Before you get stuck into today's poem, two plugs for two friends of mine.

Jacqueline Crooks is one special lady with energy enough for ten and a heart of gold, who works hard to encourage other writers, especially young writers. She has a writers' retreat in Spain to which I have retreated twice, to great effect. Now she is offering a week-long creative writing programme, comprising group workshops, one-to-one tutorials, readings and optional socials. All teaching and one-to-one tutorials will be provided by Richard Skinner, a published writer and tutor on the MA in Creative & Life Writing at Goldsmith's College, London.  There are only 6 spaces on the week-long workshop which will be held at a beautiful villa in the village of Los Ventorros. Visit http://francke-software.de/jcrooks/newsletter.htm for more details. For writers who simply want a quiet space to retreat and write without tuition or programmes, Jacqueline's peaceful writers' retreat in Comares is available from February 2008 onwards. www.writersretreat.gbr.cc

Peter Webb (affectionately known as spider) is a writing friend who had his 15 minutes of fame on Radio 4 this morning and I'm listening again to the repeat as I write this. Peter has worked on and off on a book for the last x-teen years, and I read the early chapters on a website called WritersDock within the H2T group. As a fellow sailor (but nowhere near as mad as he!), I loved every word of early drafts. I am waiting for my signed copy but know I can recommend 'Ice Bears and Kotick' which is now out and available on the net, Amazon etc, and a good boat chandler near you. The title comes from the direct translation of the Norwegian word for Polar Bear + Kotick is the name of the boat. The publisher is Seafarer Books. According to Peter (and I concur): it's a retrospective sailing narrative telling the tale of the first circumnavigation of the Arctic island Spitsbergen in an unpowered open boat. We had many adventures along the 1200km journey that involved polar bears, walrus, whales, realising the value of being alive and an extraordinary variety of ice. Through all of this the important journey was the internal one. It's an old fashioned, low budget story about what happens when you put everything into one big adventure. It might appeal to gap year students, lovers of ice and snow, lovers of Arctic wildlife, small boat sailors and oarsmen. Having said that my mother-in-law, who is in her seventies, loved it and she is none of these things. So I think that it's for anybody who is young at heart and can identify with the need to go out into the world to do something big or special, or impossible.

Peter is the only man I know who had the nerve to cut a chocolate cake in half for us to share and then proceed to eat both halves ... so that proves he had a need to go out into the world and do something impossible.

Now, having got that lot off my chest, here's today's poem.

Killing time

I sleep late, don’t dress
Bury myself, look
Between the pages
Of a paperback book

I stare at the stars
I love them, it’s true
They’re out of my reach
Far away, as are you
 
Now I’m clock watching
While doing the chores
Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick ...
The pleasure’s mine. What’s yours?

Jesus! I’m so bored
I’m just killing time
Between then and when
I will see you. Sublime

You don't know what you've got till it's gone, so the song goes. And it's true.

Without you

Without you, my love, the day is too long
I find I’m whiling away the hours
I cook, but for one and I sleep alone
In the bed that is best when it’s ours

Without you, love, there’s no spring in my step
I drift when my hand has no hand to hold
I’m restless and cannot settle at all
I feel too alone and so very old

But I’m sure, my dear friend, as sure can be
You’ll be back in my arms by tomorrow
Till then my beating heart remains covered
In deep layers of uncuddled sorrow

Hurry home, do, hurry into my arms
I need you here, my sweetheart, by my side
Let’s enjoy each day as only we can
And stand fast against the incoming tide

Without you, darling, to light up each day
My life is as nothing, an empty shell
I’ll not cope when we must part for ever
And have to utter our final farewell

Yesterday morning, I finished a major project (on time, yeah!) and spent the day tidying up. I was very industrious, moving a bookcase from one room to another, repositioning a filing cabinet and sorting out its content, sifting through a file or two and putting waste into the recycling bin, etc etc. Of course, what I should have been doing was my tax return. I am expert at displacement activities ... which reminded me of this poem. I wrote it in April 2005. I have come a long way since then.

Displacement man

On the day you are born
You’ll find yourself torn
Twixt parents who love you.
But while a mother bears you
The number one man in a girl’s life
Until some man makes her his wife
Is her dad.
Sad? Terribly sad.

But dad’s are infallible.
And girls are so gullible
So for no reason why
A girl has to try
To find a man who is honest and true
Who wants to marry you …
Who asks for your hand …
Grand? Terribly grand.

You love him, till death? Well, tough!
He loves you, but not enough.
Not enough, not to stray
And then one fine day
You discover a solution
An amazing potion
Such a cunning plan
Seek out one more displacement man!

He catches your eye
And by and by
Your heart is entangled
Your thoughts strangled
As you transfer the weight
Of your afflicted mate
To this new guy for you
Displacement man, mark two.

He occupies your mind while
Off with the old, you trial
This love so new
So far away, and so not you.
It’s unreal and unattainable
Keeping you quite stable
Just out of arm’s reach
And yet still clearly in view.

While hope keeps ahold
And your heart feels so bold
You wait till you’re free.
And then - find that he
Evaporates into thin air!
And yet, do you care
As he dissolves, and falls foul?
You’ve no energy, e’en to howl.

