Posts

Putting a smile on the irregular face

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This day of miracle-points has nearly reached 7am, so not long till breakfast now. And the thrill of a new toothbrush has never worn off, and I will cry if it does.  271 From the shower room to The bedroom, a skin prickling Towel wrapped race Against cold air 272 At the mist edge, down By the reed bed, by the stream A furtive shape of cat slinks Hoping to blindside a shrew 273 Babies are awake. Bossy Dependent variable creatures Lacking calculated phrases Express values in tears and smiles 274 Wakeful infants learn stuff fast Here is one intently trialling Up-tucked knees in a pilot Crawling discovery exercise 275 In the crawl endeavour, the physical Method of reductive reasoning is  Favoured by infants. Each face-plant to The floor is a catalyst to change 276 As far as laundry is concerned Segregation is practical, so if bold Shades hang on the line, a heap Of pale is prepped next 277 I admire the curv

The Debt We Owe To Victorious Kwon

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Another interruption to my Miracle hunt project, but a distraction is as good as a rest! This is another story written for adults to read to children. It's about a Tae Kwon Do training exercise and it began its gestation when I began teaching these techniques to children. The more gruesome the story attached the more they understood and enjoyed the exercise. I tried the same approach with adults and it also works. It was just verbal fun until our 2010 TAGB West of England Summer Camp, when we were asked to write a ghost story, and I put Kwon on the page. I think if he had a Facebook page he would have more friends than me very quickly, so for reasons of professional jealousy he is currently banned.  Winner of the prestigious Best Bonkers Ghost Story TAGB Summer Camp 2010 The Debt We Owe To Victorious Kwon Kwon wasn’t like the other ducks. He was 18 feet tall, his kneecaps were made of steel and on the end of each wing he had a fist. He wasn’t the sort of

Don't feed the Drama Vampire!

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Stillpower: The True Path to Flow, Clarity, and Responsiveness This here article link also neatly links to my approach to writing. The source of creativity is often associated with wild emotional states, as though you have to tear yourself apart and use the bits to paint something dramatic. Peacefulness is seen as static and therefore unproductive, but the calmer I get, the easier the words and the meanings flow. Experience of life's dramas helps understanding but it needn't, it shouldn't, become an addiction.    Read and learn; peace out! xx

Poor spiders, always drowning

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The two roasting tin spiders were buried under a rosebush, I decided it would be the respectful thing to do; plus then they would become spider-ghost house guardians, always a useful addition to any household. The other weird thing I discovered one morning in our kitchen was the burnt earwig, standing in the middle of a gas hob, like an insect at Pompeii, a perfect ash statue of itself.  261 Mouse cremations are rarely Observed but here is an apostrophied Corpse on a dried grass mound Waiting for a starting spark 262 Stride through stratus, back to My crumbly house, the sun Also pushes, promises later Heat, as this mist dissipates 263 Drama occurs in the roasting Rack tin when two spiders are Found drowned in the pig’s blood Under the dinner joint 264 There are thirteen folk arts Vital to this industrious cottage Roasting meat is listed third One of six respecting food 265 Mindful preparation of meals Decelerates pace, a

Back to fox poo, with an effervescent dog

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I still harbour some regret over not photographing the vivid purple fox poo. I love photographs, although sometimes I do think that people are so busy taking pictures of things they forget to look at them with real eyes. Mindfulness makes the best shots. I'm not sure how I would have fully conveyed the excellent moment of catching the fox crimping out that amazing colour, but I did utterly appreciate the moment. Literally, some shit is brilliant.  251 A wide blade of grass, glazed pale In dots. There are multitudinous Dimensions of dewdrops, these Are comparatively large 252 Fox poo-pile seizes attention Beads of undigested berry Glint in the dawn sun, flaming Shades of autumn 253 These plants; collective name Blackberry; diverge, like People, like breeds of dog, many Different ways of growing 254 Feasibly able to uproot, to gallop Across the field, over the hedge This blackberry extends in arched Tentacles, three arachnoid metres

Human sacrifice linked to wellington boots

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I am a quarter of the way into the task, and have googled the history of latex.  241 Butter waits in a glass dish, slid Behind the eclectic kerfuffle of Stuff dropped in passing, our Annoying kitchen table anthology 242 Coffee cup is tipped, to see Depictions cast in the grounds Ripple like low tide sand flats In repeated waving motifs 243 The jewels of my jam making Fill half a fridge shelf; here are fruits And flowers and herbs preserved In sugar and recycled glass 244 Each unique speckled soft Tan shaded scattershot Toast crumb on the circle Of plate rests abstractly 245 The history of my boots starts With some Pre-Columbian Mexicans Boiling latex into heavy spheres For bloodied games of life and death 246 The boot chronicle continues with The Duke of Wellington’s demands Comfort first for feet in battle and Afterwards, smart enough for the party 248 From ritualistic sacrifice, through Cold wet war tr

