Well I have danced my heart out yet again, and spent the rest of the evening shuffling around my home at a snails pace. I didn't even want to shuffle to the loo, I ached so much but my bladder did insist and I finally made it down the stairs.
But I really, really didn't want to climb them again.
The struggles I put myself through, and the aches I live with.
Could have been something to do with the 10 hour day at work, and the several hundred cases of water I ended lugging from A to B because someone borrowed the delivery trolley and had forgotten to put it back in a place where others may find and use it.
I will say no more about this, but my back is still protesting at the abuse it was put through with the occasional twinge screaming at me.
(And I do admit several hundred is a slight exaggeration, but not to my muscles).
The sad shame is, there is no bollywood next Monday, and I don't know what I will do with myself.
Write? As I haven't penned a story in a while, crochet? As I do have to think of something for the soon arriving Mothers day. Or dreaming? Which is a favourite pastime of mine, but one in which I cannot prove it has any benefit as I have nothing physical to show from it except a happy warm glow in my soul.
Dreaming does include slumber, and I am very tired. Earlies are not my best time of day, and going to bed at 8 always seems a little wrong.
I am so glad this thing has a spell check. The words I have spent typing tonight bare little resemblance to what I intended, and without it, only gobbledygook would have prevailed.
So I shall finish with today's poem, and bid you all a good night.
Tired
An ache in my bone lingers,
As a yawn distorts my face.
My limbs are heavy as lead.
As I sit, slumped, in this space.
My brain is turning to mush,
As my eyes struggle to see.
I want to wrap the sun around my shoulders
Like a comfortable and warm blanket,
And then, I can finally sleep. 18th March 2014
Thank you for reading. xx
Tuesday, 18 March 2014
Monday, 17 March 2014
Ouch!
Oh, don't trap your finger in the door.
Or you'll be swearing,
And rolling on the floor.
As you cradle your right hand,
And it throbs like a demented brass band.
Oh, don't trap your finger in the door! 17th March 2014
Or you'll be swearing,
And rolling on the floor.
As you cradle your right hand,
And it throbs like a demented brass band.
Oh, don't trap your finger in the door! 17th March 2014
Sunday, 16 March 2014
Clouds
Undulating clouds crash against a distant shore.
They bubble and roll against the rocks of the earth
And roar to the beach of the horizon.
Where the edge of the land is only a thin strip of light in the darkening sky.
And the clouded waves bush pink, rose and orange
As if they realise they are being watched
By the small creatures that scuttle fare below.
Who are often caught up in the mundanity of their small lives.
And sometimes forget to wonder at the magnificence of the sky. 16th March 2014
They bubble and roll against the rocks of the earth
And roar to the beach of the horizon.
Where the edge of the land is only a thin strip of light in the darkening sky.
And the clouded waves bush pink, rose and orange
As if they realise they are being watched
By the small creatures that scuttle fare below.
Who are often caught up in the mundanity of their small lives.
And sometimes forget to wonder at the magnificence of the sky. 16th March 2014
Saturday, 15 March 2014
Warmth of the Sun
Still.
I am still.
Sat in a pool of golden splendour
Upon the heat soaked carpet.
Baking gently, in the warmth of the sun.
As the viscous, golden, heavy light
Caresses my Winter-darkened soul.
Stains it with the promise of Spring.
From black-brown to red,
Through amber, to gold,
As rich, and as welcoming as honey tinged ale
I can taste on my tongue.
And I yawn.
I stretch; And I fall.
Fall forward into mindfulness.
In the warmth of the sun. 15th March 2014
I am still.
Sat in a pool of golden splendour
Upon the heat soaked carpet.
Baking gently, in the warmth of the sun.
As the viscous, golden, heavy light
Caresses my Winter-darkened soul.
Stains it with the promise of Spring.
From black-brown to red,
Through amber, to gold,
As rich, and as welcoming as honey tinged ale
I can taste on my tongue.
And I yawn.
I stretch; And I fall.
Fall forward into mindfulness.
In the warmth of the sun. 15th March 2014
A Reason...
Work, and sleep.
Sleep and work.
All time is consumed by,
All space is enveloped by
Work, and sleep
Punctuates each interval.
As the comma pauses a sentence.
But there is no end.
No full stop to the endless
Water wheel, of
Work, and sleep.
Sleep and work.
