Saturday, 21 December 2013

Yuletide Blessings!

'They start just before the midnight chime as the frosts begin their ethereal weave between
the houses.
Leaving rosettes of ice on every window the soft lights reflected in their black unreadable eyes.
Scratching, gnawing, the small feet pressed against hard key stones, tails curling and twitching with an insatiable lust to get to the other side. They listen to the well wishes, the seasonal good will, the smallest witness of the colourful atmospheres as they scuttle between the pipes as the moon falls through a deep December morning. Keeping a silent vigil during the longest night of our year, knowing but not believing, that the sun will turn again. It’s all promises and promises worth keeping that could see us looking for the mice that would walk unsteady across the evergreen branches.'

Hi everyone, a happy Yuletide and Solstice to you all :)

This piece of prose which doesn't have a name yet is probably about as festive as my writing gets! lol I don't tend to write about specific things, my writing is mainly fluid and dreamlike, touching on many things. It once again started life as some automatic writing - I was sort of daydreaming, I was thinking about Christmas and mice for some reason and this is what came. 

When it came to finding a picture for this post I realised how popular mice are in the image of Christmas - there are recipes for making festive chocolate mice, children's Christmas stories about mice, they seem to be everywhere and of course there's the most famous line of any Christmas poem... 

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.'  

                                                                                               A Visit from St. Nicholas by Clement Clarke Moore (1822)

In other news earlier this month I received a lovely email from a woman called Ruth about my post - Last Poem by Anthony Woodville

My attempt at photography
"Thank you not only for the poem, but for the wonderful explanation. As you say, the poem is difficult to understand, but with each reading I understand more and more. Have a great day! Ruth" 

Thank you again for the lovely email Ruth, you really made my day! Maybe I should think of writing more blog posts about my favourite poetry and offer my unique explanations.

Also I am honoured to once again be featured on Morgen Bailey's writing blog in the New Year (3rd January) with a new flash fiction called 'Light Shadow' - this one has a slight sci-fi feel to it. I hope you all enjoy it and don't forget the podcast of 'Old Norse' will be live 29th December - Morgen Bailey's Podcast List (Episodes 32 & 33 feature my flash fiction pieces 'Blackbird' and 'Eden')

Have a wonderful festive week and a prosperous 2014 :) 

Sunday, 1 December 2013

New Poem of the Month for December ~ 'After the Rain'

A brutal thought, 
and then another
flowing back, down
               through my bones and lungs,
                                                      taking my breath with it

I awoke to watch 
a wave break against my bedroom wall, 
underneath the star blue swell
I closed my eyes, 
weary to my brittle bones 
witnessing it rip
                   the wallpaper to the stone,

It grasped at its findings,
books, pictures, 
                     forgotten things,

I had lost the will to breathe, 
my mouth filled with salt 
and I choked on what the waters had to say, 

my body rolled with the rhythm of the sea’s distaste
I saw my life drift
                        away on the surface 
                                                      like pillage after a battle. 

Hi Everyone 

I want to carry on the the 'New Poem of the Month' feature, you all seem to enjoy it and I enjoy the writing and sharing so why stop :) 

As with many of my poems 'After the Rain' started out as a bit of prose that evolved. When I was editing this I couldn't get this song out of my head! lol -  

Also the name is inspired by a line in the song - inspiration can be found anywhere can't it? 

I love writing about water and experimenting with all its meanings and symbolism, how many stories and myths have grown out of a fascination with water? The Water Babies (one of my husband's personal favourites) Mermaids, Sirens, Neptune and Poseidon. Water in all its forms has always captured our imaginations. In this poem water is a destructive force to rip apart a life and all that we accumulate along the way, I don't really know what inspired 'After the Rain' sometimes I just write unconsciously.

When I was younger I was obsessed with water and swimming - I'm sure that has found its way into my writer's imagination. 

The last few weeks since my last blog post have been really quite lucky! I have had two of my prose pieces accepted by Crescent Magazine - an absolutely beautiful online magazine. Their tagline is;

'CRESCENT MAGAZINE is a new photography, art and literary online magazine for the daring and dreaming, under-spoken and inspiring.' 

I'm obviously one of those daring, dreaming, under-spoken types then :D Also my poem 'Sanctuary'  will be featured on Morgan Bailey's Post Weekend Poetry on 16th December - It is always a pleasure to be on her blog.

