Time

Sitting here watching a spider as it’s being blown by the wind while continually building its web.

It falls againt my window, gets blown about and dangles but time and again it carries on its repairs.

It’s a thing they do and not just the spiders but all those creatures out there. They just do stuff oblivious to life and its reasons.

They feel, but not in the same sense we feel as humans with our compassion and hatred, our anxieties, empathy and those maddening questions of life and the reality of it all, the reasons of being, of time and of religion and all those things we have no control over.

The spider is there still doing its thing and I’ve forgotten how to be something other than a failure.

If I just carry on regardless while being buffeted, and with those turbulent feelings in my gut of fear, love and something other that i can’t explain then maybe time will come to my rescue.

Perhaps the universe, in her wisdom, has a message for me in the spider, and as I write these last words the sun breaks through and I realise sometimes there is nothing we can do to change or to help so we have carry on while trying to bring our own light upon the world.

Thank you.

Pearl in a dust-bin

Sometimes I think my mind is on another planet, or even another dimension where it’s writing with gusto leaving me blank and pallid so I apologise for my silence lately. The feelings I have to be able to write just aren’t around and I’m not going to force the words to appear.

However, I have been reading quite a bit and as you can see on the right there I am currently reading the huge four volume A Short History of the English People by John Richard Green. I’m about three quarters through volume 2 and Queen Elizabeth is on the throne being pestered by Queen Mary of Scots. I’m also reading Sir Walter Scott’s Lay of the Last Minstrel.

Previous to this I read a wonderful book by Marie Corelli called The Sorrows of Satan and if you get a chance I recommend it. Here are two quotes from the many excellent examples of her writing in the book.

…Be sure that if you are unhappily celebrated for either beauty, wit, intellect, or all three together, halfsociety wishes you dead already, and the other half tries to make you as wretched as possible while you are alive…

…To be missed at all when you die, some one must love you very deeply and unselfishly; and deep unselfish love is rarer to find among mortals than a pearl in a dust-bin…

I hope to be back soon with poems.

Happy Sunday and thanks for visiting 🙂

Changing times

My laptop is working again, but I’m not sure how long it’ll last so at some point I’ll need to buy a new one.

Apart from the laptop being busted I think I have been too. I know I’ve done this before but I’m doing it again and deleting my social media accounts. Facebook went in January and today I’m deleting my Twitter and Instagram accounts.

I don’t spend much time interacting on those platforms apart from the occasional poem on Twitter and uploading photos of what I’m reading or just general stuff including some of my writings to Instagram. I spend more time scrolling life away and not connecting with folk as I’m not all that good with the social side of things so it’s time for them to go.

This of course means I’ll have more time to spend here on WordPress, or at least that’s the plan.

Thanks for your continued support.

😀

5 Star Review and flip.

I’ve had a lovely review from Betty for my latest poetry book, Pregnant with Death.

Thanks chockymuch, Betty 🙂

~

And flip. The reason I’m quiet on here at the moment is because my laptop has died and I don’t like to use this WordPress app on my phone too often. It’s just so finicky to operate.

The laptop has had a good life (about 12 years old) and has seen me through some experiences, helped me publish six books and we’ve made many friends through WordPress over the years.

So hip hip hooray to you my friend and farewell.

Hopefully it won’t be too long before I find a replacement but these things can take time as there’s so many out there nowadays!

Thanks again, Betty!

Almost ready, proof ordered!

A quick update on my new book of poetry.

I’ve uploaded the pdf, the cover images and played about with the cover maker on Lulu. It did say however that my image might not print as expected, something to do with frame rate :/ but I’ve read that others have gone ahead and printed and it’s come out fine so I’ll wait and see as I’ve just ordered a proof copy 😀

So fingers crossed that I’ll soon be anouncing the new book and a competition (although I said this the last time with Broken Roses and forgot!).

It carries on, in a way, from Broken Roses and hopefully it runs neat from dark to light, or lightish hehe and also I have it so it’s kind of cicular.

And it’s called … hmmm not yet 😀

Change and busy busy editing

You may have noticed I have changed my header wording. The site is still the same but instead of calling it Like the sun shone it is now called A Gap in the Clouds which is the same as the site’s web address.

Also as you can see from the photo I am in the process of editing and sorting my latest poetry collection. While I was sorting them last night I noticed that there was a nice little pile with a nature theme running through them so I think I shall put them aside for now and concentrate on the original idea with the rest of the poems.

The book will, in a way, carry on from the last book Broken Roses but not so dark. I do have a title and I like it but I think it will more than likely change so I’ll keep quiet for now.

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What she gave me

It was such a long time ago when she gave me a gift; I didn’t know what it meant, perhaps I still don’t. Time is a distant memory and it was a very long time ago, but so is now and we have so little of it. Looking back I see I can fold time and see her, but not see her.

This memory thing we have, this prophetic voice inside us tells us things we remember and we use these things to prophesize our lives. All because of time and our running out of it. We believe in something ghostly. We trust in something distant from our understanding and so we live not for ourselves but for our memories of time yet within us knowledge exists and so we listen to the teachers, but are they right or wrong?

~

A little side note here.

I am currently working on my new collection of poetry, similar in size to Broken Roses and kind of carrying on from that book but not so dark and deathly. This was the last poem I was going to include and thought it would work as a prose poem but seeing it like this I don’t think it does as it reads more as an essay type thing so here it is for you all to peruse.

Thank you again to those who have bought my books, you’re all very my appreciated.