Birds
Render words
About poetic craft
Dull.
Am I daft
To seek
For knowledge in a book
When I could upon nature look
And hear the birds speak?
Birds
Render words
About poetic craft
Dull.
Am I daft
To seek
For knowledge in a book
When I could upon nature look
And hear the birds speak?
Ruth Ellis was the last woman to be hanged here in the United Kingdom. She shot her lover who had been physically abusive towards her. (During the trial Ellis mentioned how he had punched her in the stomach which may well have contributed to the loss of the baby she was carrying).
Today Eliss would, no doubt have received a prison sentence. This would, however have (in all probability) been light in nature due to the extreme physical abuse she suffered at the hands of her lover. The Ellis case is one of the reasons why I am, on balance opposed to the death penalty, https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2018/mar/12/ruth-ellis-files-bbc-documentary-murder-case-cant-let-go
At the start
A heart
I sought.
I thought
That I caught
Delicious fish,
A dainty dish
For a sorrowing king,
But the thing
Was an eel.
The first deal
Being done
I continued to run
After fun.
The sun
Sometimes shone
(As it does today)
As I half-heartedly did play
At romance.
I still dance
From time to time
And, perchance
The false
Waltz
Is set down in rhyme.
Books: Publishing, Reading, Writing
WITHOUT spending any money!
I know, I know … finding the money to support authors by buying their books is not always easy. I have a hard time in that department myself.
However, there are many ways that Readers can help Authors of books they’ve already read and enjoyed. These ideas are every bit as valuable to Authors as actual sales can be – and they will cost you absolutely nothing to do. They just require an investment of your TIME, and your ENTHUSIASM to make things happen. Never underestimate what a READER of books can accomplish when they choose to champion a particular book or an Author.
So, here you go! 10 ways you can invest in Authors and Books without spending any money …
1. Borrow and read books from the library. Rate those books on the library’s system. Request that the library purchase other books by…
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Are you still writing? I have lost count of the number of occasions on which this question has been asked of me.
My response to anyone posing the above question is always an emphatic “yes”. For me writing is an integral part of who I am. It constitutes self-expression. I could no more give up composing poetry than I could abandon an old and dear friend. At times friends can be irritating. We disagree and even argue, but true friendship survives such disagreements. Likewise, with my writing I sometimes find myself becoming frustrated. I swear at my computer (I never swear at my friends I must hasten to add)! – and close Microsoft Word in disgust. However while I do abandon specific poems I can never envisage giving up my writing.
Writing is, for me, an itch that must be scratched. While on my way into the office or walking in beautiful places, the germ of a poem often develops in my brain. I feel restless until I’m able to get it down on virtual paper (all my writing takes place on my laptops).
Writing is both pleasure and pain. The frustration of sitting at a computer for hours, only to throw away what I have been working on, is balanced by the pleasure of producing a poem which is (in my opinion) worthy of seeing the light of day via this blog and, perhaps also (ultimately) to find itself within the leaves of a book.
So when people ask “are you still writing?” I shall continue to answer with an emphatic “yes”.
There was a young man named Nile
Who kept a crocodile.
Nile vanished last December
O how well I remember
The smile of that crocodile …
Amusing and o so tru
There was a young lady named Suzette
With whom I made a bet.
We went for a ramble
And I took a gamble.
Now I very much regret …”.
—
There was a young lady named Suzette
Who took her beast to the vet.
The vet (who was called Mole)
Said “upon my soul
That is a very strange pet!”.
Nameless numbers,
And unquiet slumbers
His heart
Encumbers.
So he does set
Each regret
Down in art.
Each forgotten face.
The silk,
The lace.
He does hide
Inside
A rhyme,
Where the good time
Girl who
Never was … Lost her shoe
The snowflakes fall,
And she steps between them,
Finding galaxies in gaps,
Hoping for the magic to touch her.
Because what’s the point,
Of finding the words,
If life doesn’t, hasn’t touched you?