Memories…

 

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Dante Gabriel Rossetti

 

 

Memories are funny things, aren’t they? The way certain things suddenly pop into your head, and you think – hey, I know about that, and you remember.
I wonder what makes some memories surface and not others? You could say it’s down to something you have just heard or seen, but I know that’s not always the case.

Just lately, I have been remembering a specific time in my youth, and never realised before how that time must have influenced me.  Was it that threshold of childhood, the time you really start to think and question things? To imagine a future for yourself, that you won’t always be just idling along, not really caring if it snowed, depending on others to organise your life.

This particular time was when I lived in Kent, in a small village called Birchington, a few miles from Margate. I was about 8 or 9 years old, and up to that point, I didn’t really think about anything much. So much had happened to me that I had got into the habit of not questioning anything. Not much point really, as I knew I couldn’t change anything.

I was with foster parents by then with several other children, all from broken families; and surprisingly it was the first time I felt relaxed enough to appreciate the peace and quiet of the countryside, not to mention the freedom from all my mother’s problems.

Every Sunday we all went to church, and right outside the church door was an impressive gravestone. It was made of a beautiful piece of marble, and I thought the writing on it was very ornate and posh. I looked at it every Sunday for ages, when it suddenly struck me that this had to be someone quite famous. But why was he buried here in this tiny village?

The name on the stone was Dante Gabriel Rossetti  (1828- 1882), and I remember being very impressed by the sound of him, resolving to find out more about him. I was about the right age for romantic flights of fancy, and the more I discovered about this tortured man and the life he lived, the more intrigued I became. He was a poet and a painter, and some would say that he wasn’t very successful, but history will always remember him as a founder member of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood with William Holman Hunt and John Everett Millais.

I learnt about Rossetti and how he ended up a recluse in Cheyne Walk, Chelsea after a nervous breakdown, finally retreating to Birchington for rehabilitation only to die less than a year later. Perhaps he should have spent more time in Kent, for it was making me feel better!  I secretly sympathised with the mess he had made of his life, determined that my life would be better than it had started out to be. I just needed to be old enough to set the wheels in motion.

So you see, I think Dante was my friend back then, right when I really needed one, guiding me to where I am today…

watermark xjj

Is There Any More?

 

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

I have been told that thinking is a dangerous thing to do at my age.  It is possibly a dangerous thing to do at any age, if you think about it, for who knows where it may lead?

But I quite like thinking, and all the things that trigger it off. Like books and pictures for instance. What I could do with is some method of retaining said thoughts, as they usually evaporate like so much smoke, never to be seen again. I make notes on everything in a vain hope of remembering all the good stuff, and it works some of the time.

Then I am told ‘what do you expect, at your age?’

But this is the difficult part. My mind does not feel old, even though it seems to have more holes in it than my favourite cheese, and when I see or read something that stirs my imagination, I am back in my prime, having a sneaky feeling that this is not all there is for me.

Some of the time I must admit that I really don’t want any more, I am too tired to even consider the possibility. But then there are the other days– days when you forget just how old, and how stiff you are. That you find it difficult just going to the shops and back.
Days when you choose to ignore the sands of time slipping through your fingers and find yourself considering the most amazing possibilities.

Of course, this may be what happens as you approach old age. I don’t know, I have no experience or knowledge of it, not having done it before.

But if you can think, you can dream. And if you can dream I believe you can do anything… at any age!

watermark xjj

My Pillow… #Poetry

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

My Pillow

Leave a kiss on my pillow before you leave

A promise of your return

I roll into the warm space you leave behind

I linger remembering your touch

Hope awakened within

Why do you slip away unseen?

Did the night promise too much?

Does my kiss still linger on your lips?

Will it be enough to bring you back?

My phantom lover, a fantasy made before I sleep

Does your love belong to someone else?

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My Pillow… #Poetry

 

46124369_1676043552532957_2846525970976866304_n.jpg

Image by Pixabay.com

 

My Pillow

Leave a kiss on my pillow before you leave

A promise of your return

I roll into the warm space you leave behind

I linger remembering your touch

Hope awakened within

Why do you slip away unseen?

Did the night promise too much?

Does my kiss still linger on your lips?

Will it be enough to bring you back?

My phantom lover, a fantasy made before I sleep

Does your love belong to someone else?

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#Writephoto ~ Threshold…

Thursday photo prompt: Threshold #writephoto

 

 

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Image by scvincent.com

 

 

From inside the one they call the magician’s cave, it felt wrong.

On the other side of the small bay is the cave I always think of as his.

Where the fallen eagle with its beak touching the ground,

his wings guarding the threshold to a second cave.

One is full to the top with giant boulders, but on the other side of the giant beak, you can walk through to the sea.

Looking at this grand entry, with the Castle perched on top of the cliff, was enough to send my mind reeling back into the past.

I could almost see the magician sitting on one of the giant boulders, as I had done. It has been said that he was trapped by his love for a woman, and gave her his secrets. They say no man can free him, maybe a woman can?

I have searched all of these caves, one so beautiful it was worth the climb. I found myself standing inside a green jewel.

However, magic is not to be found inside a hollow cave.

