Tag: poetry

The Brain Dump, Where does it come from?

It’s been happening again, what can only be referred to as a Brain Dump. Every once in a while, my head feels like what happens to a computer, right when there is a blue screen and it begins a crash dump.
Hopefully at this point your disk drive doesn’t fry aswell. On occasions it has, that is NOT a metaphor. It has actually happened. Note to self, I may need some new technology.

Meanwhile, for those who are blissfully unaware, the brain dump wakes you up, but not quite. So you feel that you are sleeping, but you are actually aware of your surroundings.

It starts to dispose of random things in your head, clearing out what may, or may not be rubbish and you are not in control of what it may select. At times, I have found it rather disturbing, since you never know when it is coming your way, how long it may last and sometimes, there will be a real gem in there, which afterwards will be gone forever. You see, you are not awake enough to write it down, or record your thought in any way, it remains totally illogical, a collection of random thoughts which go through your head and upon fully waking you cannot recall most of it.

I noticed previously, that it used to happen most on a Saturday morning, when I did not have to rise early for work, and arrived usually in the early hours after a particularly stressful week. At times, it has given me the freedom from upset, a release from a distressing situation, which up to that point my have been ruling me. Other times, it can be memories from the past, which have returned to haunt or delight. I usually feel refreshed after this happens, but I cannot help but wonder how many people get it. In conversation with a lady who is a counsellor a while ago, she told me it might be my way getting rid of things which I cannot cope with. I rather think that it is a coping mechanism, but it has only manifested in the last couple of years.

Since last week was a prolific time for my writing things, I am hopeful that what spurred me on to write, was not short-lived and so must not allow my fears to conquer me. Tomorrow is another week and with it, brings new thoughts, experiences and excitement.

So, where does it come from? Answers, on a postcard, email, or comment. I’d love to be enlightened.

Intentions – Things I want to do this year

On the 28th of February I wrote out my list of Intentions, So of my list of 100 things I wish to achieve this year, Here’s a list of my “Yays”! so far…

And, Yes I actually have a column marked Yay on the list, for when I’ve done it.

Set up an Etsy shop to sell Vintage clothes – Now I have to sort the clothes
Write a Blog – So far so good, I started it the day I wrote my list..
Write more Poetry – Loving this bit!
Stress Less – The Blood Pressure has gone back down.
Organise my Partner’s paperwork – I do love a bit of Admin
Start to Feel Good about myself again – Little steps
Practice Gratitude – Every Day Essential

My list is continuing to grow as I do, along with new goal setting along the way. I am also leaving the old ones in there too so who knows how many there will be on it by the end of the year and how far I will have come. I only had 10 months, but four months into the year, I’m still confident I am going to achieve good things.

I did the same thing last year, I achieved 20% of what I set out to do. This time since I started from a low point, it also includes some of the little things and some really big stuff!

#thingsarelookingup #LittleSteps

The Morning Shift

I step outside, from the safety of my nest.
No longer cocooned.
As though seeing it all for the first time.
As I taste the mountain air,
The coolness of it, a sharp intake of breath
Attacking my senses and jolting me to life.
I feel the snow, crunching underfoot.
Pine Trees, sparkling and scented.
The bright sun breaking through the clouds and the blue in the sky
The scent of wood smoke and coffee brewing.
Birds are calling overhead, as their prey scurries to safety.
I take pleasure in the sights, sounds, taste, scent as it touches my heart,
Reminding me that life is beautiful and shifting my perspective.
The serenity of this place in the morning, calming my soul.
I am at ease.

Slaying the Dragon

DSC_0706

The proverbial dragon with fiery breath,
You’ll have to fight with until the death.
Your confidence captured it will trash,
Pray for a knight in armour to dash.
They call her the Dragon, the Witch and much more.
Collects trophies from the past, she’s keeping score.
Watching over like an evil Queen
Preying upon a weakness she’s seen.
Enemies have fallen in her wake,
Before her in their boots they’ll quake.
She’ll have her own way, or she’ll roar
Have you scrambling for the door.
With one fell swoop she’d reduce them to tears,
Been getting away with it all these years.
But just when she thinks that you’ll beat,
Away from her a hasty retreat.
Suddenly you grew so much stronger,
This couldn’t go on any longer
Dressed in your armour, you summoned your power
No longer the safety of her Ivory tower.
Scramble the walls and to battle, my dear,
To win over the dragon and conquer your fear.
Over all of the energy she would invest,
One day the dragon is laid to rest.
Trampled and broken on the floor,
Gone from your life, you’ve won the war.

Thirty Years, Just Think!

 

In our family we think about Birthdays wherever we are in the world, but if we are together usually on that day, If I am speaking to my father, he has what we refer to as the “Just Think” moment. It is when he reminisces about the time I was born and tells me about it. It draws me close to him for a moment and gives me the warm fuzzy feeling, it is nice that he still remembers. I had my very own “Just Think” moment for a very special lady in my life, so Happy 30th Birthday to my Little Sister.

Thirty years ago tonight
As this poem I try to write.
We were expecting to arrive,
a child who would change my life.
Was so small when I kissed her,
So pleased to have a little sister.

