How Do I love thee?

    One English poet I was fascinated with as a kid was, Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Reading her poetry swept me into her world, my imagination ran wild. I could see myself wearing long, flowing skirts, walking hand-in-hand with my love.

    Unfortunately, at some point reality does kick in and a little girl's dreams faded. However, Elizabeth Barrett Browning's words live on in the poem I've featured today.

How Do I Love Thee?

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of being and ideal grace

I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight
I love thee freely, as men strive for right
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise
I love with a passion put to use
In my old griefs and with my childhood's faith
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, I love thee with the breath
Smiles, tears, of all my life and if God choose
I shall but love thee better after death

An Author's Life

   

    My post is a little later than I had wanted it to be. But, hey! 'Asi es la vida!' The thing is I've been really busy. I've been preparing some questions for some impending author interviews and a book publicist who is going to give us an insight into her world. As well as my regular blog and of course pending books. Yes, it's a busy 'author's life.'

    In a few weeks time I'm going to be guest speaker at two Burns suppers in the Canary Islands. That is, suppers celebrating the life and works of the great, yet unofficial poet of Scotland, Robert Burns.

    I've been doing this for charity the last couple of years and it doesn't really matter how often I do it, the old butterflies take over my tummy. I've been preparing my 'Immortal Memory' toast to the  bard and although I may be speaking to a different audience this year, I do like to keep it fresh. Saves me boring my friends and myself to death.

    That's an update into my world to date and I will let you know how my supper evenings go in future posts. Have a fabulous weekend guys.


    P.S.
         AUTHOR FRIENDS if you want to feature in my blog contact me via Facebook, or Twitter.

The Castle Old and Grey

    It's the first poetry post of 2018 and I'm featuring Scottish, 19th century poet, Alexander Anderson. I particularly loved this poem of his because I am totally fascinated by old buildings, especially castles. His words I can identify with, because when I too walk into an old castle I think of who walked before me in the corridors and upon the stairs in the past. It wouldn't just be servants, but kings and queens as well. Every inch of the building's floors and walls, all have a story to tell. If they could only speak.

The Castle Old and Grey

I never see a castle

That is gaunt and grey and grim

But my thoughts at once go backward

To the past so misty and dim

To the time when tower and turret

Kept watch far over the vale

And along the sounding draw-bridge

Rode knights in their suits of mail

I see the sunshine glancing

On helmet, pennon and spear

And hear from the depth of the forest 

A bugle calling clear

I fill the hall with visions

Of ladies rich in their bloom

And stately knights in armour

And waving with feather and plume

If  I climb the broken stairway

Where the stone is smooth and fine

I hear a rustle and a whisper

And footsteps in front of mine

Whisper of youth and maiden

As they met in the long ago

His deep and strong and manly

Hers tender and sweet and low

But maiden and youth have vanished

Away from the scene and the light 

Gone, too, the high-born lady

And the plumed and armoured knight

Only the grey old castle

Of crumbling stone and lime

Still stands to speak of the ages

And the iron footsteps of time

                                                                                         Alexander Anderson 1845-1909

                                                                      

Flying Free

         Birds are beautiful creatures and they come in all shapes and sizes. On a winter's day there is nothing more pleasurable than watching a robin bobbing about the snow in the backyard, picking at the dried mealworms that I've provided. Or, the blackbirds  feasting on the pieces of cooked apple that I cooked especially for them.

    Spending  spring and summer days on the banks of  a loch, or canal are filled with great delight, watching the swans, ducks, geese, moorhens and a vast assortment of birds who make their habitat amongst the marshes.

    If we can all enjoy these alluring creatures in their natural surroundings, why is it then that many are captured by unscrupulous individuals and kept in unnatural environment. There is only one reason, that is PROFIT. They are not pets and it's up to us human beings to protect them.

    Today is National Bird Day, let's celebrate our feathered friends.

     Everyone likes birds. What wild creature is more accessible to our eyes and ears, as close to us and everyone in the world, as universal as a bird.

                  Davis Attenborough



https://www.facebook.com/NationalBirdDay

 http://www.avianwelfare.org/issues/conservation.htm

http://www.avianwelfare.org/nationalbirdday/index.htm

Everyone likes birds. What wild creature is more accessible to our eyes and ears, as close to us and everyone in the world, as universal as a bird? David Attenborough
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/david_attenborough_454695?src=t_bird

Everyone likes birds. What wild creature is more accessible to our eyes and ears, as close to us and everyone in the world, as universal as a bird? David Attenborough
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/david_attenborough_454695?src=t_bird

Reaching for your Dreams

   

    So, what plans do you have for January? Do you have writing goals, or do you have life goals that can be achieved in the next year?

    Personally, my goal is to carry on writing and may my ideas  keep on coming. There are many things that I want to achieve in my writing career and sometimes it feels like a real hard slog. As though I'm paddling through water, not going anywhere fast.

    The thing about embarking on a writing career, nobody ever said it would be easy, in fact the opposite. But, as a writer I get to do the thing I love best and that's write.

     Whatever you are embarking on this year, I wish you every success and remember if you don't achieve your goal it doesn't mean you have failed.



    Remember your dreams and fight for them. You must know what you want from life. There is just one thing that makes your dream impossible: the fear of failure.