With only seven minutes of snooze in which to dream... 15th March 2014
OK, those of you who are reading will realise I have sort of missed a day. But did you not get two for one on Thursday? And an old one of top of that?
So stop complaining. I still intend to finish this 40 days of poems, so this is yesterdays effort even though I have only just wrote it, and I will post one for today, later. When my mind has began to melt with the pure joy of an extra day off and begins to work again.
So there might be a half decent one coming your way, although I cannot promise anything.
And anyway, this is my challenge, with my ever changing rules.
It was so much easier on paper, when I could write several in one prose filled moment to cover the next few days.
Why do I do these things to myself....
Thank you for reading. xx
Sleep and work.
All time is consumed by,
All space is enveloped by
Work, and sleep
Punctuates each interval.
As the comma pauses a sentence.
But there is no end.
No full stop to the endless
Water wheel, of
Work, and sleep.
Sleep and work.
With only seven minutes of snooze in which to dream... 15th March 2014
OK, those of you who are reading will realise I have sort of missed a day. But did you not get two for one on Thursday? And an old one of top of that?
So stop complaining. I still intend to finish this 40 days of poems, so this is yesterdays effort even though I have only just wrote it, and I will post one for today, later. When my mind has began to melt with the pure joy of an extra day off and begins to work again.
So there might be a half decent one coming your way, although I cannot promise anything.
And anyway, this is my challenge, with my ever changing rules.
It was so much easier on paper, when I could write several in one prose filled moment to cover the next few days.
Why do I do these things to myself....
Thank you for reading. xx
Thursday, 13 March 2014
Two plus one =
Sat with beer on my tongue,
But no tum-ti-tums sing.
No rest for my brain.
No poetry to bring
Images into other minds,
Thoughts into other souls.
But the pint is tasty now!
And I shall enjoy it, until I'm old. 13th March 2014.
And another after a second pint...
At work in eleven hours
And the mere thought makes me shudder.
All the raging over hours, over pay.
The deliveries are coming,
No matter if I turn up,
And will be awaiting me to put them all away.
The figures that describe
The Perfect Partners are awaiting,
For reports and figures to tell folks how they've done.
And the orders need Eprocing/
And tweaking, and correcting.
There will be no rest until it's done!
Then, and only then,
Can I think of fun. 13th March 2014
And an old one for Julie...
Oh Hannah, there is nothing that is working.
I hold my breath and wish but hope won't grow.
All is going wrong, my life's abating.
Open up my vein and nothing flows.
All is turmoil and just more frustration.
Day and night and work and rest just blend.
But after all the working, and the waiting,
What will there be left, After the end? 3rd Nov 2004
Thank you for reading. xx
But no tum-ti-tums sing.
No rest for my brain.
No poetry to bring
Images into other minds,
Thoughts into other souls.
But the pint is tasty now!
And I shall enjoy it, until I'm old. 13th March 2014.
And another after a second pint...
At work in eleven hours
And the mere thought makes me shudder.
All the raging over hours, over pay.
The deliveries are coming,
No matter if I turn up,
And will be awaiting me to put them all away.
The figures that describe
The Perfect Partners are awaiting,
For reports and figures to tell folks how they've done.
And the orders need Eprocing/
And tweaking, and correcting.
There will be no rest until it's done!
Then, and only then,
Can I think of fun. 13th March 2014
And an old one for Julie...
Oh Hannah, there is nothing that is working.
I hold my breath and wish but hope won't grow.
All is going wrong, my life's abating.
Open up my vein and nothing flows.
All is turmoil and just more frustration.
Day and night and work and rest just blend.
But after all the working, and the waiting,
What will there be left, After the end? 3rd Nov 2004
Thank you for reading. xx
Wednesday, 12 March 2014
Fog
Opaque rolling fog creeps in.
It covers the hills,
Fills the vales.
Smothers the buildings
And muffles the wails
Until only still silence prevails.
Then the sun burns it away,
And it becomes another normal, glorious day! 12th March 2014
It covers the hills,
Fills the vales.
Smothers the buildings
And muffles the wails
Until only still silence prevails.
Then the sun burns it away,
And it becomes another normal, glorious day! 12th March 2014
Tuesday, 11 March 2014
40 Days of Poems continued...
The moon is so marvellously large today,
As she gently fades to full.