I'll be back closer to Christmas with something festive (well as close to festive as I can get lol) 

Happy Sunday

Sunday, 17 November 2013

Automatic Writing #10

'There was such sadness, I was such sadness, around and within me from another false promise, another halved gold coin. It was unlike a lie, as though it was dressed up like a shadow, flowing freely with gaudy clothes and lacking a true physical form of an explanation. An explanation of why, an explanation pinned on a man of slow morals, from the tongue of a man with fraying emotions, olden views and salted experiences of those he claims to love. He was a lonely child that convinced himself otherwise and now as a man he convinces others that they too are not alone and the loneliness they feel is regret, regret at being left on the outside, on the outside of normality where colourful people care for each other and truly love and cherish themselves. This is not what the world is to him, the world is a crude joke designed to de-humanise a fellow traveller, for if they are not human what rules apply?'

Hi everyone 

I wrote this back in February and just came across it. I have enjoyed posting my automatic writing and wanted to carry it on. This piece seemed to fit in with what I have been mulling about for a while - of what importance is money/success if you have a black soul? 

Recently there has been a lot of talk online and in the papers about wealthy people that seem to live in a world of their own fantasy, they have no compassion or understanding of those without money. Money changes people in very strange ways. I think I am partly looking at all this from the Medieval point of view that this life was really of no importance, all that mattered was the afterlife, your whole lifetime was spent preparing your soul - if only we could all go confess our sins and clean our spirits. Money and success does not obviously automatically make you a good person. 

'For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul?' 
Matthew 16:26

Ok enough of the serious stuff :) I hope you enjoy my writing. Another of my flash fiction pieces has been lucky enough to be featured on Morgan Bailey's Flash Fiction Friday's again called Old Norse. Also has anyone seen this; Sophia Stewart the real creator of 'The Matrix' - A female writer finally getting what she deserves after years of being pushed aside (carrying on from the greed thread), what an inspiring story! 

Have a lovely Sunday :)

Thursday, 31 October 2013

Happy Halloween!


My spine is littered with shrapnel, harbouring all the rusted knives you forced into my back. They began to form an essential part of my spine, swallowed by my hollow bones these fragments of a cold bronze are being honed to a point, bitter enough to pierce softened skin and they all bear your name. 

I couldn't stop myself from a drying and withering despair like a flower in the dark, as many nights I witnessed my blood dry the darkest of black, I knew in myself that I had been deeply poisoned. I pray that when I pass you at the crossroads, your feet embedded in the dry soils of a forsaken ground, I'll smile and show my falsest pity knowing that I wished you there.


Hi everyone

It's been nearly 3 months now but I'm back with a Halloween post for you all to enjoy, a good old despair inspired revenge piece! 'Shrapnel' is adapted from a poem I wrote years ago, some parts are from the original poem and some are brand new creating a new prose piece that embodies a lot of what I was feeling all those years ago.

I got quite excited when I decided to write a blog post for Halloween, partly because I get to unleash my darker side and also the thought of getting back into writing blog posts again. I have missed it. I always loved writing them but as I said in my last post 'It's goodbye for now' there were a lot of things that fell apart this year and I felt my content would suffer etc. I hope now I can return, not writing as frequently but not setting it aside altogether :)

I have some links to share to some of my flash fiction pieces featured on Morgen Bailey's Writing Blog - an amazing blog cram packed with features, hints, tips and exercises for writers. My flash fiction piece Blackbird was featured on 2nd of August as part of Flash Fiction Friday's, it has also been included in her series of Podcasts - Podcast of Blackbird, episode 32 (6/10/2013). It was fantastic to hear 'Blackbird' read aloud, Morgen has a lovely voice and it also changes the whole feel of the writing making the words come alive - like how a story feels when read to a group compared to how it feels when you're reading alone, it's an electric feeling when you were the one who wrote those words! :)

My piece Eden was also featured on Flash Fiction Friday's on 13th September and the Podcast will be available this Sunday (3/11/2013). Also I will be having another flash fiction featured called 'Old Norse' on the 8th of November and the Podcast will be on 29th of December - I'll be sharing them on Twitter and Facebook when they are live. 