But come, you must move on
Now that all three have gone.
What’s missing is touch
And you need it so much
So look around you today
Decide the game you will play
And remember, yes, you can
Always find, a displacement man 

What a week!

This time, seven short days ago, I had the whole day to myself, packing up the remainder of my clothes ready to bring them with me on my journey west on Saturday. Before then though, we had to embark on a journey which took us first to not-so-sunny Watford where we had two constructive meetings topped by lunch at The Gate in excellent company. We then continued northwards to spend a few hours with the grandson whose latest item of vocabulary is 'Really!' Not sure where he got that from, the little parrot.

Friday morning saw us setting off for Essex to attend a funeral. It was standing room only at the crem and the address by an adoring son had the congregation laughing and in tears; it was very moving. Back at the house, the caterers provided an excellent spread; and a life full of optimism and not a word of complaint was celebrated in true style.

Friday evening was spent nearer to what was home for a while, at The Albany having a quiet meal with friends. It was easy deciding what to eat - the menu was identical to the one at The Gate! I was the designated driver and would have woken with a clear head on Saturday had we not left the car at their place and walked home. Two bottles of very good red later ...

The journey on Saturday - on my own - was tiring. I met the rain near Exeter and it was double windscreen wipers from then on. It took ages to empty the car - it was loaded to the gunnels after all - and I have still to unpack most of the bags. Where shall I put things, anyway?

The past few days have slipped by, with me trying to complete a major writing project - the deadline for which is less than an hour away. I am going to make it - and then go back to bed. I can't survive on 3 hours' sleep in one night these days! Then, I am going to resume what was supposed to be a slowing down of life. If only ...

Life in the slow lane

The world whooshes past
I feel its wind on my back
But I'm determined to stroll
Along my new track

There’s no need to rush
Yes, I’m avoiding the strain
Trying to pass time gently
Here, in the slow lane

I've spent today poring over banks statements and credit card bills and receipts, trying to check there is enough money to see us through to the end of the month. I have decided that a trip to the sales would be inadvisable, regardless what the banners say!

Today's poem is another inspired by a MoreWriting Flash fiction prompt ...

Save and spend

Aye, the New Year Sales have started
And the banners beckon the brave
With letters as high as a house
The more you spend, the more you’ll save

Many years ago, my sister gave me a diary as a Christmas present. It had a rich red velvety cover and one page per day. I made a New Year's resolution to write in it every day, starting 1 January. My first entry was made on 7 January, noting that I was rubbish at keeping resolutions. I have improved over the years, mostly by setting myself less challenging resolutions.

Resolution revolution
 
I will, I really will
I hear everyone say
Words that they could have said
Yesterday, not today

I promise, I promise
To diet, and drink less
Try to give up smoking
But it’s hopeless, I guess!

It’s just the annual farce
New year resolutions
Trying to bring about
Lifestyle revolution

Today's poem is the product of another MoreWriting prompt. It includes the word 'shout' - a word that irritates one of my friends immensely whenever he hears it uttered; I know this, because he told me so. It's unlikely he'll ever read my blog but, in case he does - or for anyone else who is similarly afflicted - I apologise ahead of time.

Fire dance

Come dance with me: lick, lick, low, low
Underneath the fire’s aglow
Embers redden, ashes thicken
Hearts aflame, as pulses quicken

Pump, pump! Don’t let this fire go out
For when we can’t raise a shout
When tiredness replaces heat
We know it’s over and we’re beat

The beauty of the prompt is that it opens up a new train of thought and can lead you to realisations that might never have happened otherwise. If anyone out there wants to put pen to paper or tap those keys - poetry or prose - join a writing community website and take advantage of the impetus it can provide.

Today's poem - written as a flash on MoreWriting - reflects the variety of examples I encountered yesterday among friends at a drinks party: the wearing (or not) of a ring to show marital state (or not). My ring finger was bare, but I was wearing a new necklace ... of pearls, bought only the day before in Amelia's Attic.

Simple adornment

No need for gold
To underline our love
Or pearls of wisdom
To explain why or when

Just your hand on mine
Like this, yes, yes
Close, touching and warm
Togetherness

Such simple adornment
Will define, determine, how
The future will run
And, how it will end

New Year's Day and we are full of resolution, or maybe full of left-over excesses of New Year's Eve?

I have spent the day catching up on lost sleep and then, alone, filing. I have made a couple of phone calls - one, the letter that was to prompt it, has sat in my in-tray for nearly two years. Thank goodness, it's now off my list!

After the morning's sail (not me! him-indoors ...) we made it to the yacht club in time to wish yet more people a happy new year. Then we went walkabout. The sun was shining and, wrapped up in layer after layer, it was easy to not notice the cold.

Then we relented and sought refuge in the Fort ... Two glasses of Merlot later, I see things differently yet again.

Altered image

Her fine face broke into a smile
Its tension crushed the pain she felt
It lifted her spirit sky high
As she saw her reflection melt

She knew that she was safe at last
Secure in the knowledge of all
Knew her end was a beginning
As she answered the dear Lord’s call

Coming, she cried; and off she flew
To join the weathered wisps of cloud
Shaking her long tail feathers still
The beauty of which she was proud

And that’s the last we saw of her
At least, yes, I think that’s the truth
But when I gaze into your eyes
There’s my altered image of youth