The sun shines brightly down with glorious light
Breaking through the shaded ice of the night,
And brightens up the sky.
To the full, fresh blue of Summer,
As plane trails ribbon by. 11th March 2014
As she gently fades to full.
The sun shines brightly down with glorious light
Breaking through the shaded ice of the night,
And brightens up the sky.
To the full, fresh blue of Summer,
As plane trails ribbon by. 11th March 2014
Week Ten!
Well, I've made it.
!0 weeks of Bollywood. (OK 9 weeks of Bollywood. It would have been 10 if I hadn't been working), and so we reach pizza night. Or it could be Indian curry night depending on the mood and would fit lovely with the Bollywood movie that is lined up.
But it is a milestone to be celebrated and enjoyed. We should find reasons to celebrate every day, even if it is something small, like going to an exercise class for 10 weeks, or still posting a poem every day until Easter. Which is a lot harder than I imagined. And I am struggling as you can tell from the quality of the poems. I think I would have failed English at school if I had used some of these for my exam, but then I never did much poetry at school, nor did I say I was a GOOD poet, just a beer poet and I haven't had a beer for a week either.
But I am trying to be good when it comes to food and exercise. (beer should be a part of the daily diet, it should stand prominently on the eat well plate along with good meat, tasty veg and proper chocolate but that dream will never happen, and I don't keep the eat well plate in mind when I do pick my tea. And if I was told to drink beer every day, I might end up drinking less. We never do what we are told, or what is supposedly good for us, do we?)
So I am eating less chocolate and more veg, and trying to walk 10,000 steps, which I thought would be easy as i walk everywhere, and fetch and carry all over the place at work, but I don't.
I have to hold my head in shame. I have only managed to beat the total twice, and that was because I went out for an extra walk to make up the steps.
!0,000 steps is about 5 miles, and that does sound far but it is not impossible and an extra challenge for me.
Is that enough challenges to beat?
I hope so. It it making me feel tired just thinking about them, and I still have to wrack my brains for a poem for today.
Arrrggghhhh!
Why do I do these things to myself?
Oh well, I shall sign off for now and stare at the wall for an hour or two until something tum-ti-tums in my head, and if that doesn't work, maybe banging my head against said wall will work, (joke).
Poem later!
Thank you for reading xx
!0 weeks of Bollywood. (OK 9 weeks of Bollywood. It would have been 10 if I hadn't been working), and so we reach pizza night. Or it could be Indian curry night depending on the mood and would fit lovely with the Bollywood movie that is lined up.
But it is a milestone to be celebrated and enjoyed. We should find reasons to celebrate every day, even if it is something small, like going to an exercise class for 10 weeks, or still posting a poem every day until Easter. Which is a lot harder than I imagined. And I am struggling as you can tell from the quality of the poems. I think I would have failed English at school if I had used some of these for my exam, but then I never did much poetry at school, nor did I say I was a GOOD poet, just a beer poet and I haven't had a beer for a week either.
But I am trying to be good when it comes to food and exercise. (beer should be a part of the daily diet, it should stand prominently on the eat well plate along with good meat, tasty veg and proper chocolate but that dream will never happen, and I don't keep the eat well plate in mind when I do pick my tea. And if I was told to drink beer every day, I might end up drinking less. We never do what we are told, or what is supposedly good for us, do we?)
So I am eating less chocolate and more veg, and trying to walk 10,000 steps, which I thought would be easy as i walk everywhere, and fetch and carry all over the place at work, but I don't.
I have to hold my head in shame. I have only managed to beat the total twice, and that was because I went out for an extra walk to make up the steps.
!0,000 steps is about 5 miles, and that does sound far but it is not impossible and an extra challenge for me.
Is that enough challenges to beat?
I hope so. It it making me feel tired just thinking about them, and I still have to wrack my brains for a poem for today.
Arrrggghhhh!
Why do I do these things to myself?
Oh well, I shall sign off for now and stare at the wall for an hour or two until something tum-ti-tums in my head, and if that doesn't work, maybe banging my head against said wall will work, (joke).
Poem later!
Thank you for reading xx
Monday, 10 March 2014
Idea Flower.
Ideas are flowers of the mind,
Grown in fertile imagination.
That blossom with encouragement,
And bloom in the warm glow of praise.
So why does my mind only produce brambles?
That tangle, and twist
In my brains dark maze.
