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.
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