Colour me Red… #Poetry

 

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Colour me Red

A friend asked me the other day

What colour do you see yourself as?

I think colour depends on my mood or need

I am light blue when I need understanding

Which is often.

Blue when I need wisdom

A little healing when my body is less than tip-top.

Dreamscape allows me to remember

Lying in the sea, surrounded by blue water

Blue skies above

I am the filling in the sandwich

It feels good to be comforted

Best of all, held by gentle blue hands

Now the day ahead will work.

So when I need to, I remember

And all is well

I rarely see myself as pink

Too fluffy for me

I should try it, as it helps with success

I love a good orange and not only to eat

I see myself when I need energy to boost my imagination

To fill my mind and body with life.

Sometimes I need brown when dealing with family issues

Brown is helpful for grace, something

I am not known for, but  I do try.

I think green when I need a bit of good luck

When buying that lottery ticket.

Everyone in the shop turns green

Not hit the big one yet

But do quite well with this.

Yellow for me if very helpful

When I need to be creative when writing

Craftwork, thinking, which I do a lot of the time

It is almost a hobby.

White, when I feel the need for protection

I see myself and my family walking under

The light of a full moon twenty-four seven.

Red, I mostly think of as my own colour,

A child of Mars, I love with a fire that never dies

Very helpful when courage is needed

You can fight your way through anything when you turn red

Purple feeds my ambition when I feel it fading

I turn purple to keep my ambition alive

Helping me never let my dreams die

Black whenever I feel threatened by seen or unseen elements

Black helps to keep unwanted guests, thoughts out of my life

I realise I have just painted myself a very strange rainbow…

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#Wordle 381 #Poetry #Challenge

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My Way

Where do dreams go when we wake?

A word, once it is spoken

Do they linger on the air?

A silent echo that no one hears

Others we know nothing about?

From some distant galaxy

That   frame  our lives in such a way

That we walk around in the same space

Use the same old thoughts, feelings

Marionettes, dancing to someone else’s tune

Do we shrug our shoulders?

Walk through a fog, each day the same?

Do we hope to find a secret key

To set us right to find new thoughts

They are out there, I feel them on the edge of my mind

I reach for them and they vanish like soap bubbles

With luck, I know they will return

That eureka moment that takes you away

From the dark empty side of the mind

To find your own light at last

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Fractured…

 

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Some of you may be familiar with some of the trouble I have had since I began to organise our writing career on the Internet. It is probably simple for all you single people out there, but as soon as you are a partnership, trouble arrives big time!

Not that we could ever separate our writing business, not even to make our lives any easier. It is all far too complicated, but it works for us though, so that’s good.

We tried having separate websites, so as not to overcomplicate everything, but as we share a PC, this didn’t seem to work. Plus it was twice the work. So we reverted back to having a joint website on Blogger.  Still managed to confuse half the population, including ourselves, but all our links seemed to be working. But it still didn’t feel right, so I approached WordPress and discovered that we could actually share a website. How very civilised.

I have since managed to share Anita’s Facebook too.

Goodreads almost cater for the two of us and we have our own pages, but only one of us can have our blog showing.

There are still a few places that refuse to understand, that although we share a PC, we do still have separate email addresses and passwords. I won’t name and shame, but they have driven me mad for the last time and I have resigned myself to sharing these awkward sites under Anita’s email address.

It goes without saying, that if I had known this marketing and promotion lark was so complicated, I might have had second thoughts, but on the whole, it has been interesting, and dare I say it, fun? The fact that I am almost certifiable is unimportant, as I think you have to be barking mad to approach a computer in the first place!

When I saw these lovely fractured pictures the other day, I was fascinated, probably because half the time, my brain is in pieces too…

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Second Tries, or how to make the right decisions?

 

 

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My brain must be like swiss cheese these days, soft, spongy and full of holes. I am getting really fed up with trying to think and decide what to do, or even knowing if the final decision is the right one. As they say, if I had half a brain, I would be dangerous!
I can’t decide (or remember) if I have always been like this, or if this state of affairs is yet another symptom of my advancing years.

Time is becoming problematic, far too much of it is spent second-guessing. Wouldn’t life be more efficient if all deliberation could be removed? Easier to pick a winkle out of its shell with a pin, I hear you say. But I am heartily sick of wondering which item to buy, which programme to watch, whether to cut my hair, the list is endless.