                       Paulo Coelho 
                       Brazilian novelist and lyricist.

   

   

   

Wishing You a Perfect Year

  

    The year 2017 is now coming to an end. For some of us it may be a time to close an unhappy chapter of our lives and wish on the stroke of midnight that the year about to start is going to meet our hopes and aspirations.

    For others it may be a time to be thankful for the good fortune we have been blessed with, grateful for the love and support we have received from those around us.

    As we take time to reflect, melancholy can creep up behind us, making us think of times gone by, sadly thinking of those friends and relatives who have left our lives, for good, or have moved many miles away. Leaving a great void behind.

    However, I hope that the memories of the joyous times spent with them will outweigh the loss felt and I hope what ever your midnight wish is, you all have a perfect year.



   

The Journey of Regret Part 3

Part 3 of 3  (Final)

    I feel a piercing pain in the side of my skull and I explore my right temple with my fingertips. I wince, I've found a bleeding head wound. My blood moistens my fingers and it runs down my face. I can taste the saltiness of it, as it trickles onto my lips and into my mouth. I sit still and try to orientate myself with my surroundings, but the situation I find myself in seems somewhat surreal.

    "Jemma follow me. I will take you to safety," says a woman. I'm unable to see her because of the strong light that is now shining in my face.     Thank goodness, I feel relieved that a rescue party has arrived.  I can hear the voice of the woman clearly persuading me to follow her. I shakily get to my feet and I clamber into the aisle. I hesitate, I've remembered that my carryall is on the seat to the inside of me. I reach in and I brush my hand across the sticky, velvety pile of the upholstery. But the bag is no longer there, it must have fallen onto the floor. How on earth am I going to find it in this darkness? I sigh, there is no point in me fumbling around to try to locate it.

    The female voice continues to encourage me on, but the light is moving away from me and I have to follow. I take a step and I stumble over something. I bend down and tug at what is some kind of bag, hopefully I've found my carryall. But the item is too small to be mine, I think it may be a briefcase, or a laptop. I push the bag aside to clear my path and it moves away from me at speed. I hear it coming to a thudding halt somewhere up ahead. 
    I can only assume that the train has been derailed, because the carriage is slightly tilted over to one side and I proceed with difficulty. I grab hold of the backs of the seats to steady myself and I follow the guiding light. I pass by my fellow passengers, some groan loudly and others cry for help. I can't understand why they don't follow the rescuer. 

    Although it seems to have taken forever, I've reached the end of the carriage and to an exit. I stop at the open doorway and look up into the cloudless December sky. The cold air blasts my face, making my cheeks go numb. I take a deep breath, a strong smell of diesel oil fills my nostrils and lungs. A multitude of twinkling stars and a full moon light up the night sky, but they fail to illuminate my surroundings. I can't see anything but the woman's light.

    Jumping down onto the track, I drop to my knees. Sharp stone chippings dig into my flesh, causing me to flinch.
    "Jemma, follow me. I will take you to safety," the woman's voice beckons.
    "Please help me," I plead. I'm still on the ground, but my plea is ignored. I lurch to my feet; the light of the rescuer is advancing and is now some distance ahead. I must gather my strength and go after her.

    I walk unsteadily along the track, my feet slide on the hard-core rock that lies between the rails. I  stagger and I nearly lose my balance. I can hear muffled voices, but they're nowhere near me. I can hear sirens, but they're in the distance. The cold bites through my whole body; I start to shake and my teeth are chattering. I have no other option but to keep following the light. With great difficulty I stifle my sobs, I feel so desperately alone and very scared.

    The light is becoming bigger and brighter, I must be nearing safety at last. My legs are weary, I'm struggling to put one foot in front of the other. My head throbs, my body aches and I want to lie down. I daren't though, because the light is within reach.

    I exhale a sigh of relief, I've reached the light and I’m now bathed in it. Its whiteness burns deep into my eyes. I try to shield them with my hand in an effort to see, but to no avail.

     "You are safe. Your pain will ease. Your wounds will heal. We will take care of you now,” says the woman.

     I drop my arm away from my face; the light no longer hurts my eyes and I can feel it penetrate deep down into my body, into my soul. I try to turn around, but I can't. It's as though I've been cemented to the spot. I turn my head and glance behind me; but there is nothing to see, only the white light.
     "I want to go back,” I beg.
     "I know Jemma, I know. But now you can only look back, because for you there is no going back. You are with us now,” the woman says.

BREAKING NEWS

    The 8:00 P.M passenger train to Brighton from Victoria Station, London was derailed at 8:20 P.M yesterday evening. At present the cause is unknown, but accident investigators are on the scene.  

    Several passengers are known to be severely injured and there is one reported fatality. The deceased is believed to be 17-year-old Jemma Anders,who was said to be returning home after visiting some friends in London. Although badly injured, Miss Anders is thought to have wandered from the train following the derailment,in search for help.

    An Emergency Service spokesperson, told reporters that a rescue worker had gone to investigate, what he thought was someone waving a flashlight some distance away from the wreckage.But unfortunately he came across the body of the deceased. It is likely she died because of head injuries. A full postmortem will follow.

    Relatives, family and friends have been informed.

THE END

** This was first published on this blog Nov/22/2012