                                                                               Happy Halloween

Thursday, 1 August 2013

It's goodbye for now ...

Here is the last 'New Poem of the Month' for now :) 

Paper Moths 

Daylight moths,
with wings of brown paper

their bodies a mesh of filigree
                        filtering past in curved circles

Whispering in pairs
under the highest of branches

Like the palest of candle flames
with their wings beating, chiming in unison

counting the shadowy minutes

I feel a bit emotional writing this but I think it's the right thing to do. I need to take some time away - to write and create - hopefully it's not going to be forever.

There are a few things that have lead up to this decision - 

Personally things seem to have gone wrong since May (strangely since our cat Fluff died) I won't go into details but it's been a stressful, upsetting time. 

Also I was getting to the point where I think the content of my writing was starting to suffer, and I really didn't want it to turn into a blog of boring posts. I decided I would rather stop posting than have posts that were of no interest to anyone - including me!

And to be honest, I guess one of the main reasons is that since March and the publication of 'Silver Threads' falling apart I have felt that all the effort I have put into my writing and marketing of my book/blog had been a complete waste of time, thanks to a publisher who reneged on his promises again and again. I have to admit I have been feeling very disheartened and disillusioned with the whole publishing community for months.

I want to spend the next few months concentrating on new writing and building up my collections, of course I will post if something happens that is amazingly fantastic :) I still have over a year's worth of blog posts for my readers to sift through and read. Here are some that I personally loved..

Where it all began - This was my second blog post. I wrote about my childhood and where that spark of 'love of writing' first came from

The Lies I told my Mother - This poem was one of the resounding favourites from 'Silver Threads' and my Mum's favourite too.

As White as Ghosts  - I really loved the poem and accompanying video, I don't think it got enough views. 

Eden - During my time away from blogging I'm planning on writing quite a few more flash fictions, I feel that is where my writing is heading from now on. 

Lots of love to my regular readers - thank you so much for being there for me. I hope it's just 'see you later'

You can always follow me on Twitter and if you want to contact me for anything my email is - I'm still a writer looking for opportunities and friends :)

Sunday, 7 July 2013

The Chaucer Pubbe Gagge

'Three fellowes wenten into a pubbe, 
And gleefullye their handes did rubbe, 
In expectatione of revelrie, 
For 'twas the houre known as happye. Greate botelles of wine did they quaffe, 
And hadde a reallye good laffe. 
'Til drunkennesse held full dominione, 
For 'twas two for the price of one. 

Yet after wine and meade and sac, 
Man must have a massive snack, 
Great pasties from Cornwalle! 
Scottishe eggs round like a balle! 
Great hammes, quaile, ducke and geese! They suck'd the bones and drank the grease! 

(One fellowe stood all pale and wan, 
For he was vegetarianne) 
Yet man knoweth that gluttonie, 
Stoketh the fyre of lecherie, 
Upon three young wenches round and slye, 
The fellowes cast a wanton eye.

One did approach, with drunkene winke: 
"'Ello darlin', you fancy a drink?", 
Soon they caught them on their knee, 
'Twas like some grotesque puppettrie! 
Such was the lewdness and debaucherie - 
'Twas like a sketch by Dick Emery! 
(Except that Dick Emery is not yet borne - 
So such comparisonne may not be drawn). 

But then the fellowes began to pale, 
For quail are not the friende of ale! 
And in their bellyes much confusione! 
From their throats vile extrusione! 
Stinking foule corruptionne! 
Came spewinge forth from droolinge lippes, 
The fetide stenche did fille the pubbe, 
'Twas the very arse of Beelzebubbe! 
Thrown they were, from the Horne And Trumpette, 
In the street, no coyne, no strumpet. 

Homeward bounde, must quicklie go, 
To that ende - a donkey stole! 
Their handes all with vomit greased, 
The donkey was not pleased, 
 And threw them into a ditche of shite! 
They all agreed: "What a brillant night!"'

Well now for something completely different! lol This is by the amazing comedian Bill Bailey, who is easily my all time favourite. He is a highly intellectual comedian, with a very skewed view on life and is an absolutely fantastic musician - here is the link to watch him perform 'The Chaucer Pubbe Gagge' on Youtube.

