Poets Are A Weird Mob:

I get up before the sun, And before the household, So I can write poems for you, It comes out of my fingers. In reams. One day when I finally meet you, I will give them to you and, Unless you are a poet, You may not understand, The significance. You’ll hand them back, And more

My Magnum Opus:

“Is it? Is my work going to live? I wanted to be a writer, that’s all, I wanted to write about it all – everything that happens in a moment – the way the flowers look when you carry them in your arms, how it smells, how it feels. All of our feelings – yours more

Do you ever feel like …

… people are pushing you to your limit, constantly trying to squash your power or criticise you and set you up behind your back? It’s because you need to develop a fighting spirit: there’s no point being in a boxing ring if you’re too afraid to throw a punch. And I’m not talking about physical more

Everything I know about writing practise…

I learnt from my mother: nothing, absolutely nothing stopped her. Not husbands coming and going, poverty, sickness, a house full of children, friends & relatives dropping off the perch all around her. The show must go on … she said 🙂 Thanks mum!

umbr

Friends for life:

There will come a day, When all of those people who were there for you, Have gone – fallen by the wayside, And that’s when you have to make do with you And just hope like hell that you’re someone who you can tolerate, Because it’s a long, insufferable life if you don’t like the more

Sleeping with scissors:

Her beloved – dead and buried in the ground,

Sleeps in the next room to her,

To keep an eye on her.

 

She doesn’t like the growling in the night,

So she sleeps with scissors,

But apart from that, sublimely peaceful.

man colour

 

 

A quandary, a quandary:

Hermits would rather write, Far into the night, And watch their words take flight. And pickled men will lose the fight, When they see that she won’t bite, She wants their sex, But that’s not right! Unless she slaves for them in the daylight, Dragging up their brats, With all of her might, So stick more

A WRITER’S DAY Journal entry; 30th October ’08

I found this journal entry yesterday, it was the last one I wrote right before I began to write my first book that was published, Oracle In The Mist: I write my morning pages (Julia Cameron, The Artist’s Way) and then . . . I stare at the blank page and wait for the words more