Why can I not grow flowers,
Only thorns and vines that tear,
Making my ideas bleed and blend.
But at least I have ideas,
That grow, however twisted.
And not a barren sand dune
Where ideas only end. 10th March 2014
Thank you for reading. xx
Grown in fertile imagination.
That blossom with encouragement,
And bloom in the warm glow of praise.
So why does my mind only produce brambles?
That tangle, and twist
In my brains dark maze.
Why can I not grow flowers,
Only thorns and vines that tear,
Making my ideas bleed and blend.
But at least I have ideas,
That grow, however twisted.
And not a barren sand dune
Where ideas only end. 10th March 2014
Thank you for reading. xx
Sunday, 9 March 2014
Domino's
Black tile,
And white dot.
Threes and Fives.
Numbers matched.
Patterns formed.
Double six
Blocks the turn.
Knock on table.
Bridge is burned.
End to end,
Pairs snake away.
Await to win
Another day.
But build a picture
With them all.
End on end,
Each tile stands tall.
Knock one over.
They all fall.
Domino's.
Not a pizza in sight
At all. 9th March 2014
And white dot.
Threes and Fives.
Numbers matched.
Patterns formed.
Double six
Blocks the turn.
Knock on table.
Bridge is burned.
End to end,
Pairs snake away.
Await to win
Another day.
But build a picture
With them all.
End on end,
Each tile stands tall.
Knock one over.
They all fall.
Domino's.
Not a pizza in sight
At all. 9th March 2014
Saturday, 8 March 2014
Walking Miles
Steps.
I walk loads.
Must be miles in a day.
Back and forth, across the station.
Weaving around folks that meander in my way.
I walk loads.
Or do I?
Steps.
To prove this truth,
Pedometer at my waist,
But it tells me lies of all the miles I take.
Tells me lies, but tells me true.
I walk loads?
But I don't.
Do you? 8th March 2014
I walk loads.
Must be miles in a day.
Back and forth, across the station.
Weaving around folks that meander in my way.
I walk loads.
Or do I?
Steps.
To prove this truth,
Pedometer at my waist,
But it tells me lies of all the miles I take.
Tells me lies, but tells me true.
I walk loads?
But I don't.
Do you? 8th March 2014
Friday, 7 March 2014
Already Desperate
The days are longer than I imagined.
Yet not full of time at all.
Cause I've not found time to sit awhile
And let the muse grow tall.
Not five moments of my time
To reflect, to think, to find
A bunch of words that dance together
And maybe, even rhyme!
So all I have , is this sad thing
That in desperation, I have scrawled..
There'd better be a better one tomorrow,
Or I'll drive everyone up the wall! 7th March 2014
I am really going to have to dedicate some me time in my day, to make this poetry marathon a little more interesting.
Thank you for reading anyway. XX
Yet not full of time at all.
Cause I've not found time to sit awhile
And let the muse grow tall.
Not five moments of my time
To reflect, to think, to find
A bunch of words that dance together
And maybe, even rhyme!
So all I have , is this sad thing
That in desperation, I have scrawled..
There'd better be a better one tomorrow,
Or I'll drive everyone up the wall! 7th March 2014
I am really going to have to dedicate some me time in my day, to make this poetry marathon a little more interesting.
Thank you for reading anyway. XX
Thursday, 6 March 2014
A Walk into Dusk
A walk into dusk.
The day slowly fades behind me.
Wet globules of icy rain
Splatters in my hair,
From an excited swirl of weather
that batters at face and hands
Exposed to the gently clouding dark
And chills them.
As I stride ahead
Into the growing night,
Feather fluffed pigeons
Huddle in skeletal trees.
As a final blackbird
Serenades the fading sun,
A warm farewell until the morning,
And I walk home! 6th March 2014.
Thank you for reading. XX
The day slowly fades behind me.
Wet globules of icy rain
Splatters in my hair,
From an excited swirl of weather
that batters at face and hands
Exposed to the gently clouding dark
And chills them.
As I stride ahead
Into the growing night,
Feather fluffed pigeons
Huddle in skeletal trees.
As a final blackbird
Serenades the fading sun,
A warm farewell until the morning,
And I walk home! 6th March 2014.
Thank you for reading. XX
Wednesday, 5 March 2014
Week Nine
The penultimate week.
Only one more class to go before pizza night and it was a struggle to keep going this week.
