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 and mine – the history of it, who we once were, everything in the world, all mixed up, it’s all mixed up and how we want it all and . . . I failed!”

Virginia Woolf – The Hours (Mrs Dalloway)

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From the very core of my being, as a writer,  I can relate to this sentiment wholeheartedly. How we make ourselves busy, going about our lives thinking we’re doing very important things and how one day, any day now, the masterpiece will get written and everything will slot into place like a jigsaw puzzle.  But … then the realisation. This is my very important thing. This is my Magnum Opus. My wildest dreams came true the day I birthed my children into this world (and as I stood there outside the door anxiously waiting for my grandson to be birthed). This is my true calling and vocation and today is the day that my life changes forever 🙂

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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 violence either, I’m talking about life.

(or it’s an alien species from another planet messing with your head – one or the other) 🙂

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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!

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Where Love Goes To Die:

I didn’t know that the disease in your mind,

Would become gradually worse as we aged.

 

We were supposed to grow old together,

You were my best friend!

 

But I didn’t recognise you anymore,

I didn’t feel safe – I chose life.

 

In my heart I will always be married to you,

And only you, until the day I die.

 

Journal entry:

My children and I weren’t born with silver spoons in our mouths: quite often we were alone together and their fathers were absent for whatever reason. There were no hands-on grandparents to help out, no high-flying career to bail us out of tough financial times. But you know what? You don’t get strong by swimming downstream without a current. The outcome of all of that is that there is an unbreakable bond between us and my children’s ability to endure and apply themselves to hard work and tough circumstances takes my breath away 🙂

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35 was my lucky number:

Maybe it was time to go back,

She knew he would be there waiting for her,

But then she remembered his emotional betrayal,

She hadn’t rekindled their connection for that!

She was trying to improve her life,

Not to take a step back.

 

There are silent battles and steep hills,

But she’s spread-eagled on the ground,

With shield & weapon flung aside,

And her breath just won’t return,

Love had become her enemy,

And the summit seemed ever so far.

girl and man one by one

 

 

 

She Sleeps With The Light On…

. . . Just in case,

The night is still,

There’s not a sound,

Except the rumbling of a distant truck,

Which propels her into a memory;

It was of the time when she had her babies,

A marriage bed full of passion, youth & hope,

It was a time long before these lean times.

 

She sleeps with the light on because . . .

The phone might ring;

The Angel of Death in Her chariot,

Has swept down again, mercilessly and,

In her cruel and twisted way has,

Extracted another of her loved ones.

 

She sleeps with the light on,

So that the memory of her lost loves,

Doesn’t overwhelm her,

Because they can’t – you know – if you have the light on,

The memory of the contour’s of their bodies,

Their gentle or wild thrusts,

Their whispered indulgences,

All held at bay.

 

She sleeps with the light on,

To stop the snoring in the empty room,

The footsteps on the hallway boards,

The growling from the ceiling,

The ghosts remain invisible and can’t see you,

Or hurt you with the light on.

 

She sleeps with the light on,

So that if she wakes with a night terror,

She will instantly see her lovely things around her,

And, after some time,

Gain some comfort and soothe herself back to sleep.

 

She sleeps with the light on,

Because she doesn’t know what awaits her in the black dimension;

Dreams of babies long gone,

Lovers lost, souls removed from her life by death,

Quick as a flash and still half in slumber,

She can grab her pencil & paper,

And jot down the rhymes – such as this one – as they come to her at 3am.

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Of Ponds & Balmy Nights:

He approves of almost everything about her,

And enjoys being her hero,

So when she says she needs time,

To concentrate on her relationship with her,

He holds her so tightly that it almost hurts,

She knows he’ll always be there if she changes her mind,

“Don’t sit by the pond without me, particularly on those balmy nights!”

He will anyway,

She knows it.

 

Mr Wordsmith:

She liked to “rescue” the hopeless cases,

Or that was what she was told anyway,

But also, he had to have a way with words,

To read her soul, to woo her back as she was walking away,

Reminisce over the good times,

Talk to her about nothing, in particular, to relax her,

Gratefully receive her mementos of love (poetry mainly),

If all of these boxes were checked, then yes, she’d take it!

He would become the latest soon-to-be ex,

Completely worthy of her love.

man and brain

 

 

Sunshine on a cloudy day:

I knew you before I read your words,

I sensed your spirit and spoke with you,

Before ever I saw your name,

And there you were shining like a ray of sunshine,

“Don’t get too carried away, though” I told myself,

“Life is still life, after all,”

This dark night of the soul has me drowning in plasma,

The scream from my soul piercing,

The eardrums of the Angels above Earth,

And I’m numb – so grotesquely numb,

. . . and there you were.

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