Monday, 10 September 2018

The calling



I sat on the soft, golden sand, resting my back against the swaying palm tree. The sun was so hot today and the dappled shade of the tree gave welcome relief.

The soft, warm breeze ruffled my hair, bringing with it a warm, fragrant smell from the nearby spice market.

I smiled, as I watched a group of small children, wearing brightly coloured clothes, playing a game with small stones on the dusty earth a little way away. Their happy, bubbling laughter carried clearly to me. Innocents without a care in the world.

The sea, of the deepest azure I had ever seen, twinkled in the sun. The water looked so cool and inviting.

I kicked off my shoes, carrying them in my hand and ran towards it.

I sat on a small pier, swinging my feet over the edge to be caressed by the velvety smooth, cool water.

I watched small boats playing on the water, scudding along in the tranquil bay, as the wind breathed its warmth into their red sails.

I felt totally immersed in the scene, smelling, feeling, seeing everything in the minutest of detail.

From a great distance I heard a shrill and discordant sound. It pulled at me, reminding me of things elsewhere.

Perhaps if I ignored it, peace would resume, I could relax once more.

The sound got louder, louder, nearer and nearer until I could no longer ignore it!

It jerked me back to reality! I put the book down upon the sofa, feeling angry about the disturbance.

I picked up the phone, longing to return to my book and my imagination once more.

Wednesday, 5 September 2018

The smart meter


We got a smart meter,
A few weeks ago,
Would it save money?
Slow the cash flow?

It sits on the side,
Blinking a light!
Green is for miserly,
Red's a cash fright!

So how much does it cost,
To run a nice shower?
Oh no, the light's red,
That means lots of power!

The microwave, how's that?
It can't quite decide!
Its flashing a nice amber.
A little power applied.

So, which is cheaper,
Shower or bath?
I tried and I saw,
A nice soak then, I laugh!

Will it save cash?
Well, after a week,
We stopped watching its lights.
Except the odd peek.

But one thing is good,
When bill time comes near,
An estimated reading,
We will no longer fear.

Thursday, 30 August 2018

Taking it up




Recently, I treated myself to a new dress. I hurried home and tried it on. I loved it, but it was just a few inches too long. So out came the needle and thread and I hemmed it up.

My daughter and I got chatting whilst I was sewing. She goes to a repair cafe, where people swap expertise to mend things, rather than throwing them away.

She commented that one day, somebody had come in because a button had come off of their shirt and they didn't know how to stitch it back on.

It got me to thinking about just how few people now can do these simple things that were once thought of as easy, everyday tasks.

Maybe parents seldom teach their children these simple skills anymore – sewing, mending, darning, fixing things around the house.

It is so easy nowadays just to pop to the shops, buy new and discard the old.

But should we let these skills die? I don't think that we should. Not only does it save us money, but it helps our planet, as we are re-using resources rather than simply throwing things away.

If your child loses a button, or breaks a toy, show them how to mend it, pass on your knowledge, so that they, in turn, can pass their skills on to their own children.

Sunday, 26 August 2018

Summer breezes




Summer breezes sigh, 
Wafting seeds upon high.

Gossamer on the flow,
Finding places to grow.




Sunday, 19 August 2018

The void




It had been a hard few months for her. If anything could go wrong, it had! She sat, exhausted and aching, feeling that nothing would ever be the same again.

She cried out, 'Please, someone, anyone, tell me what to do!' The silence laid heavy on her ears.

It was easy before – no problems, things just flowed in the way that they should, the way that they always had.

But in these last few months, nothing had gone to plan – nothing!

Once again she sought help, asking her angels, her loved ones, anyone to give her guidance. There must be something that she could do, something or someone that could help her.

'This is impossible! I can't see an answer!'

She sighed heavily, feeling as if she was drowning in a sea of blackness.

There must be someone out there that could inspire, help her, move her forward? Maybe some would see her plea, come to her aid.

The computer screen stared back at her, blank and mocking.

Two months. TWO MONTHS! That's how long it had been since she'd last written a blog post.

Wednesday, 20 June 2018

I love to comp on Twitter


I love to comp on Twitter,
I do it every day!
I have lots of lovely followers,
Who also love to play.

But oh, one thing annoys me!
It's constant day and night.
Retweeting my entry,
Instead of doing it right!

To enter comps correctly,
Its the original tweet you need,
Please take the time,
To go to the promoters feed!

You see, if you retweet mine,
Your entry might not win,
The promoter may not see it,
And that would be a sin!

Some comps only allow one entry,
To try to win the stash,
But copy mine,
And my entry will be trash!

Cos then I'll have two entries,
I'll never win the prize!
Please don't do it.
Is this word unto the wise!

So please, lovely followers,
Take a second more time,
Enter that comp properly,
Then I wouldn't need to rhyme.

Sunday, 29 April 2018

A Mum thing


I moved out of my parents' home over 35 years ago and my brothers had moved out several years before that.

As a child, I had my own bedroom, and even had a plaque on the door proclaiming that it was my room. My brothers shared another.

Even to this day, my parents still call the room my bedroom. If asked where something is, My Mum will say 'Its in the boys room' or 'Its in Seren's room.'

The plaque still hangs there to this day, proudly in place.

My daughter moved out over a year ago. And I've found myself doing exactly the same.

There's still a plaque on the door with her name on, it is still referred to as her room, even though she now owns a house of her own.

It isn't the spare room, or the back bedroom – it is still HER room.

It must be a way in which Mums cope with things when their precious babies fly the nest, a way of keeping them close to them in some way.

Maybe if it is still called their room, then in some way they have not really gone. Sentimental things, us Mums, aren't we.