On this small beach stands a large solid rock. I stood there wondering, is his soul alive inside. Does he want to be found?

Has he learned not to give away all his secrets? Could someone find the key to release him?

I doubt it, for love makes fools of us all…

AAAAA

writephoto

#Jaye’s Journal ~ week 14

Jaye's Journal x12

 

 

My week began with a state of confusion.

Before you say it, my weeks are always in a state of some confusion, but this time it felt different. All the clocks in the house were wrong, and my brain couldn’t grasp why. It was only when I noticed that the clock on my PC was exactly one hour ahead, that the penny dropped and I realised that BST (British Summer Time) had begun…

Hoping the confusion had gone, I set to rewriting the end chapters of my WIP, PayBack. The previous ending had been annoying me, and again, I couldn’t put my finger on the reason. The only thing running through my mind was that it hadn’t ended the way I thought it would. Right now, I would give anything to have the brain I used to have. You know, the one capable of multitasking and thinking of more than one thing at a time. It also knew what was happening most of the time.

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So, back to PayBack. It has been an interesting story to write. The main character, David Mallory, has all kinds of problems. Problems most of us have not encountered before. Writing about him has had me evaluating my own life. I have had issues too, but nothing like his.  I knew it was important to give his complicated life the justice and outcome he deserved and I would rewrite until I was satisfied I had done that.

Outside of the writing den, two jobs were outstanding. The windows are so dirty we couldn’t see out of them, and the grass was becoming dangerously high. I say dangerous because if I don’t cut it while at a manageable level, the mower throws a wobbly and chucks great clods of compacted grass all over the place. This causes me to throw a bigger wobbly, and you can hear the swearing for miles around!

The weather prevented any window cleaning, something I didn’t complain about! But the grass looks lovely now, if only for five minutes!

I  also managed to acquire the bragging rights for successfully creating some 3D book cover images with DIY Book Design. These will look wonderful on the new promotional posters I am planning for all of our books. I am claiming these rights because learning anything new usually takes me a month of Sunday’s!  Either it was very easy, or I’m getting better!

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watermark xjj

 

 

#Colleen’s Weekly #Poetry Challenge…

Colleen’s 2019 Weekly #Tanka Tuesday #Poetry Challenge No. 130 #SynonymsOnly

Double Etheree

Yes

I am

the wizard

I grant one wish

a day spent with me

You will not touch my staff

do not walk the woods when dark

not all the elements are tamed

You may think it but a dream when awake

my world holds more pure imagination

I conjure new worlds from many lost daydreams

Camelot, unicorns, silver lakes made

Arthur’s sword with its magic blade

you played your part in this well

Dreams are made from stardust light

A wish while sleeping

by will I grant

keep the world

from the

dark

AAAAA

 

 

 

Winter Lakes… #Poetry

 

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

Winter lakes frozen

Ice white freedom skating

Laughter claws the air

Sprites flee their sacred space

Beneath the ice, their kingdom lost

Their queen trapped until winter thaw

Summer sun brings back her crown

Swans return children too

With open hearts, they hope to find

The fairies that live beneath the lake…

AAAAA

Jaye’s Journal… week 13

Jaye's Journal x12

 

 

Swings and Roundabouts…

 

I was watching Theresa May (the UK Prime Minister) this morning, and for the first time saw what looked suspiciously like signs of defeat. The normally serene and smart woman we are used to seeing looked tired and a little scruffy, as though she had been up all night. Which I suppose she might well have been, at this delicate stage of the Brexit negotiations. I got the definite impression that she is barely hanging on by her eyelashes.

I can identify with that state of affairs, for at 75 years old, with cataracts in both eyes and rampaging arthritis, I might be approaching the end of my rope too.

It has been a week of highs and lows, or swings and roundabouts if you prefer.

From a major disagreement with Microsoft, who thought I wasn’t me anymore and refused to accept several new passwords. They kept insisting I had to contact them on a mobile phone to resolve the problem. That was an even bigger problem for me, as I don’t have such a thing! But once I borrowed one, everything was okay again.

Then I finally managed to claim our website on Pinterest, something I had been trying to do all week.

I still don’t understand why any of this happened, or why using a mobile phone made Microsoft like me again, especially as it wasn’t mine, but that was the closest I want to get to HTML or all things SEO!

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The minute I feel life returning outside my window, it’s like a wake-up call for me to pull my socks up and get cracking. You never know, this could be the year when all things become possible.

Spring is finally here and the sun is shining, but it is very cold. I know this because I have ventured outside to check on the garden. I still call it a garden, even though I now need a machete to go very far! The grass has begun to grow, heralding the start of much fruitless pushing and shoving of my equally ancient lawn mower. Luckily, I think it can wait a while longer.

My Bonsai are all sprouting, cold or not, their winter sleep is over and it will soon be time to check their roots to see who needs a trim, fresh soil or a bigger pot. This is about all I am capable of these days, as I really cannot cope with the ever-present growth of brambles in my jungle of a garden. The last time I tried to tame them I had to retire wounded and bloody, so now they have my permission to run riot.

If I do get the urge to blitz them, I will get a flamethrower and do the job properly!

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