I wanted to post something totally different today (but not so different that it's not connected to writing) so here it is! - and after all 'The Canterbury Tales' is just one long poem. I've read the 'Canterbury Tales' (a translated version) and just loved it! It also has that added appeal that Geoffrey Chaucer died before completing it so you never see them reach Canterbury, and so never know how it all ends - don't we all love a mystery.

In other news I'm excited to say that my poem 'A Sleepless Summer' will be featured on Morgen Bailey's Writing Blog ~ Post-Weekend Poetry tomorrow, 8th July at 7pm (UK time) - I will post it on twitter when it's live. Also later in the summer two of my flash fiction pieces will be featured on her 'Flash Fiction Fridays', things are looking positive :)

Hope you are having a lovely weekend enjoying the sunshine.

Monday, 1 July 2013

New Poem of the Month for July ~ Symbols and Meanings

It was raining in my dreams
holding the air in a metallic embrace
                                                        ... and you 
with a shy quicksilver smile
holding out pink roses
                              ... and golden pocket watches

Asking what meanings are held here
was another day's question
for another night's dreaming...

You held my paling hands,
                 ... wrote a message on my palm
and made me promise
not to read it
                    ...till I woke up.

The first of July already - half the year has gone by, sometimes without my noticing! 

I know, I know another poem about dreaming! lol What can I say, it's a constant inspiration to me. I have set out Symbols and Meanings in a way that it is read like recalling a dream - using the long pauses as a moment of remembering. I hope you enjoy it.

I have entered my flash fiction piece Blackbird into 'The Twisted Tales' competition over at Ether Books, this is in collaboration with Raging Aardvark Publications. The Ether books side of the competition is 'The Peoples Choice Award' for the most downloaded entry - so if you have an iphone or Android please give Blackbird a chance and download it here, it's completely free :)

Also I came across this website - Gareth Prior ~ Poet and Compulsive Reader on Facebook. He urges his readers to take a chance on some poetry for their summer holiday reading and I couldn't agree more! So I have to get promotion in here don't I!? Silver Threads is free to download from Google Drive (button at the top of the blog) and I think it would be a great place to start your summer of poetry! :)

Coming up soon is the next Guest Post installment. I'm really excited and could almost clap my hands in glee, she is writing it right now.

Happy Monday 

Saturday, 22 June 2013

Happy National Flash Fiction Day ~ Blackbird

"It started softly, almost like a golden humming within a dream, that then became a small part of the dawn chorus, singing strongly his song of welcome. As the days brightened and the nights receded more and more towards the horizon, he started visiting my window sill and just before the last star of night had faded away he would sing just for me, joyously, but with a sharp tone, a strange notation that he had come to tell me something.

His beak was smoothed, polished to a vibrant yellow, his feathers were a like a velvet black cloak he wore with pride and he knew me and I knew him. As he woke me earlier each morning, during the week when the sun walked the longest through the sky, a mid-summer message from a spirited blackbird - I nicknamed him Solstice and he wove a dance between the green robed branches just for the joy of being.

The songs grew more desperate, his visits longer each morning, a swift imploring look in his eyes, a wishing to talk to me, tell me his real name, his story, something for my heart alone. In my lack of sleep blackbirds flew from every shadow, walked across my fingers and across my thoughts - his song wasn’t finished so my eyes didn’t close.

On the morning of the longest day, rising like a blue translucence shell into the darkness, I went out to the garden, the dew collecting on my feet like gold dust. He was in the tree above me drowned in green shadows and it was then when I reached out to him that I fell asleep, enveloped by the grass in its mid-summer growth. I felt my arms stretching, moving out of place, my bones softening, losing their shape, my back burned and pulsed, the first tips of feathers broke my skin, a downy black veil washed over me like rain - and I knew the morning songs and all the songs I must now sing. It was then that Solstice and I could speak".

I love this piece! Really, really love it! I know to be a 'cool' writer you have to berate yourself ... say 'I could always do better!' but that's not me! lol

Blackbird was inspired by Carl telling me that there was a blackbird in the trees behind where we live, he said he could recognise the song. So that planted the seed for this story and it just grew from there. I also wanted to tie this all in with the Solstice and National Flash Fiction Day so it all turned out perfect, I especially enjoyed naming the bird 'Solstice'. Also just a day after I had written Blackbird, a real one turned up! 

