posts that cover a multitude of fascinating subjects
Ancient nymphs and dancing girls
I will conjure thee
Helped by age old winds
Treasures held for far too long
Buried beneath the paths you walk
Ask and it shall be given
Dig and you shall find is better
Gold buries way back in time
By those who fled the battle royal
Buried beside hedgerows
Where morning glories greet the early riser
Treasures at his feet…
For so many reasons this week has been a nightmare.
I received a letter from the hospital summoning me for another look at my cataracts. This has imposed a deadline on my editing, for after that date, I may not be able to see what I’m doing, depending on when or if they decide to do something this time.
Seriously though, I am getting really fed up with not being able to see properly. Everything is blurred, and print is so small. And don’t get me started on the headaches!
Having a deadline is one hell of a way to buck my ideas up, that’s for sure.
Just when I was feeling positive about everything and things were moving along swimmingly, BT decided to upgrade their email site, resulting in the most awful balls up. If this is what passes as ‘better’, I must be a monkey’s uncle!
Not only is it poorly arranged, but the layout sucks, AND it keeps going wrong! I mean, I don’t ask for much, just that things work the way they’re supposed to.
Moving on to what I’m supposed to be doing, the editing of PayBack. Right in the middle of thinking I was doing a brilliant job, I realised that somehow I was out of my depth. This turned into what the hell did I think I was doing, so everything crashed right there!
I am beginning to think my brain has finally decided to be old and past it after all. All without consulting me, I might add. I keep forgetting where I am in the process of editing, and what I’m supposed to be doing. I spread all these chapters on my desk, trying to make sure the plot was running smoothly. I found myself staring at them, with absolutely no clue. My head was empty, and I had never felt so lost in my life.
I don’t understand what is happening, for I usually breeze through editing. Hell, I was an editor long before I became a writer and love doing it. The chance to polish your story until it shines is a glorious part of writing, and here I was, unable to organise a piss up in a brewery.
Editing, as you know, is a series of systematically checking everything. You must be methodical and do things in the right order, something I seemed to have forgotten how to do.
For the first time in my writing career, I might need an independent edit… Something I never thought I would ever say…
And if all of this wasn’t bad enough, I have eaten all the chocolate!
April 18, 2019, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about gender. It can be fixed or fluid. Explore the topic on your own terms and open your mind to possibilities and understanding. Go where the prompt leads!
My mother’s despair plain to see
At my unladylike behaviour
As I climb the conker tree
With my dress tucked inside my underwear
To beat the boys was my game
I take my brother’s double cap gun holster
Make my own bow and arrow
Dolls and frills were not for me
Until a daughter came to me
I dress her in silks and frills
As my mother would have liked to see
Quite the woman I turned out to be
My daughter never climbed a tree
No guns, no bows and arrows
Today’s boys and girls play the same…
Image by Pixabay.com
Trapped in silence, in a world not my own.
Golden castles on purple lawns, trees with leaves of blue beneath
Pink clouds on navy skies, with orange stars like staring eyes
Golden bridge leads to clock tower bright, beyond the castle gate,
Through shining castle walls she stands,
Her heart beats in frozen time inside her flowing gown
Eyes that search for hands to touch, to take from wizards spell,
Her body that he snatched, held inside a rock of old
A doorstep now to his castle black, quantum leap I need,
As I watch children play under midnight skies
They sing of a time when their golden castle will return
To bricks and mortar, with a queen they can touch.
I cannot find a way to help. In silence held by wizard’s spell
To echoes beyond golden castles gate…
Image by Pixabay.com
These hollow walls, tales unfold
Time trapped in memory
Time ticks on, murders unsolved
Death awaits those who live here
Psychic band of travellers step inside
Woman’s bones they find
Beside her, small bones wrapped in cloth
How long they waited to see the light
The world to know of their plight
Father’s shame, for daughter’s sin
He lay beneath the wooden boards
Blessings now they say are held
Tears to send sweet souls to freedoms day
How many souls lie trapped in hollow walls?
Image by Pixabay.com
You are my something, that indefinable thought
The itch I cannot scratch, the memory that never fades
Dreams born from frozen mist
Raindrops on glass sliding to oblivion.
Something that returns from fantasy, claiming existence.
An echo redefined by sound
Words reused that grow too thin
Time taken in nightmares where screaming never ends
That broken light where shadows grow,
Twisting life before it begins.
Hearts are broken where forests burn, trails of ash
Footsteps followed to the edge of time
Where church bells no longer ring.
People cower, sat within, waiting
For their special moment to begin
If you can dream it, you can have it,
you may only have one chance
Don’t let your something pass you by…
His newborn wings formed by ancient light
Lift him high above England green and pleasant land
Yet bittersweet the sight below
Broken monuments where stained glass no longer glows
No limit to pilgrim’s footfall
Still, they come to climb the ridge where the tower stands
Soothe worn out feet in water that ever flows
Quench their thirst from the White Spring spray
Where no salt lies within
Joseph’s blossom tree has stood the test of time
Offers shade, rest awhile
Hear the whispered songs of old
Feel the beat of ancient wings where power still remains…
Image by Pixabay.com
I see a piece of you
like a puzzle that has slipped out of place
it’s the reason you are out of step with your life.
I see the chaos in the space between
strange moments that don’t fit
that don’t belong to you.
As if someone is trying to occupy
the space before it closes.
I hear your voice, the sound belongs to another
harsh, cruel. It scares me as if someone
has taken a piece of my mind.
Does it match your missing part?
Will we find a way to put them back in place
I see a piece of you
like a puzzle that has slipped out of place
it’s the reason you are out of step with your life.
I see the chaos in the space between
strange moments that don’t fit
that don’t belong to you.
As if someone is trying to occupy
the space before it closes.
I hear your voice, the sound belongs to another
harsh, cruel. It scares me as if someone
has taken a piece of my mind.
Does it match your missing part?
Will we find a way to put them back in place
will life tear more away,
as if we were no more than cardboard cut-outs
from a forgotten jigsaw puzzle…