At twelve years old, I’d have never bet
A new sibling I would have met.
I went to sleep asked Dad to wake me.
“If she comes along I want to see!”
But with other ideas you didn’t delay,
And so very quickly you were on your way.
Arrived so quickly they had to run,
Mum there with baby by half past one.

On TV there was a big boxing fight,
We watched it at home that very night.
Between Big Frank and Tiny Tim,
I’d got you a bear and that’s what I named him.
The first little bear, but you had a few
This was the one that I gave to you.
Arrived to visit Mum and her tot.
And placed him beside you in your cot.

As time’s gone by she’s big and grown,
Things changed a bit when the nest I’d flown
But tried to be there for her as I may,
Would offer her a place to stay.
Would attend the home for a visit,
Be there when needed to baby sit.

We’d go out for Ice Cream at the “Eating Pub”
When aching and sore, my back she would rub.
She really was the sweetest kid,
The one that we all called “The Didd,”
It’s because she was the Diddie one
Smallest of three to Dad and Mum.

For a cause, she’ll stand up and fight.
Her teeth and claws may give you a fright.
Slender and swift, she’ll pounce like a cat.
Would like the last word and that is that!
Looking at her, I’m pleased to state,
She has about her the family trait.
Being there for you, when up or you’re down,
Always happy to stop for a coffee in town.

Will help you with the odd household chore,
And shopping with her is never a bore.
Don’t know what’s been decided to follow which path,
When we’re together, don’t hold back just laugh.
I love her so much, just as I ought,
Of course there’s been times when we fought.

On a few occasions I have met her friends,
But that is not where the story ends.
Going about with her long fiery hair,
Says what she means without a care.
She’s arty and clever and ever so loud,
But she’s my sister and makes me proud.
Through thick and thin this I have learned,
And to achieve her own success I’ve yearned.
With her there’s certainly no room for faking,
And her successes will be of her making.
She gets up on stage and sings her heart out,
Excitement abounding she’ll jump and shout.
So now that the baby has finally shown,
She’s a woman today, I’m pleased to have known.
Doesn’t matter how near or how far,
Travel required by train or by car.
But always know we’ll be together,
Through thick or thin, my sister forever.
So please raise a glass tonight to drink,
And as you do, say to her “Just think”

The Tale of Boomerang.

037

This is the Tale of Boomerang,
Right from back where it began.
A story from long time ago,
Never thought would love a little car so

Thinking of the trips in this, they’ll go far,
As they made their plans for the little car.
Of a beautiful Saab she would often dream,
Not usually red, she had seen one in cream.
Planted firmly upon her wish list,
Her sights set hard, through time she wished.
For this was a dream she set out to achieve,
A possible goal made with time to breathe.
But her licence would come and a date he’d set,
When her dream would come true and that car she’d get.
They travelled the country far and wide,
A passenger then just enjoying the ride.
Emotional journey to her old car farewell,
they had moved on it was time to sell.
She thought of all the ones that had been,
Of all of the sights, she had finally seen.
Days out in the sunshine when the weather was fine.
Trips off to France to load up on wine.
The roof down the breeze and wind on their faces,
A clear stretch of road, enjoying the races.
A short while passed and he wanted to upgrade,
But with the red car she wished she’d stayed.
The first car she had from passing her test,
It was the one that she loved the best.
Driving past one the pang it sends
As they went along in their Mercedes Benz,
Don’t get me wrong although it was fun,
The Saab was much better in the long run.
Think of the joys in little red,
All of those journeys we wore some tread.

They travelled to town for a funeral,
Journeyed back talking through it all.
And in an unknown place that they passed,
Sharp intake of breath and they were aghast.
They stopped up the road, couldn’t believe their luck.
With the car at the garage, the man was stuck,
There’s been thirteen people for it, I’ve been sent.
Take it away, as for you it was meant.
She skipped out to the car to see it again,
A smile on her face, she’d get it, When?
The chance of getting her dream car back,
Excitement of driving, she’d no longer lack.
He arranged with the man and did the deal,
No comprehension of how she would feel.
Once again she’d got her red car,
He’d come right back a shining star.

Later when the time was right,
He asked her if she just might
A suggestion that they would chop him in,
Not sure about that, it would be a sin.
Looked at a car, eyes wide with awe,
To get rid of red, would leave her sore.
But sense kicked in as he was growing older,
They thought about something much, much bolder.
She drove him away shedding a tear.
He’s been there for her, for many a year.

The new car arrived and was all that she hoped,
But about little red, he often joked.
Thought it was cruel, she would never forget,
Stabbed each time with the pain of regret.
One day when they travelled out for the day.
Crossing back across country from the bay.
You’ll never guess what he took her to see.
There was her Red, as bright as can be!
Waiting for her and ready to go,
Her name on the plate he’d proudly show.
Life would surely never be the same,
They sent him away, now they’ve got him again.
Drove with the roof down, not even a care,
Windswept and laughing happy to share.
They drove him back home with wondrous smiles,
As he readily ate up the miles.
Swept up in a moment he’s back here to stay.
We never really, should have sent him away.
Should let you all know, that as I recall,
He’s not very little, there’s room for us all
The tale of Boomerang, was once little red.
You should keep him forever, That’s what he said.