He must be the one Carl could hear in the mornings. Yes, I have nicknamed him Solstice and he is very, very greedy! Every time he has a beak full of food he runs like mad as if he has stolen it from right under your nose and revels in the theft! 

I'm also really pleased to announce that my flash fiction piece 'A Collection' has been featured on Flash Flood who are doing a 'flood' of fiction to celebrate today. Please check out mine and all the other very talented writers who have been featured :)

Happy Saturday, Solstice and National Flash Fiction Day 

Monday, 17 June 2013

Within the Roots

'Buried in an earth so thick and suffocating, I lay forgotten.

Roots of purpose wove their way through and within me and I was left feeling punctured and worn thin, 
frayed and degraded under a rich soil used to bury the faces of loved ones'

I know, I know, it's a bit morbid, but hey why not? Some people like morbid and sometimes it just feels appropriate! lol I hope you all take you own meanings from this piece (as mentioned in the wonderful guest post by Ellie Stewart) 

There are some obvious meanings here like being buried, forgotten etc. but I'll bet there are some meanings here that only have significance with you ~ I'd love to hear them :)

Think about the symbology of dreams, you could have a thousand different interpretations of what a cat means in a dream and you would probably get to the end of your patience trying to sift through them, but what does a cat mean to you personally? If you love cats this would be a symbol of love or good fortune, if you hate cats or have a phobia then they would represent the complete opposite. I know I'm waffling a bit but personal meanings and symbology I think is really fascinating. 

There is nothing much more to tell, I'm still writing, still frustrated! lol I have entered some competitions, mostly to 'just get my work out there' and with some hope that I could win! Also the 22nd of this month is National Flash Fiction Day so I'm going to post some of my own flash/micro fiction, hopefully I'll come up with something a bit more special ~ Any ideas welcome.

Happy Monday 

Tuesday, 11 June 2013

Guest Post ~ 'The meaning of poetry belongs to you' by Ellie Stewart

Just as my humiliating school experiences in P.E. have given me a fierce aversion to all sporting activity, so too it seems that our experience with over-enthusiastic English teachers has put many of us off poetry full-stop. We can probably all recall the frustration of poring over every phrase and syllable of a dull poem about a flower, searching for the hidden meanings the teacher convinced us were there until our eyeballs fell off their stalks.

‘It’s just a poem about a daffodil!’ we’d sob, ‘I can’t see how the yellowness represents the poet’s unrequited lust for their mother, or how the gentle breeze is a metaphor for the unstoppable tide of Marxism! Please can we just leave it as it is…’

I think there’s a perception that poetry still needs to be processed in this way: that somehow we’re not allowed simply to read and enjoy it on our own terms- that we have to understand it through relentless study and analysis if we’re to ‘properly’ enjoy it. Call me a philistine, but I don’t think you do need to pick apart each poem you read, study the historical context in which it was written, or even understand its true meaning. A poem’s meaning comes from what it means to you.

I don’t understand most of the poetry I read, but I love poetry. I turn to my collections and anthologies when I’m seeking inspiration: they open up my mind to new ways of experimenting with language and expressing my own perceptions of the world. Sylvia Plath’s poetry is written with clear but brutal honesty, and her words fall down the page in a cascade of magical images: ‘Naked and bald in furs/Orange lollies on silver sticks’ (from ‘The Munich Mannequins’). Whatever the original meaning she intended, we can pocket these images like the brilliant pebbles we find on the beach, taking them home with us and out of the context of the poem, if we choose.

Plath’s poem ‘Sheep in Fog’ has an opening stanza that is so quiet and striking, I think it stands alone as a poem. It inspired my own poem I wrote about my mother – just those first three lines.

‘The hills step off into whiteness.
People or stars
Regard me sadly, I disappoint them.’

This sense of vivid, disconnected images (not necessarily intended by the poet) makes me think of how Thom Yorke wrote the lyrics to Radiohead’s song Kid A: he literally pulled cut-out writings out of a hat. ‘We got heads on sticks/You got ventriloquists.’

Every time I open up a poetry collection or anthology, I make new discoveries. I feel as if I am six years old again, sifting through the sparkling beads of my mother’s jewellery box. Untangling long necklaces, discovering odd earrings tucked away. I’d spread them out onto her bed and transform them into snakes and frogs, twirling flowers and dancing birds- I do the same with the poems I find.

