jack for good?

Kate heard the door open but realised the noise had come from the wrong side of the room. As she raised her head to investigate, a damp, sweet-smelling cloth covered her face. She struggled against it, but he was too strong.

The room went dark and then faded away…