Lots of new people turned up so I ended up nearer the front and out of my comfort zone, and who wants to have to stare at my arse as I move as best I can to the bouncing music, and he made us bounce.
No let up for the new folk, and no rest for us hardy souls who have been there longer and I can feel it two days later in the muscles that ache gently with each step but I'm not giving up when the 10 weeks are over.
As long as there is a bollywood exercise dance class to go to, I will be there. And will enjoy the knackered burn that comes from it.
And who knows, it might eventually do me some good!
Because it needs to as I have discovered how much I do weigh at the moment and it is more that I expected, but less than my first attempt on the Boots machine, and I am quite amazed to find that my work clothes and shoes weigh almost a stone.
Can't they put the damn machine some where a little more private when it shouts at you in the middle of the shop and makes every one stare at the fat bugger on the scale as she frantically takes everything out of her pockets in an attempt to weigh just a few pounds less.
Oh well, time to try and be sensible after pancake day.
And so to my promise.
A poem a day up until Easter.
Where do I start.
Well I haven't managed one today but I did write one yesterday after a couple of tasty ales so we shall begin with that.
Last Ale until Summer.
Is it?
Will it be?
Not intending to give it up anyway
But maybe,
Or should I?
Or Not!
Last ale until Summer,
As Spring begins.
As sun shines finally
And a lone butterfly spreads her wings.
Last ale until Summer,
As the blossom blooms.
Everything still soggy, but growing,
In the finally fading gloom.
Last ale until Summer.
That ale is not for me.
For how can I celebrate
Each seasonal change.
How can I eat, or breathe?
With a last ale before Summer.
A strong commitment of will.
But I shall enjoy another,
Slowly every day
Until the Summer becomes still. 4th March 2014
Yes, they will get worse as I start to grope for ideas to poem about and struggle to fit one in my day, but that is the whole point of a challenge is it not.
And no I haven't fallen at the first hurdle by not writing one to day, because I can still write one today and blog it tomorrow. And who is inventing the rules as she goes? Yes, my rules, my challenge, my blog!
And what fun we all shall have! Sorry sister.
But thank you for reading anyway! xx
Only one more class to go before pizza night and it was a struggle to keep going this week.
Lots of new people turned up so I ended up nearer the front and out of my comfort zone, and who wants to have to stare at my arse as I move as best I can to the bouncing music, and he made us bounce.
No let up for the new folk, and no rest for us hardy souls who have been there longer and I can feel it two days later in the muscles that ache gently with each step but I'm not giving up when the 10 weeks are over.
As long as there is a bollywood exercise dance class to go to, I will be there. And will enjoy the knackered burn that comes from it.
And who knows, it might eventually do me some good!
Because it needs to as I have discovered how much I do weigh at the moment and it is more that I expected, but less than my first attempt on the Boots machine, and I am quite amazed to find that my work clothes and shoes weigh almost a stone.
Can't they put the damn machine some where a little more private when it shouts at you in the middle of the shop and makes every one stare at the fat bugger on the scale as she frantically takes everything out of her pockets in an attempt to weigh just a few pounds less.
Oh well, time to try and be sensible after pancake day.
And so to my promise.
A poem a day up until Easter.
Where do I start.
Well I haven't managed one today but I did write one yesterday after a couple of tasty ales so we shall begin with that.
Last Ale until Summer.
Is it?
Will it be?
Not intending to give it up anyway
But maybe,
Or should I?
Or Not!
Last ale until Summer,
As Spring begins.
As sun shines finally
And a lone butterfly spreads her wings.
Last ale until Summer,
As the blossom blooms.
Everything still soggy, but growing,
In the finally fading gloom.
Last ale until Summer.
That ale is not for me.
For how can I celebrate
Each seasonal change.
How can I eat, or breathe?
With a last ale before Summer.
A strong commitment of will.
But I shall enjoy another,
Slowly every day
Until the Summer becomes still. 4th March 2014
Yes, they will get worse as I start to grope for ideas to poem about and struggle to fit one in my day, but that is the whole point of a challenge is it not.
And no I haven't fallen at the first hurdle by not writing one to day, because I can still write one today and blog it tomorrow. And who is inventing the rules as she goes? Yes, my rules, my challenge, my blog!
And what fun we all shall have! Sorry sister.
But thank you for reading anyway! xx
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