a blog to share my word-whispers and nearly seventy years of poetry

Thursday, 10 October 2013

The dear departed ...

I hope this is legible as I could not
get my scanner to work
I'm in something of a state today and can't settle to anything. So I resorted to sorting papers and dividing all the notes and scribbles into folders; and then subdividing the folders into 'work' and 'play', and couldn't decide what to do when they overlapped. Cross-referencing is always a pain; but photocopying and filing duplicates just proliferates paper. 

One of the pieces of paper was this poem-spill, undated but probably from sometime in August when I was writing about ancestral influences. This was one of those moments when words fell on the page and I did not alter a single one. 

Monday, 7 October 2013

Outside in the dark evening

It doesn't always happen this way, but tonight it did - and I had pen and paper handy. A magical moment, and the first flight heralding the passing of summer.

Friday, 26 April 2013

Out on the road

Early on Monday morning

It's almost a month since I posted in this Spilling Words blog; so often when I am writing full-time I lose the personal plot and poem-spills and word whispers do not fall into my mind or onto the page. Such has been the last three weeks - and now I think this post may be a mistake. 

First signs of Spring

You see, on our way to Malvern and the Spring Gardening Show build-up (for a preview on the blog I am engaged to write for the Show), I took my usual 'through the windscreen' photos, and a couple of poem-spills came into my head. I wrote them down instantly and they are here - no change of words, just as they were when scribbled down, though now typed and formatted.

These hills (The Malverns) constantly inspire me
But I am also posting three images of the landscape along the way. Now here is my dilemma; it was not any specific shot or view that inspired me to write but they convey what I was feeling at the time (Monday 23rd April, 2013).

Please tell me which you prefer; words alone, or words and images. Does the inclusion of images destroy your concept of what the poem-spills convey to you? Thankyou in advance of any comments you may leave.

Saturday, 30 March 2013

This could be fun ...!

I am re-focusing today, sorting projects - those on-the-go, those impending, and some about which I had forgotten. Like this idea that for some reason came to me almost two months ago and was filed away (the page on which I wrote it was scanned, and that was that).

I think at the time, I must have been thinking of the new booklets I will make for this year's Warwickshire Open Studios (beginning of July) when again I will be exhibiting in our caravan, sat in the courtyard outside our door. Time then to play, and think of Autumn projects ....

This is the word-whisper I wrote when the spark came, and an explanation of how I would create the booklet. I've now moved it into my WOS 2013 box along with many other possibilities. Eventually, they will all have to be prioritised.

Sunday, 10 March 2013

A strange post for mother's day

This year, Mother's Day happens to coincide with a sad and poignant occasion in my young life, and one I never forget, as 10th March arrives every twelve months. I vividly remember the occasion, and even in writing this 'word-whisper', remember too my beloved Mummy, who even with all the problems in her life, of which I gradually became aware, she always believed in me. Though never in a demonstrative way, I knew she cared.

So this image of her hugging me is all the more special to me, for I cannot recall another.  Eventually, I understood; but that's another story.

Not sure how old I was here, as I don't recognise the dress, around two I think, and before she had to make what must have been, for a mother, a difficult decision; to leave me with my grandparents whilst she accompanied my father on a concert tour of South America. They were out there when war broke out (World War II).

Friday, 8 March 2013

Not spilling, but floating

I have not had a good two weeks, work-wise; feel totally drained and incapable of writing other than necessary prose. A terrifying experience; though they go in waves, my poem-spills. Today, as we drove across country for feed for the chickens, and food for ourselves, it was as if a shutter had fallen; my head throbbed and R. talked gently to me of my fears, and of what was going wrong.

And then, oh blissful then, a trickle. Out of my bag I pulled a bank envelope - all I had to write upon; dug into my pocket for a pen .....

Tuesday, 19 February 2013

Found on my iPad

Been playing around with my iPad and found this whilst I was searching through my photos - a scan from my Poem Spills notebook
And I don't think the iPad is that good at publishing blog posts, so I may have to do it again when I have access to my laptop and NEC WiFi. Here goes. Oh, the poem and the sketch were written and painted in the Cotswolds, somewhere near Stroud, about an hour or so south of our part of these beautiful hills.