I have most of my thoughts while doing something else. Usually something that I should be concentrating on really. I have on occasion got out of the shower, lost in thought, only to discover I accidentally forgot to wash my hair (one of my main reasons for being in the shower to start with). EarlierContinue reading “Thoughts”
Tag Archives: writing
Showering with Sheep
I’m showering with the window open again, despite the chill. It’s one of those summer mornings where the sun hasn’t got going yet. The kind of day that saw me as a child stood at a bus stop for a day out dressed in shorts and a jumper in a strange mix of optimism andContinue reading “Showering with Sheep”
Home
I can’t write poetry. My brain is slightly addled by codeine as the pain was lingering long today. I’ve tried to assemble my thoughts but they keep running away. I am thinking of home, and how this was my home, my childhood home. Visiting is comfortable, like wearing old familiar clothes. Though things have changedContinue reading “Home”
Doubt
So I moved all my blogs here, and now I’m doubting if it was a good idea. With my tired eyes staring blurrily at the screen, I sit and doubt. I doubt and sit. Stretch and wriggle my gammy leg, and doubt some more. I doubt myself and my ability to make good decisions. IContinue reading “Doubt”
squatters
Sometimes when I think about the bees I get a twinge in my foot, right where I was stung. It twinged when I heard they’d come back, along with a shudder of fear right down my spine. Because that day, that day was the stuff of nightmares. Bees everywhere, a sting, and no sleep all.Continue reading “squatters”
pain
In the silence I think about the pain. I think about the days and days, so many days, since it wasn’t there. One day it wasn’t there, and then it was. And is. Still. Around about 300 days. 300 days of pain in varying amounts. Some ups. Some downs. But always pain to some degree.Continue reading “pain”
The Bees
I am fond of bees. Correction, I was fond of bees. I like bees outside on plants and buzzing happily. I like taking photos of them about their business. I do not like them in my house, gathering in the windows and setting up home in my loft. I especially do not like them underfoot.Continue reading “The Bees”
cold horror
My nose is full of custard. My head is packed with booze-soaked sponge cake. I am become trifle from this cold. This summer cold that my daughter gave me, after bemoaning her fate repeatedly. Now it’s my turn. My trifle-head may be worse than hers unfortunately, what with the drugs and all. All week myContinue reading “cold horror”
Me
When I wasn’t me, I swam among the sharks and let them take a bite. I offered up myself, inviting teeth to pierce my flesh. Seeing sweetness in their many rows of teeth despite the blood-stains on their lips. And when they lacerated my skin again and again I conspired to make some teeth marksContinue reading “Me”
Father
I was quite old before I realised not all dads were nice dads. I thought they were all like mine – kind, gentle, funny … especially the funny. He passed his quirky sense of humour onto me and my sister, sometimes my mum seemed a little left out of our jokes. But other dads, notContinue reading “Father”
