Leftovers #DVersePoetics

If I was my mother,

and you were a horse,

I would not wrap the lead

into my fist

as we walk the track

with their ruined nissan huts

patch up by ivy,

so we can’t see through

the hollow sockets

of broken windows

to the emptiness inside,

always emptiness inside,

and always me with a fist

of lead

to draw you closer

to heel

in case the emptiness

is not what it seems.

Valley Bound

I could sleep here,

belly warm against the stone

arms splayed,


bent at the elbows,


perhaps to hold

but for now still,


cheek pressed to rock

sun baked,


stubbornly forgotten

long ago

when this place was ice

long from melting.

View From The Top Of Snowdon – By Carol J Forrester

Since there is no Quadrille night this Monday over at DVersePoets I thought I’d write one inspired by my recent trip to Snowdonia National Park. The views were utterly stunning and it really does feel like you’re escaping the modern world.

A Quadrille is a poem written in exactly 44 words. The DVerse Poets Pub runs a fortnightly Quadrille prompt for those who fancy having a go in the company of some wonderful fellow blogger/poets. 

The Fairy Tales In Our Afternoons

There is a door along a hill, set back into the stone with a small flight of stairs to reach it. When I was little I thought this door lead to a wonderland and when my Grandmother took me walking, my sister and I would make up stories about what could be found on the other side and how the magic would work to get us there.

The Ram Steps were narrow and cut down into the rock face. In summer, when the trees were in full leaf, it felt like we were miles from anywhere, descending into dwarven ruins deep beneath the earth. Our secret stairway, hands pressed to the sides to keep our feet from slipping of lead mulch in the Autumn.

In the Bluebell Wood we tracked the old carriage road and peered through the gaps in the hedge and past the Ha Ha into the gardens beyond. We collected conkers from the trees overhanging my Grandmother’s fields and I would imagine a time when great ladies in long dresses would have come sweeping down the pathways just out of my sight.

It is a matter,

of what you can see, not what

is actually there.


Today’s prompt for the Monday Haibun was to write a piece inspired by the theme of walking. Now I’m not much of a walker myself, but growing up in a family where my Grandmother always had a dog, weekends with her meant afternoon walks. I have some very fond memories of making up stories about secret gardens and fairy tales lands with my sisters as we wandered around with my Grandmother. Even as a child I loved to create stories, and I loved to tell people all about them.

Seeing that little door when I go past it still brings me joy. Make sure to click the badge above and check out the rest of the lovely poets at the DVerse Poets Pub. Happy Monday.

Drowning in a Drought

Even I’m starting to think that perhaps the country has gone a little doolally in the recent months. For those of you who are up to date on the English weather you will know that England is currently considered to be in a drought. For those of you who couldn’t give a toss about the English weather, you should, it’s a fantastic topic of conversation. Constant opportunities for a good gripe or moan, no matter what it’s like outside the window.

My shoes are still drying on the radiator from the walk from my sixth form to my car this afternoon! Areas of Britain are actually under hosepipe bans, and I’m squelching my way down the streets of Newport with an umbrella that recently gave in to the perils of wind! (It broke.)

At present I’m spending an annoyingly large amount of my time resembling a drown rat, and this is not a look that I wake up and think, hum… I quite fancy looking like that this morning.

Where I go to school is also infested with student driver (though I must include myself among them). Heavy traffic + torrential rain + the odd bus/van = best friend making threats to my life unless I start parking closer to school. (There really isn’t anywhere closer to school that I can park, at least not without risking being yelled at.)

I have to love living in England when stuff like this happens though. Where else can you say that you are currently stood in a drought area, but the rain has been pretty much non-stop for a week and a half?

Would it be any better if the weather suddenly turned warm? Probably not, the last heat wave we had just left most of the sixth form out on the school field complaining that it was too hot. I’d probably melt if I ever visited somewhere that actually does have summer.

There is really only one solution as far as I can see. Replace the broken umbrella and ignore all weather forecasters and drought announcer people. (Yes I know that’s probably not their title!) England is wonderfully barmy and I would not wish to live anywhere else.




But if someone knows how to get the rain to stop I would greatly appreciate it, just for the times between 8.20am-8.45 am and 3.45pm-4.30pm GMT. The rest of time I can huddle inside and everyone else can get a soaking.