Grr, I’m a tiger, I like this picture of me. It’s me and it isn’t.
I wish I’d done this as a face painting. But it’s on a phone app. That’s why it doesn’t quite fit to my face.
I don’t remember it blurring the area around my face. But only my hair. Weird.
I think of the words ‘Tyger, tyger burning bright, in the forests of the night. What immortal hand or eye, could frame thy fearful symmetry?
One day there might not be any Tigers left, then all we will have are photos, film and art. The memory of great creatures, small creatures, so many plants and animals that no longer exist…
You looked out in May
So proud and keen
Your profile reflected in glass
In the window.
Sure you would keep safe.
The sky would not fall…
Now you have dissolved,
Lost your identity.
Impaled on shards of humanity.
Sifted and sprinkled
With covid 19.
Stay safe they said
As you disappeared.
Concentrating on her mobile phone, thumbing her life away. While the world passes her by… Those women could be pocketing her goods. Would she even know? Being aware of what’s around you is so difficult when you are scrolling through Facebook or looking at Instagram, I know I do it too.
It’s when people start ignoring family and friends (I do that too). Sometimes I say ‘put the phone down’ to myself, but it doesn’t always happen.
TV programmes I want to see, radio I want to hear. Pass me by nowadays. I’m composing in my head, or commenting, or supporting causes. How did life get like this? At least I don’t use my phone when I’m driving… Just too much concentrating….
Looking for shells. Looking for seaweed on the seastrand. Everything washed clean, no sign of plastic. No sign of anything. The world had changed.
Food was the problem. Not a shellfish in sight, no fish either. It was like a desert. He tried sucking pebbles so that he could stave off his thirst. Later he would go and try and light a fire with some marram grass in the dunes. He walked up slowly off the beach, conserving his energy. There must be something somewhere.
He came over the rise and saw an old concrete building. No door, open to the wind, but shelter. He rummaged inside the cupboards, green with algae. Rotting. But amazingly he found old tin cans. Now if he could find something to open them with, light a fire.
Alone on the island he looked out to sea. Maybe one day a ship would pass? He could only hope.
This is Woody, that’s what we’ve christened him. He’s been hanging round our garden for a year, eating food, and he’s gradually settled in our summerhouse. But it’s not ideal. I’d invite him in but my two rescue cats are timid, and I never got them their booster inoculations because they won’t get in the cat carriers. Anyway they are indoor cats so as long as Woody doesn’t come in they are safe.
But (and you knew this was coming, didn’t you?) I feel sorry for Woody and so I got someone to come round and check if he’s microchipped. Turns out he is but the phone number is dead and although we have been told he’s from a few streets away, they won’t tell us where because of Data protection.
No one has put missing posters up so I guess he is abandoned.
He’s a lovely friendly cat but after a year of being semi feral it’s going to be hard to get him rehomed. He doesn’t like being inside (we tried to get him in out of the rain), but I’d love him to be loved and snuggled down somewhere. Maybe on his own with a big garden to roam around, but also more cuddles than we can give.
If you live in Staffordshire maybe get in touch?
Someone wants to buy one of the glass necklaces I made. She wants a definite one. But in the time period since she saw it and asked me to keep it she can’t remember which one it is. I did wrap it up but I don’t know if I put it on display again at my last craft fair, in which case I might be wrong. I want to be a helpful seller. I care about people getting what they asked for. I hope I’ve found it!
He’s curled up,
Happy, warm, snug.
The stray cat outside has a box
Sleeps in the shed.
My cat sleeps where he likes.
The stray needs a home,
A place to be warm.
My cat won’t accept him.
Looked for its owner..
Now it needs shelter,
While my cat is happy.
It’s time for the stray,
To get a warm bed…..
My dilemma is how to do it?
This image is for illustration purposes only and does not represent the people in the poem.
Love held them together, and apart, for twenty years,
First love was theirs, second love someone else’s.
Only third love bought them together again.
Maybe a fourth love will change things?
Sometimes I want to go home.
Not this house, home,
But the one I grew up in.
The family home and hearth.
The place I knew so well
It’s nooks and crannys
The garden and the tree I climbed.
The old swing and the rockery.
Doors I shut forty years ago
Creak open in my mind.
I wish I could shut my eyes and go.
See our old pets, the roses by the back door.
Dad’s motorbike, mom’s hair in rollers.
Little memories make me homesick.
I would drive there now at 2am
But a new family live there.
I feel lost.
For Sue Vincent’s Thursday #writephoto prompt.
‘Well it was like this officer’ she said, ‘we were down on the beach and saw the cave’. She sneezed, the cold was getting into her bones ‘ it reminded me of the film “whiskey galore” based on the book by Compton MacKensie, so we decided to explore it. We scrambled down the rocks and walked past the waterfall. We went straight in because it had started to lash down with rain, so it was a chance to get under shelter too’
‘About what time was that?’ the policeman had a little hand held computer which he typed into. Not as interesting as a notebook she thought.
‘Around 10am yesterday.’ she pulled the silver space blanket tighter around her shoulders. ‘We are on holiday, we don’t know about the tides’ She looked down at her husband lying on a stretcher The ambulance people had put an oxygen mask on him and dressed the cut on his head. He gave her a little wave.
‘Yes, the tide came in while we were exploring, the cave goes back so far and the water just came up before we knew it. We were in waist deep water, but the waves were pushing us deeper in when we tried to swim out. In the end we found a ledge to sit on…. .’ the policeman was still typing ‘so what happened then?’ ‘we tried using our phones but they wouldn’t work, they had got a soaking, we tried wading out, but by then we were too cold. So we just sat as close together as we could.’
She sighed ‘ we must both have fallen asleep because when we woke up again the tide had come back in. We were exhausted and decided to wait till morning. My husband stood up to stretch and that’s when he cracked his head on the rock’. ‘So that’s when we found you’ said the policeman. ‘It was the landlady at your B&B that alerted us’
‘one thing’ he said ‘what’s that wrapped in your coat?’
‘This? It’s an old bottle of 25 year old single malt’ she smiled.