In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “A Plot of Earth.”
I would build a home with a wrap-around porch, furnished with chairs and jugs of sparkling water with slices of lemon added (instead of lemonade).
I would sit on the porch and admire the scenery, and finish all my half read books. Because now that I blog, I ain’t never gonna finish any of them.
Softened hearts and wisened thoughts
Wholeheartedness and purity
Spreads the scent of righteousness
To those who may need kindness true
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Tourist Trap.”
I was born in Africa
And met family in England
I farewelled my mother in Scotland
And danced in Hungary
I have worked in Germany
And holidayed in Fiji
I have lived in Australia
But I have never been to
The United States
Next stop!
With Canadian Rocky Mountains thrown in
Any travel suggestions?
My world expands each time
I think of you
My soul enlarges at every
Thought of you
My mind rejoices with
Each sweet memory
My heart was locked
Until it met with you
Your love is like
A magic golden key
I dream of you
At night when dreams are free
And thoughts are real
I dream of you
When you are nowhere near
But in my dreams
I dream of you
When you are far away
But by my side
I dream of you
When it cannot be
That you are here
I dreamt of you
Last night
The birthdays knock
On the door each year.
They take each child
While the night is dark.
My eight-year old has
Flown away, and in her place
A nine-year old is
In her place.
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/think-global-act-local/
I volunteer at a shelter
For mothers and children
That have fled their homes
The strength of will, their
Strength shines through
To these women, rebuilding
Their lives, I salute you
Taken with my iPhone 5
The bench is empty
There’s no one there
Tranquility surrounds me
As I breathe in the air
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_photo_challenge/rule-of-thirds/
I have spent some time with my Year 4 teacher. Year 4 was my fourth year of school. It is the year I turned 10. My teacher is visiting Sydney with her best friend, who is the mother of a South African friend of mine. Her best friend is also a teacher, and taught my sister. I am reminded of how small this world is. It is surreal to spend time with someone from my life thirty years ago. And once one gets past the exterior change, the mannerisms of that person are still the same. The essence of one does not change.
I had a passing thought. Remember 1984? Oh. Yes, I remember sitting in the classroom. I remember my teacher reading us The Enchanted Wood. I had already read it a few times myself. I liked my teacher then. And I like her now.
And then I remember 1984. That was the year I wished to die. That was the year I experienced anger and wrath. And I felt fear. My life changed that year. And my fear would stay with me. It would influence my choice of husband. The way I live my life.
My daughter is nine today. It is her birthday. I do not believe she has ever felt fear. She is confident and passionate and sure of herself. I grew up hiding and scared and reserved. It is only through writing that I have found that I am as passionate as my daughter is. When I get past the fear and reserve that I carry as part of me, there is passion.
You are the devil’s child
You are a bitch
So ugly when you were born
There is no way you could be my child
If you would like to find a man
Perhaps you should wear some makeup
Show some cleavage
Show that body we know you have
Why are my eyes blue
When yours are brown?
What will happen
If I do things that do not please you?
The temper, the rage, a fear of man
Are written in my soul
It is not guns I need to fear
When a man and his bare hands are all that’s required
Poems and Petals 