George’s Hidden Treasure

CAM02143

When we came and found it,
We looked here and there.
Picked a spot to sit,
but wasn’t even a chair.
I thought I’d tell what I know about George,
And the friendship that we would forge.
You see, the house it had been stripped,
Of all his worldly goods.
Or so we thought, as we tripped,
Around the sheds and woods.
But as we ventured all around,
The odd treasure still to be found.
An occasional thing had been replaced,
Or scattered about, a little defaced.
In the sheds hung his old tools,
The scavengers, were only fools.
Inside the house there was a table,
But with small minds they weren’t able.
For a moment to stop and think,
As to why it was covered in ink.
I wanted to do a little research,
In the garden, of pine and birch.
There’s bottles and baskets and old clothes,
Digging around an old treasure trove.

Picture a place with a scene of beauty,
Looking around at nature’s bounty.
A place filled with such mystery,
As I began to research his story.
There were pots that had been made by hand,
Strange things I’d found buried on the land.
Antique ladders, a walking stick
To get you about when you’re in the thick.
A painting or two hidden above the stair,
Behind the wall when I stripped it bare.
Writing was not just his legacy,
He was an artist who craved to be free.
Visiting ladies to the hilltop would clamour,
To his studio to sit, with none of the glamour.
He would sit alone and he’d paint
In the house, so cold and very quaint.
Perhaps he had some heating supply,
Upon which he could rely.
There disrobed on a couch she might lay,
Whilst the farmer was off, making hay.

Around these parts it was said, he’s a scribe,
The odd bottle of brandy was known to imbibe.
Walking around, you should take a look
Searched to find copies of his book.
For this is the place he chose to reside,
Next to the house where the horses will ride.
Lived there alone and up there he hunted,
With coldness of winter he was confronted.
Wrote books about writing and he had laid claim,
of stories and cooking which wasn’t so plain.
There was a short doorway, it wasn’t so tall,
But it did for him, he was decidedly small.
Some time ago I read of his travels,
But with time, the story unravels.
But over the years, the things that he crafted
Remain buried here and they’ve lasted.
Things he created, sit out the back,
There in the garden, a wonderful plaque.
His scattered remains of the man he once was,
We leave it right there, just because.
Although the scribe has temporarily vacated,
The delight to share, is unabated.
The place where he once took his pleasure,
He still resides in his time of leisure.
As guardians here now we’ve been sent,
His spirit has shown, for us it was meant.
For right up here might be where it began,
The house that belonged to a little wee man.
He visited once to bid us adieu
Now raising a glass to him, Salut.

A Wildflower Garden

044I thought that I’d plant a wildflower garden,
To discourage the edges around us to harden.
Through the fields cutting a swathe.
For bugs and Bees, there to enslave.
It would have lupins’, the odd cornflower,
To brighten the way and harness it’s power.
Colours bright will form an array,
From your journey your eyes might stray.
Wander there and scatter around,
Seedlings to grow all over the ground.
Opening up before your eyes,
Turn the corner to your surprise.
Along over there by the side of the road,
There to embrace and the wildlife to goad.
A small chance of some encouragement,
From Nature to do her best it’s meant.
To entice from your face a smile to see,
As blossom and pollen fly to be free.
Floating along, up on a cloud,
A cloak over countryside to shroud.
Near pond and stream and hedgerow,
Earthworms and Beetles busy below.
Waiting through winter, for the cold to pass,
Busy creating the green and the grass.
Buds and leaves begin to sprout,
Sharing their beauty once they are out.

Spring Storm

There’s a storm outside again you know,
It hurries outside my window
Trying to sleep is ever so hard,
With things it’s hurling around the yard.
You wouldn’t know it’s the first night of Spring,
Isn’t the weather a mysterious thing?
The dog is restless, sleepers awake.
My body is lifeless and starts to quake.
The night is not peaceful as it should be,
I climb out of bed, make a cup of tea.
And wonder when the sleep will return,
Stopping a moment, from tossing and turn.
Perhaps a biscuit is my firm belief,
That something sweet, will give some relief.
Snuggled on blanket, the dog’s gone to bed,
Laying there motionless resting his head.
The heating is on, so I cannot get cold.
Wonder, Is this what it’s like to be old?
Thinking of all of the plants that have tried,
To grow through the cold so many had died.
Thankful that we don’t live in a hut,
Hoping there isn’t a power cut.
The lights in here, flicker and dim,
If we lost the power a mess we’re in.
When it’s like this he’ll often fret,
But at least he’s not outside, getting all wet.
As the harsh wind changes direction,
Things in the garden, facing ejection.
Rain falling sideways, far and wide,
Makes him find a place to hide.
A car driving by hearing the splashes,
fiercely at the door it lashes.
Dog stops by to check me and gives me his paw,
The wind blowing hard is bitter and raw.
Crashing and banging and throwing about,
It shares it’s own way of wanting to shout.
Through trees and bushes, wanting to bend,
A chance from this that there’s fences to mend.
Thankful that I am safely inside
As we await the yearly spring tide.