The twisted religious imagery of Ted Hughes Crow collection reads to me like a Greek myths and fairy-tales: disturbing events told cold, written plain. There is, I know, so much to uncover in his words, but you can read these poems naively, as a child would, and your experience of their power and dark humour will not be lost.

One of my favourite poems of all time is ‘The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock’, by T. S. Eliot. Eliot was big on the importance of making poetry difficult, and a preserve of the elite who could understand its necessary complexities and the tangled references to other literary works it makes. Prufrock begins with a verse from Dante’s Inferno, in Italian. It also contains references to Shakespeare, The Bible and John Donne. Some of these you will get, because they have become so infused with our culture and our collective memories, but some of them you won’t. And I don’t think that matters.

Prufrock’s meandering rhythms, and the images that fall over them, are coiled in my mind like a song. I have never read (or, perhaps, even seen) something that so perfectly captures the feeling of summer evenings in a city, as the sun sets. It reads like gathered memories, like a half-remembered dream; it’s about loneliness and longing. And, like every song or book, painting or poem you have ever read that means something true to you, that feels inextricably connected to your being, part of me says of this poem: ‘It’s about me.’

It ends:

‘We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.’

Dennis Hopper’s character recites a line from this poem in Apocalypse Now, which is pretty cool.

And as a final note: take a look at this post that sniggers at people who have given their honest opinion of classic works of literature. I agreed with most of them, and you may too. If so, and you gave up on poetry long ago, I promise you that if you keep scanning that beach, you’ll find those brilliant stones.

Ellie Stewart grew up in Wimbledon and Tunbridge Wells and studied English and Philosophy at The University of Leeds. She has been published in various literary magazines online and won The Writer's Village Best Writing Award Winter 2012. Her stories have been published in anthologies by Fluster Magazine and Arachne Press. She currently lives in South East London and works for King's College. You can follow her on Twitter @elliemayonnaise

Jade's thoughts:

This is the first of what I hope to be a long list of guest posts on here. Thank you Ellie so much for writing this great piece ~ I'm hoping it will spark some discussion.  Readers who want to know more of her work can visit her blog. If anyone is inspired by reading this great post and would like to write something similar yourself, please email me at

Also what a auspicious time to have my first guest post as this is my 100th post! :)

Happy Tuesday 

Wednesday, 5 June 2013


'She was courting an isolation never known to her before. The walls were humming with a silence that could be felt and seen, she knew she was undeniably alone. Not even a creature or a wisp of something unknown lingered on the air to watch her.

She felt the urge to write and wrote such words of depth and understanding, of the people she watched and reached out to with the bones in her fingers stretching and clicking in her many attempts. They would not hear her or see her grasping hand, she was concealed behind a glass so thick she could trace the bubbles of its impurities with a changing heart

As she wrote into the days and nights, needing less and less light to read her words, blocking out the light, shielding away from the windows like a flower closing its face to the dusk. Her finger tips grew soft and pooled out like melted wax, they stuck to everything she touched. She stroked the cool walls with a deep yearning to walk them. Skin untouched by the sun, started to pale to a translucent sheen with its visible marbling of blue tinted veins. 

Her pupils lost their definition and eyelids as thin as white rose petals claimed their place over her iris.

When they find her shed skin, lost behind a carved chair, with its paper thin markings of a woman consumed by herself. With all she left behind, the pages on pages of fiction, prose, poetry and the unknowable love she created on paper, 

could they ever know what she went through …'

It's been a long time since I posted some micro fiction on here, maybe I fell out of love with it for a while (and concentrated mostly on poetry and prose) but now I'm back experimenting again.

I have been spending a lot of time alone recently and they say 'write about what you know' - so I was inspired to write about being alone. As I was writing this the story unfolded about a woman turning into a lizard and it just flowed out of me. I am really pleased with it, it's beautiful and a bit creepy lol - let me know what you think? I love the part about the fingers melting like pools of wax :)

It felt right to call my piece Eden. I did a bit of research into lizards in mythology and was drawn to the Christian ideas around lizards/reptiles. Even though it's a snake in the bible that tempts Eve, lizards are still a part of Christian ideology and I found a lovely quote attributed to St Gregory, who on watching a lizard basking in the sun, said that the lizard might symbolise;

'the soul that humbly seeks enlightenment'

I have already found two people interested in guest blogging, I'm really looking forward to reading their posts. I hope maybe my micro fiction piece inspires a few other people to have their say on poetry, prose or micro fiction.

