A short reflection.... Forgiveness is a work of the heart — first, foremost, and forever. Beginning in the heart, forgiveness reflects a decision made on the inside to refuse to live in the past. This is critical. You can’t move forward if you are still holding on to the past. It would be like looking …
As Monty Python used to say, and now for something completely different. This is not my normal style, most of the poems you will find on my page are quite serious, some spiritual, some dark, some, according to my friend Laurence, just weird. (I'm mentioning Laurence just to see if he actually reads this stuff …
A Poem for National Poetry Day 2020 on October 1st. Photo by Antoni Shkraba Studio on Pexels.com The potter sits at his spinning wheel hands slippery with water and clay. Thumbs dig deep as his fingers feel a bowl curling up on the way. It pleases him to see its form, with its wafer thin …
Photo by Oleg Magni on Pexels.com A crystal ball? An amazing tool, it can be believed by any fool. Makes up the future, the now and past, and it can not tell you how long you’ll last. It can only tell you that now you live, that you’re here now, that you believe that there …
This style of poetry is quite avant garde to me and not my usual style, here using single word lines, giving space to the writing in keeping with the theme, centre aligned text as a nod to the shape of the Milky Way. So it is an art form as well as a poem. An …
Photo by Ian Beckley on Pexels.com Joseph’s coat of many colours, looks pale beside the autumn leaves. Summers days all clad in green, so mundane ‘gainst late year eves. Golden hues from beige to crimson, crisp and fresh on dew soaked grounds. Carried on late summer breezes, blocking byways, forming mounds. Autumn, fall, what e'er …
Do you think having a literary agent increases your chances of being published? Answers and if possible recommendations in the comments please. Not me!
“Home sweet home you call it? I’ll give you home sweet home. You arrive back here gone midnight You poisionous little gnome!” “I’ve had a drink, a couple, maybe three or more, I’ve come home to my loving wife Who’s waiting by the door.” “Loving wife you call me? I’ll give you loving wife! I’ll …
Brown circles on the grass mark the place of landing. Flat and trodden down where they milled around. They come at night, stay a while, then disappear as if they had never been. Leaving the brown circles of dead grass and the smell of fuel hanging in the air, testament to them being here. They …
