a sense of place

I would like to be a dot in a painting by Miro,

barely distinguishable from other dots,

it's true, but quite uniquely placed.

And from my dark centre

I'd survey the beauty of the linescape

and wonder - would it be worthwhile

to roll myself towards the lemon stripe,

Centrally poised, and push my curves

against its edge to get myself

a little extra attention?

But it's fine where I am.

I'll never make out what's going on

around me, and that's the joy of it.

The fact that I'm not a perfect circle

makes me more interesting in this world.

People will stare forever -

Even the most unemotional get excited.

So here I am, on the edge of animation,

a dream, a dance, a fantastic construction,

A child's adventure.

And nothing in this tawny sky

can get too close or move too far away.

Moniza Alvi

Because relationships are strange...

Text by Carol Ann Duffy
I tend the mobile now
like an injured bird.

We text, text, text
our significant words.

I re-read your first,
your second, your third,

look for your small xx
feeling absurd.

The codes we send
arrive with a broken chord.

I try to picture your hands,
their image is blurred.


Nothing my thumbs press
will ever be heard.

I need to be near the water!

Thoughts today are drifting west from my little island to a friend on the Eastern Seaboard.

I've been thinking about times spent by various oceans and seas. Beach days, children days, stormy wave-tossed days, days for sitting and thinking.

So - I'm offering this little poem by Billy Collins

Walking across the Atlantic

I wait for the holiday crowd to clear the beach

before stepping onto the first wave.

Soon I am walking across the Atlantic

thinking about Spain,

checking for whales, waterspouts.

I feel the water holding up my shifting weight.

Tonight I will sleep on its rocking surface.

But for now I try to imagine what

this must look like to the fish below,

the bottoms of my feet, appearing, disappearing.

Escaping from Workaday...

A hard day - writing, doing, planning more doing and writing.

Taking time now to feed my mind a little. I've chosen a poem from Sixty Women Poets.

Trespass by Connie Bensley

I turned to you
Smelling out warmth like a cat,
Preying on you decorously
For touch and comfort.

We always want more than we bargain for -
The particular tone of voice,
The special intimacy,
The exclusive offer.

To appear in your mind's eye
Couched in glowing terms
And under your hand in dreams
Was my desire.

But reality was more of the commonplace.
I learned to stand in line for your largesse;
To ask for nothing and to look for less.

Why did I choose this? I'm tired and I suppose the question of where we look for validation was bobbing below the surface. We should be sufficient to ourselves.

Scuttling behind the wainscot

These are the first stirrings. Out to see what I can discover.

I'm not in any way a techie mouse but I intend to learn a little everyday.