As a child I spent my weekly pocket money (3d) on stationery and sat every evening by the coal fire in our council house, pencil poised over my pocket notebook from Woollies. I was waiting for inspiration. Decades later I started a mindfulness practice and I started to write. I write fragments and some of them feel true. Some of them are beautiful to me. All of them come from a place that I might call 'home'.
A flock of words Flies across the page And lands precisely
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
Navel gazing (04/07/2017)
Wearing Thin (27/06/2017)
Get a Life (24/04/2017)
Doggerel (I'm trying everything) (09/04/2017)
With a nod to Dylan (Bob not Thomas) (14/03/2017)
In Budapest (26/02/2017)
La Petite Mort (20/02/2017)
Autumn Leaves (17/02/2017)
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