Achy and happy…

It’s unusual for me to write here in the morning, but as I’ve missed two days I felt like updating.

On Tuesday evening I went to a poetry event. We weren’t in our usual venue as that is being sold. We were upstairs in a pub and we have used it before, but I don’t recall the seating being so uncomfortable. I am still aching a bit.

It was a really good evening though. There were vulnerable poems, call to action poems, mother’s advice poems. There were good poems and not so good poems.

I think it was the mix of people as well as the poetry that made it so good. There was a wider age group, and a wider sexuality – more diverse identification. One of the sweetest guys there is queer, but you would never know it.

While writing, I have responded to an email from a publication on medium. They are publishing an essay I wrote. I’m thrilled because my other royalties this month are less than a dollar.

I’m enjoying the garden. Spring is showing everywhere. There are still signs of winter, but new life is pushing up. I have seeds to sow as well. I did my autumn seeds. I love watching what comes up.

I communicated with the dad of my daughter’s boyfriend. Just asking for some communication. He blocked me. I feel like my daughter is a kidnapped young woman. That family doesn’t seem to know the meaning of mature, or self-improvement.

I barely recognise my daughter. She sometimes swears at me now. This is not the young lady that moved in with them.

Despite this, I feel happy. The sun is warm, the garden is full of promises, I am being read, and my social life is good.

Feeling good and some success…

I went to Salisbury on Tuesday to read poetry. Poetika happens in an upstairs room at a rather nice pub. I had a vegan dinner with an Italian lady I met there. My Italian is virtually zilch, but she spoke enough English for us to get by.

Theme of the poetry was nonsense, so I read the piece about the pig and a version of a poem I had emailed to a friend to print for me, but he didn’t see the email. I quickly cobbled together some of the lines.

There was a guest poet who does a lot of comedy and cabaret in London. She grew up in Salisbury and did not fit in, as her Dad is, or was black. She then related through her poetry how hard it was to fit in in London because of the lightness of her skin. She has a lot of talent.

I stayed the night with a friend, whose wife I met for the first time. We walked home together, and she kind of assumed that I had never been able to drive. This did not offend me, she is lovely and very enjoyable to be with, but I need to reset something about me to alter some perceptions. I never proclaim my skills and accomplishments, they just come up in conversation. So what if that conversation never happens? I am not concerned. I just can start telling people what a novice I am with buses.

On medium.com my articles are being read, and I’ve got a thousand followers in just two weeks.

I find writing satisfying there. So many positive vibes.

My heating and some discoveries…

For almost a week now I have felt a chill in my room as I write. I thought the wind had changed direction. Why I would settle for this assumption is beyond me. Why would I just accept such a dumb thought???

On Sunday early evening, I put my hand on the radiator and it was stone cold!

My heating is not working and I let it go for so long! I’ve now phoned the company that services my heating. It should be put right later.

For a while, I have been trying to access my notes on facebook. There are lots of poems in them, but whenever I scroll down I just get a buffering. Today I grew impatient and put in the title of a poem I was looking for in the search bar on my homepage, together with my name and voila! I found lots of my poetry that I had shared in a group after they were published.

Now why didn’t I think of that before? So I was able to send them to a friend I will see tomorrow, who will print them for me.

I feel such pleasure that I have accessed these. I could read from my book, and it will be lighter than carrying lots of printed pages.

So now I am going to make some hot chocolate and have some rosti topped with cheese.

Recovering and happy…

Yesterday, I went with friends who are also poets, to read in the next county. We drove through the New Forest, which I hadn’t seen for a while. It was very beautiful despite being winter, and it’s lovely to see the ponies grazing. My friend, who was driving, bemoaned the lack of a bypass around a certain town, but really less traffic is needed by improving public transport.

I had forgotten how far one had to walk from the nearest car drop off to the entrance. Then I rested on chair, before climbing the stairs.