Added to my inability to choose anything, is the sure and certain knowledge that whichever one I pick, it will be the wrong one. Always is. I never get anything right on the first try.

Could life be more like plotting a book?
I know many writers don’t believe in plotting. They believe their characters will do most of the hard work for them, and I have experienced this first hand too. But other writers firmly believe in careful plotting, even a story board.

All my life, I have been a ‘winger’, hurtling from one idea to the next. Sometimes getting it right, but more often not. Advancing age has changed all that. I no longer have the time for hit and miss. Decisions I make now, have to be right, although how this will happen, remains to be seen.

Now, I am still virtually new to this writing business, and with the idea of getting it right first time (could be a novelty in itself!) I tried plotting. With a lot of practice, I’m getting better. So much so, that my latest WIP has been thoroughly plotted, storyboard and everything. But this is not something you could really do with your life. Too many decisions, and so many ways of dealing with them.

In addition, other people tend to make your life awkward, sometimes it seems, just to be bloody minded.

Could it be as simple as throwing a dice?

 

Then I remembered something. (It does still happen sometimes!) I once read about a man who always made every decision with the turn of a dice, and apparently, his life was glorious. Maybe it was worth a try, as my way was getting me nowhere.

On second thoughts, that sounds worse than ‘winging it’.

But if I were younger…

They say there are ‘two sides to every story’ and ‘everything happens for a reason’, but what if neither of these things is true? What if it is as simple as right or wrong?
Could it be that when life gets too difficult, we are simply trying to force wrong into being right?

Should we blindly follow our instincts?

 

Recently, I have been thinking back through my life and all the different choices that I had to make. To that small, persistent voice that nags you, insisting you do this or that. How many times had I ignored it, thinking my own choice was better, usually for all manner of reasons? Would my life have been better if I had obeyed that still, small voice? If I had not always chosen the path of least resistance, the path that always looked inevitable. Maybe the choice that looked the hardest, the most impossible, would have turned out better than what actually happened?

Maybe then, I wouldn’t have so many things to be sorry for, so many people I should apologise to.
If there is such a thing as reincarnation and I get another chance to live a better life, I hope I remember some of the things I have done wrong, all of the people I have hurt, and do it better next time…

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Splintered… #Poetry

 

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Splintered

This morning I awoke

 My mind empty

An abandoned building

Chipped peeling wallpaper

Full of emotions

Tiptoeing on eggshells

My thoughts jagged

Lace curtains pulled through

Broken glass

Ghosts hide in dark corners

Left over sound like dry leaves

Whispers of lost dreams

Slipping into rotting floorboards

Life is splintered, gone

A broken mirror hangs on the far wall

Pieces missing, forgotten

A puzzle with no image

Shadows live between the cracks

Time hidden behind the frame

Moving through the walls

Like the chatter of a busy market

Peoples lives, their story

Stamped into the brickwork…

A kind of living braille

To be read by sensitive hands

Laughter, happiness, colliding

With overwhelming sorrow

Touching your skin

Reaching out for life

As I move from room to room

Sliding my hand over broken furniture

I have the feeling I know this house

I have sat in that worn out chair

I make my way back to the broken mirror

Sunlight from the street

Filtering through dirty windows

Dust devils dance in the beam

Keeping their secrets

I see no image of myself

Only dust and light

I run from room to room

Before the penny drops

I am the ghost that lives in this house…

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Remembering When…

 

Did I Really Write That?

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I had a great idea the other day. We had several short stories in our files that were just sitting there, gathering dust. Maybe we should group them together and publish them in a book. Many writers are doing this now, and it seemed like a great idea. My head started to fill up with illustrations and new covers, and I couldn’t wait to get started.

 

I sorted them all out and started to cast my editor’s eye over them. Reading through the first one came as a bit of a shock. It had been written a long time ago and some of the writing was terrible and the formatting worse. Had our writing really changed that much?

None of it seemed familiar, and shock horror, there were many errors, in both the editing and grammar.

I couldn’t believe it. I know we all get better the more we write, but never thought I would have that fact so blatantly presented to me.

It’s not just writing, either. It can be anything. A drawing or painting, or something you have painstakingly made. As we get older, I think we must get more particular about the end result of our efforts.

I have noticed that I am less tolerant of the errors I find in the books I read too. It is hard to describe what I mean, but I think books should impress me more these days. I have discovered that simply being a writer has changed me. I no longer just ‘read’ a book. I must learn something, glean some facet and be impressed at the very least.