Happy Wednesday 

Saturday, 1 June 2013

New Poem of the Month for June ~ A Sleepless Summer

I’m always sleepless in summer
My bones call to me,
in morbid tones
to be bleached by the sun

A summer’s night
and its madness;
my skin tastes of salt
and murmurings of fortunes

Harsh and stung
by the green growth that summer brings,
finding the tastes
of sap, dry soil on my lips

and it calls to me
in my rigid bones …
For a wish cast in that moment
cast adrift like a stolen feather,
they are the ones that haunt us

and we wonder why
our bodies yearn for a thought … 
                                                      or a simple blush of sunlight

Can you believe that this poem marks a whole year of 'New Poem of the Month' posts! A full year! I have compiled a list below of a full year's worth of new poetry, have a look through and let me know which are your favourites. It's so interesting looking down the list, it's like looking at a year of creative progression. I can remember why I picked that certain poem, how I was feeling at the time etc 

Also you will see that the name of the blog has changed from 'Poetry Musings by Jade Kennedy' to just 'Poetry Musings' ~ I figured that you all know who I am by now! lol Another reason for this is that I'm wanting to start featuring guest posts; the blog from now on won't just be about myself and my poetry. I started thinking about this because of the announcement from Salt Publishing (a big UK independent publisher in poetry and fiction) that they are to stop publishing poetry books from single authors and that the poetry market is crashing! Why is this? Really my question is, why do people hate poetry? I personally think it is the word 'poetry' that puts people off, there is a persona that poetry has, that it's 'not for just anyone' ~ its high brow, academic, (it has far too many 'rules' for my liking) and beyond the reach of everyday people

I want to start featuring guest blogs just about poetry, prose and micro fiction about anything you feel needs to be said. If you hate poetry and hate everything about it, send in a guest blog and let us know why. If you want to talk about how writing micro fiction is the best thing in your life, I'd love to hear about it. Also you can feature your own poetry/prose/micro fiction, review other writers and add links to anywhere you like. Send them to me at 

The only rules are; no swearing and no attacking another writer personally! 

I'm now on Google+ as well, so come join my magic circle :)

Have a great weekend 

June 2012 ~ Midnight Fae

July 2012 ~ Sanctuary

August 2012 ~ The Daydreamer

September 2012 ~ My Clockwork Heart

October 2012 ~ Paper Tree

November 2012 ~ As White as Ghosts

December 2012 ~ Thief

January 2013 ~ Mosaic

February 2013 ~ Just Listening

March 2013 ~ Once around the Sun

April 2013 ~ NPM #1 ~ In their soft footprints ... Tom

May 2013 ~ Dreaming of Spring

Saturday, 25 May 2013

Automatic Writing #9

'My mood is changing faster than a spinning coin, flipping my thoughts into boxes marked and unmarked before my eyes. It's like a vast well overflowing with stagnant waters, ripping mosses and timber with it to the surface where they will dry in the sun, to be collected and used to build something new and sturdy from nothing more than old dying beliefs that the waters coughed up. 

Building a platform that reaches to the sky, keeping a close look out for the moon as it curves around the earth in a sweeping arc, running fast, away from the dawning sun. If I could I would get a net, knitted together with a thousand spider's webs and silkworms and I would catch the moon in its graceful momentum into the dark ... maybe it would sit and speak with me awhile.'

Hi everyone, here's some more of my automatic writing. There definitely seems to be a reoccurring theme with me and the moon doesn't there! lol It's like I'm an ancient Celt worshipping the moon every month - maybe I should get a pet hare and then the image would be complete. I imagine I'm not alone in thinking that the moon is an endless source of inspiration though :)

In other news I have entered two competitions recently, fingers crossed. I won't name the competitions - 1. maybe I will jinx it. 2. if nothing comes of it I don't have to explain anything (sneaky eh?). Also I have been connecting with other poets on Twitter which has been lovely and discovered some beautiful poetry.

I'd like to thank everyone for their lovely comments on the last post about the sad loss of Fluff.

Have a lovely Bank Holiday weekend.