The momentum that began in January has certainly continued throughout February with the writing of poetry almost daily and three talks/poetry/reading events in 11 days. My first Coffee and Cake with Kate event went very well and another will be held 14th March. The launch date of In the Palm of His Hand on 19th March, will be followed quickly with other events on 21st, 23rd and 28th.
Holding the proof copy of my book was surreal – my dream of being an Occupational Therapist achieved in 1989 and my second dream of having a book with its very own ISBN 30 years on is a marvellous feeling.
Marvellous is one of those phrases I say a lot yet I have not written a poem about it – perhaps something to make a note of and include in a future blog?
The last two weeks have been full of interesting celebration days to write about. Several of my poems are featured on my Social Media platforms. Other poems have been prompted to write just by my ponderings, like this one published here...
Tired
She had said things would be different,
Not the same as all the days before,
He really felt he had had enough,
He did not think he could take any more.
The way she looked at him each morning,
The tone of her voice - her cutting words,
Whatever he did or did not do it seemed,
Prompted her cynicism, venom and curse.
Today he would need to make a decision,
To stay or to go - he had now to choose,
As he weighed things up in his mind,
In leaving there was much less to loose.
He could start afresh whilst still able,
Young enough to build a new life again,
Fit enough to cope with the upheaval,
Strong enough to leave her and his friend.
He wondered of course what she'd do,
Discovering he had left, escaped, gone,
If she'd ever really cared about him at all,
Even on the day she had brought him home.
Yes, there had been a bowl and water,
But no comfy bed on which to lay down,
From the first night he was left in a cellar,
He'd been afraid to sleep on the cold ground.
Why had she wanted to treat him this way,
He mused as he resolved to leave her - to go,
It was so sad she had not realised the truth,
Of a dog's love being so unconditional.
He sighed as he waited for his moment,
He looked at his friend - his shadow 'twas all,
And timing it perfectly as the knob turned,
He made a bolt for the now open door.
He ran and ran without stopping,
His heart thumping high in his chest,
He would never go back he'd be free now,
Not kept by her under house arrest.
The exercise he had secretly been doing,
Had kept him fit enough for a sprint,
But he was feeling a bit wobbly soon,
His energy and adrenaline both spent.
He found somewhere to shelter and rest,
Into a deep sleep he fell without a care,
It was several hours later he woke up,
To discover it had been a dream- a nightmare.
The bed he had was warm and reassuring,
His bowl nearby piled high with breakfast,
Jenny was greeting him with a smile and hug,
He was OK here with her - he was blessed.
I am feeling incredibly blessed – whereas my childhood was filled with hours of struggling to read and to write, here I am excited each morning to be writing something new. The next few months will be busy with book marketing and events, but I will be sure to spend time at my desk. Along with new poetry, I am also working on my memoir which I hope to have more news of in my next blog.
I am looking forward to sharing In the Palm of His Hand book reviews with you – these will be uploaded onto my website. The feedback so far via Daisa & Co has been very encouraging.
My Addiction
I can not say writing poetry is my job really,
Not in the salaried or paid sense of the word,
It is more of an addiction or even affliction,
From which I am not likely ever to be cured.
I write almost daily, and often more so,
As sentences are conjured up in my mind,
Desperately trying to reveal themselves,
Keen that I do not from the world them hide.
I do love how senses are formed in rhythm,
And beckon me to help start each new day,
Many anecdotal in nature or humorous,
Some about what my heart speaks or prays.