Flip flops and jam, the rural idyll

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(Nearly 6 am on Miracle hunt day. I have been wearing flip flops since I could walk and can run backwards in them.) 231 Inspiration is a secondary Response. Stripped down this Experience centres on the Simplicity of appreciation 232 Before I think to tidy up I take A survey of the house-mess An appraisal of status, if Not in flux, it fails 233 I point out the dog paw shapes On the oven door; dogs observe Emotion, not language, or old evidence Dog is happy, I am not cross 234 A motto on my cheap flip-flops reads You Can Never Have Too Many Shoe It’s not logical but the fun makes it beautiful A stamp of flippant glamour on rubber 235 The indoor woodlice hurry Gather under the bath Slug, on tiles above, wanders Alone, equally sure of purpose 236 From the cooking to the brewing Kitchen, coffee odour lingers Mingles into damp cottage, savoury Sour wet dog, onion, earth and spice 237 The stuck clock hand rep

Coffee, my bituminous friend

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This batch brings my 24 hour miracle hunt to nearly 6am. This is too early to actually do the washing up, but I do manage to blearily accept the significance of it. Coffee helps.  221 While coffee brews in the jug, I will Be organised, drag the washing from The lovely machine that undertook Hard work for me as I slept 222 A whirl of wet fabric in the basket Waits for me to locate some boots And a mug for the coffee, and wonder If it’s too early to wake the dog 223 Dog thumps her tail in a slow beat I turn off the lamp we forgot last night And gather up the glasses and appraise The unfinished list of things to do 224 The washing up is waiting, is one of Those little repetitions that marks out Your life, this history in coffee rings, in The medium of smeared food stains 225 Two boots located, the washing is brought To the line, another confirmation of our Continuing adventures, pegged item by item Optimistic plastic fastens t

School For Dolphins

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Designed to be read aloud, to be mildly amusing and promote independent learning because sometimes it's a relief to do something obvious instead of leaving little inky clues. School For Dolphins Miami Phil was solidly fat and he always wore a gaudy shirt with shorts and sandals. He wasn’t necessarily American, but because of his girth, because he was rich and flashy, everyone called him Miami Phil. He introduced himself as Miami Phil, so he must have been happy with the name. He liked his name, his food, his shirts and his money.  He also had a particular liking for islands, the tropical hot sort with white sand and palm trees, not the craggy cold sort with puffins and moss on them. So it wasn’t really too remarkable that when he bought a tropical island, he also decided to build a luxury house there, for himself, and some villas, where people could pay him lovely money to be on holiday and look at his big house and admire it, and wish they had an island with su

220th miracle is.... weasel poo

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211 A trug of frozen apples, hard as Quartz pebbles, catch the light Crystal-coated, wondrous, paled Palm-sized apple plunder 212 The orchard apples drop to grass Are gathered up by tub and carted To the freezer, frozen up, hauled out To defrost, squash, ferment 213 First light halos the demi-johns On the dining table. Tints of Translucent yellow, tones of Red from rose to ruby 214 Another resurrection Of an ordinary day the light Ascending through the morning Colour gradient 215 Malcontent to find myself Awake so early, until I draw the old velvet curtains On this panoramic anomaly 216 The valley is flooded with mist The moors appear as a series Of Caribbean pirate islands Not where I expected to wake 217 This view opens my frown, it Nudges acknowledgement, I am Laughing at myself, at my quick Mood-skip 218 My decision is to make coffee And sit, watching the colours Change, outside, the pink

5am and I almost forgot the owl

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I have been deliberately saving the bats for the other end of the day, but owl was almost overlooked because I don't see it as often. Once (stuck in traffic on the way to the Royal Cornwall Show) we saw an owl hunting in broad daylight. It had a grumpy look to it and we amused ourselves by inventing back stories for it.  201 A composition of washing hangs On the spare room airer, plastic rungs Provide a structure for the slung Socks and baby t-shirts 202 Over the landing banister The blue striped duvet cover dries It went camping, the wet dog had Left a print of herself on it 203 In the wash-basket, a crumpled History of last week in dank cotton Fast-wicking technical fibres and Odours of sweat, mud, seaweed 204 Surfboards lean in the shed Crunches of sand pressed into wax One board-bag zip jammed open, the Aluminium corroded by salt 205. The sky is dark until the earth rolls It still feels like the sun comes to us