the crone

opening the door to ideas

T’was the week before Christmas, when all through the land Not a creature was safe from austerity’s hand.   The P45s were placed in the OUT-tray with care, While Chairman and MD made sure they weren’t there.   At home, children nestled all snug in their beds, While downstairs mum and dad raged off their …

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I am writing poetic pieces on the fleeting joys of family life. Whilst missing out on my own family. And being a moaning haggard harridan when I do see them. I am prostituting my craft and soul for people to red line it, scar it. Chop it. Hurt it. Ah, poor me! I am but …

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I am not keen on the UK government’s decision to go ahead with a hugely expensive, contaminating nuclear power station when clean, low-cost, renewable energy seems so much more foward-thinking. By the time it’s built Hinkley Point’s technology will be almost redundant. So I wrote this — with apologies to Messrs Morrissey and Marr.

Been sharing some lovely unintentional Ivor Cutler poems. These make me smile. “Slippers For Feet” “Five Cakes. Eight Cakes. Served With A Jug of Cream.”   If you have never heard any Ivor Cutler poetry, and you love words and absurdity, you might like to discover more. Life in A Scottish Living Room Squeeze Bees Hello! How are …

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There was a zombie woman on my early morning train. Her face was a skeleton. Smooth tea-coloured skin stretched over dry bones. Milky blank eyes of faint cataract blue. Colourless dry wisps of hair stuck to the dome of her skull. Her maw was opened. Dark. Like a tunnel. The dry lips strained. Mouthing. She stared forward. Focusing …

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I follow the thought-provoking blog A Narcissist Writes Letters, To Himself so it was wonderfully exciting last week to find a yellow padded package (with an exotic San Francisco return address) stuffed into my humble post box here in the UK. The Narcissist (E.I. Wong Himself) had kindly sent me a copy of his book*. I sat down at my quintessentially English breakfast …

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What if we could treat each day as arriving on a new planet. What if each dawn was a new beginning on our own fresh, clean world. What if the grass or stone we walked on this morning had never been walked on before. How pure and clean life would feel. Just standing, looking up into …

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My blog has been sadly neglected. Poor little bloggy. Moved house. Moving on. Saying goodbye to some things. It was quite cleansing to unburden myself. Going through piles of papers. Throwing out crumpled cartoons, wrinkled pages of writing, years and years worth of diaries. It’s like taking a weight off the mind or soul. I mean, if you haven’t looked at …

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Today. Alone. Having time and space to myself at last. Ignoring the washing, the cleaning, the housework. Wasting time carefully, with a range of activities chosen for myself, me, only. Segmenting the day into fizzling an hour away on social networking, an hour on news reading, and hour on novel reading, an hour on showering, …

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Talking with a friend. I realised that life is a series of flaky compromises — a bit like a bland baklava. What’s For Afters? Dirty pan, mucky plates Not wiped clean In a mess Smelly, sticky, ugly to see Cold, coagulated vomitus Thrown up and thrown away Half munched, half crunched Chewed knobs of gristle, …

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