The venue is a listed house in Romsey. It is a museum, run by a charity. Because it is listed, meaning it is of historic value, it cannot be altered. Further, there is now an entrance fee of £7.50 per person, which includes tea and cake.

This does not sit well with me. Other venues I read at are pubs which have a room or let you take over the whole space. So one buys one refreshments and everybody is happy. In my local poetry group, I buy a drink for £3.

Also, Romsey is in the afternoon. That presents logistical problems of different sorts for different people. It doesn’t bother me, except that it takes up all my day because I spend almost two hours travelling to my friends.

Anyhow, arriving at my friends, I was asked what time my bus home would be. I was taken aback. I had not even thought about my return journey. Andit turned out that being Sunday, the last bus back would be a 4.20. We would still be in Romsey.

My friends lifted my trolley into their camper van, and said they would drop me at the outskirts of my conurbation. This was kind of them.

I really enjoyed the poetry shared by other poets there, apart from one poem, which was dense and required a lot of concentration. One lady read poetry that was so funny. She is Irish and knows many of the places I know.

Someone read a Haiku string. But they weren’t Haiku and it wasn’t a string. It was three line stanzas. I did not say anything. I am weary of teaching Haiku.

My friends ended up driving me all the way home, which I didn’t realise until we were at a certain junction. I was very grateful, but feel I can’t ask to travel with them again.

The element I mentioned yesterday, that is lacking from a vegan’s diet, is iodine. I remembered in the night, as one does. Borden’s Blather provided a link in comments on my last post. Thank you Jim.

So, today, I have needed rest as I’ve ached a bit. But as my poetry was well received, and I heard some wonderful poems read, I am happy.

Poeting and pain…

Earlier this week, I went to the local poetry evening. it was a great turnout and the vibe was good. I took all my courage and read two ‘love poems’. I don’t know why I needed courage, love is as much a part of life as anything else.

We had tongue in cheek poetry, funny poetry and songs by Romeo with his guitar. He’s also a good poet.

I rode home on the bus with a fellow poet and we chatted. I prefer one to one conversations, and would never have got to know him otherwise. I have a feeling he is gender fluid, which is unimportant, but I’ve never had such friends. It’s warm feeling and he told me he likes my poetry from months ago. To me this is a real validation.

I’ve been going to bed early to relax some muscles that have been really hurting me lately. It is working. I could probably do with having a few drinks to do the job properly. The pain is pretty bad.

One Hundred Memories

Is published by Dream Well Writing. So many thanks to Mel Wardle Woodend.

The Buzzard

Remember those late afternoon trips

to the beach? You would almost

always spot a bird of prey

hovering, watching, before diving

The day I recall is a buzzard

hanging in the sky. You pointed

and we chorused ”where? where?”

clambering around the car to see

You pointing, and still driving

Always calm, you gifted nature

to me

This anthology is in aid of the Alzheimer’s Society, on the 25th anniversary

Pain, garden and anthologies…

I have to say that since I was told an attempt will be made to get my neighbours to take down the wind chimes, I have found that they cause me to be more on edge and more pain. I don’t know when it will happen, I will only be told afterwards.

I know this could be psychosomatic, but also the effects of the windchimes have been cumulative. I have managed so sow some seeds, and dead head some flowers. I cry out in pain, but the pleasure of my garden is a pull, even in this very cold weather. Tomorrow the gardener to whom I gave my piano is coming to put back some flower bed near the house. I won’t have so far to carry my watering can, but drought tolerant plants will be planted anyway.

I’m looking forward to this. I love designing flowerbeds, I like swathes of colour. I have mislaid my spring bulbs but hope to find them tomorrow. I have a lot of plants in bloom out of season, but although scary due to climate change, I’m enjoying them.

In twelve days One Hundred Memories, an anthology for the Alzheimer’s Society is launching. I am a contributor. It will be great to have a copy. I’ve been in several anthologies, but this will only be the third one of which I will own a copy.