Which might mean I am becoming a better writer, and that is definitely reason to celebrate.

We have been blogging for over two years now, and some of our early posts are a bit embarrassing to say the least. I read some them now and cringe. In our defence, we didn’t really have a clue back them. No amount of book reading can ever equip you with the right and wrong way to utilise this new digital age.

I didn’t find too much help around in the beginning either. All I had to go on, was studying other blogs and trying to figure out how to do the same.

The first blog we ever had was the easiest I could find, but even then, I ran into trouble. The worst of it, I discovered, was it had no help desk or any other way to ask for help. These days, everyone is so helpful and I am so much more capable than I was back then.

Who knew we would all become bloggers? It’s not that long ago that there was no such thing…

Sea Sponge #Poetry

 

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Sea Sponge

Today my mind is like a sea sponge

Full of pot holes and strange pathways

Each shining and flashing new colours.

Pulling me in, tempting me

With wonderful new ideas.

I jump from one to the next

Like playing hop scotch with my thoughts

Careful not to be drawn into a black hole

Where old memories lay hidden

The kind I have no wish to revisit.

Today I decided to use my real sea sponge

To redecorate my living room

Feeling glad my mind had returned

From the bottom of the sea…

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#Jaye’s Journal: Another Visit?

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I have found myself thinking about my mysterious visitor at odd moments this week, despite having one of the worst depressions ever.

I did spend a lot of time trying to do as he suggested, going over my characters life in PayBack, my current WIP. Instead of inspiration and enthusiasm leading me on to greater depths, my mood became blacker by the minute.

After some time trying to pretend that everything was fine, I had to admit defeat, probably because other things were becoming unglued.

I was within an eyelash length of giving everything up, walking away (well, running away, to be precise) when I realised I wasn’t alone.

My visitor was back.

His familiar figure had made himself comfortable in my office chair and was swivelling backwards and forwards with a whimsical smile hovering on his lips.

To be honest, I wasn’t really in the mood for another literal lecture, my mind busy trying to remember where I had seen him before.

 

As he became aware of my presence, he turned the chair in my direction and smiled at me. Not that I could see his mouth properly, the snow white moustache all but his it from view, the only clue the upward ripple of his whiskers and the light in his eyes.

“There you are, Jaye. I have been watching your progress, or should say the lack of it and could not stay away any longer. I take it my advice did not help much?”

“I’ve had a bad week, can’t seem to do anything right these days…”

“But you do want to finish the book, I take it?”

For the briefest of moments, I couldn’t answer his question. Many times this past week I had wanted to burn it, but could the reason I didn’t, be because I did want to finish it and do it well?

“Yes, I do, but it’s not happening…there is such a lot of everything else to do each day, I just can’t keep up.”

 

He looked at me for the longest time, as if trying to read the state of my mind. I nearly laughed at that thought, there wasn’t much of interest going on in there and that’s a fact.

“That could be the problem right there, ma’am…”

I couldn’t help it. I groaned. The last thing I needed right now was another problem.

“I am duty bound to tell you, so you might as well listen.”

“Before we go any further, any chance you can tell me who you are? You seem so familiar, but my mind is not obliging…”

“My name is Samuel and I have come a long way to help with your predicament.”

My brain was doing the rumba, searching my damaged database for anyone called Samuel, but nothing was forthcoming. In the meantime, Samuel went back to swivelling my chair and enjoying every minute. He seemed like a good man, one with a sense of humour. He spoke with a soft American accent, southern, I think and his dark clothes were old fashioned. None of which helped to identify him. I’m usually good with faces, hopeless with names, but I had no idea who he was.

“Okay, I’m game. What pearls of wisdom have you for me today?”

“I have the feeling you are spreading yourself a little thin, trying to do and think of so many different things. The result is that you accomplish very little. Maybe you should narrow your focus, concentrate on just a few goals. You need to succeed in something and soon, or your confidence will shrink even more.”

 

His words sounded familiar. Someone had said the self same thing to me just that morning. I had to admit that the thought of actually managing to achieve something was very appealing, as I couldn’t remember the last time I had.

“But what about PayBack, should I try to finish it?”

Even as I asked the question, I knew what his answer would be. Of course, I should finish it, that’s the reason I get up every morning, isn’t it?

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