No Time

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Time is running far too fast for me. I’m so busy doing something that I’m tired and I’m getting worn out. That’s why I haven’t been here much over the last few days..

Anyway  I will try and catch up over the weekend. I enjoy writing and would miss it if I didn’t blog or write poems.

My Instagram and Facebook pages are also being neglected but I can’t help that. I will try and post more later when I’ve recovered a bit.

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Make me paint!

_20190310_022442 I need to paint. I’ve had a break, partly self enforced because I was busy and tired and lost my way in doing other things like blogging, plus it’s been winter and it’s too cold and dark. I was doing lots of things as hobbies too. But I’m nervous of spending too much of dwindling resources.  I’m scared of putting a toe back into the world of work. I want to be helping people as well as painting.

The cliff edge is looming and I want to take a step back. Writing here is allowing me to explore ideas and thoughts that I have never been able to do before. It’s all very gentle and kind and I’m afraid I’ve found a cosy space that allows my dreams, but perhaps I have to let go and try harder in the real world. I’m saying I’m an experimenting artist so I need to do that….. Give art a chance.

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Tranquil – from Sue Vincent’s weekly #writephoto prompt.

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Funny how the light shines in this glade she thought. The trees and the beach look pink and purple. It must be the weather. Then she looked up to where the sun should be, but the star she saw  was red, like the sun when you see it through thick clouds on the horizon. But this star was small and high up in the sky. She could tell it wasn’t her sun. You could actually look at it without being blinded.

She tried to remember how she had got here, what had happened to her? All she could think of was the lights in the sky the night before. Not meteors but green flashes, like falling fireworks. Yes, then something had lifted her up and everything had gone dark and silent….

Where am I? Where have I been brought to? she thought, this place is so peaceful, so quiet. Then she realised what was missing, birdsong, insects churring, the everyday sound of traffic… Wherever she was she knew now it was alien. It could not be Earth.

Written in response to Sue Vincent’s Thursday #writephoto prompt here

Calligraphy

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A couple of years ago I went to a calligraphy workshop. As well as doing English Calligraphy we also tried doing Arabic script (I don’t have much memory of it). I do remember we used sticks cut down to make a chiseled edge to write with. Then like children learning the alphabet we wrote each letter over and over again until we started getting the shapes right.

I enjoy drawing patterns so it was really interesting to see how this style of writing worked. The artist who taught us showed us some beautiful calligraphy. Unfortunately I did not take any photos of his work. Calligraphy is clearly an art in its own right. I would love to learn more.

Boarded up

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He woke up in darkness, the window he has climbed through last night was now boarded up. He was alone in the barn, but his hands were tied behind his back. He heard a quiet rustling in the straw. A squeak and he realised there were either rats or mice sharing the space with him…..

Everything had been quiet when he had crept into the barn about 8 o’clock the previous evening. He’d been setting up the camera when something or someone had hit him on the head.

What the hell do I do now? he thought. I’m stuck.

He glanced about and he saw something black in the corner, an old scythe? Yes stck under some sacking. It was so easy in mystery stories. Just rub against the blade and escape…. Two hours later he’d got through one strand of rope, his wrists were bruised and cut and he was sweating with the exertion of trying to escape. If he ever got out of here he would have words with his mates…

This was not how a stag party was meant to go!

Newspapers in a bag

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She looks out of a plastic bag, a face from abroad, from Asia, the orient as it used to be called. Whose life is it? How many lives and stories are recorded inside the pages.

Why collect newspapers? Why not bin them ? They go to a friend who does not get a paper but likes to catch up with the news once in a while.

So a weeks worth of news travels a mile to be read again. Perused, inspected,, imbibed.

Words of faith, hate, crimes, love, jeopardy, booze, history, mainstream and minor musical scales. Obituaries and marriages, births and birthdays. I like to share. Yesterday’s news but not just chip wrapping paper yet. ..