lovely winter scene
Poetry
Crossing the Bar
dreaming of shipwrecks
ragged rocks
pounding surf
wind turning fast
this ship rides the waves
as we aim for the Pole star
leading us homeward
watching for lights
and the beacons that blaze
no more cross currents
no undertow darkness
we are sailing for land
on a swell and wave
cutting through sea spray
the boom and the crash
of the thundering breakers
as we cross o’er the bar
from sweet tidal ocean
the moonlit path reaches
the beautiful river
and harbours embrace
bringing us back
where we are remembered
for just who we are
drop anchor
make fast
and sing of the sea
River Daughter
Oberon threw a web of stars
Titania washed it with the dew
Roses opened,
as they should
Gentle daughter of the Tamar
Titania sleeping, dreamed of you.
Oberon bought you here
to dance
He pulled you from the depths of river
Placed you on a marble bridge
Leaving all the rest
to chance
Puck is always quick to meddle
He loves to open lovers eyes
He pierced me
with his well aimed lance
The river never flowed so far
The world was never quite so new
All was peaceful
in the wood
Gentle daughter of the Tamar
Tender smile and heart that’s true
Magic shines
in all that’s good
Mandolin
this beautiful instrument of carefully chosen wood
its resonant round back sits warmly under my rib
its aged neck nestled lightly in the palm of my hand
it travelled with me to Ireland, Morocco, Poland, India, Spain
giving pleasure to strangers in wayside and stations
helping me find friendships in far away lands
i walked with it slung on my back in a desert valley
pausing as a strange music haunted my ear
looking about for the source of mysterious sound
the strings vibrated in response to a greater musician
the lone song of my mandolin played by the wind
it had no need of my hands. my hands long for it now
safely home, hung again on my wall, a thing of beauty,
resting, its grace and my love of it inspired hatred
one who wished to hurt me, hurt it in anger, vicious spite
while i was locked out, unable to reach you,
gone, a place under my rib left empty
no light glints on silvered strings
the wind will no longer touch them, nor i
one hundred and fifty years, gone in one moment
full of tunes played and tunes not written
all that remains, a strap embroidered
with roses and ivy entwined
Smoke
in winters coldness
caught in coal smokes skyward drift
my heart flies to home
Children’s publishers accepting unsolicited manuscripts
if you write for children look here :) – it is now updated again in January 2015
* UPDATED OCTOBER 2014*
You can’t get published without an agent, and you can’t get an agent without being published – or so the adage goes.
Thankfully, there are still a few children’s book publishers who are happy to wade through the ‘slush pile’, that teetering tower of manuscripts we imagine fill up a corner of the office, each one representing an agent-less writer who is hoping against hope that they might be plucked from obscurity.
So in the spirit of writerly comradeship here is my current list of writer-friendly children’s fiction publishers in the UK who still accept unsolicited manuscripts. Check their website guidelines and submit away, but please do correct me if I’ve made any errors or incorrect assumptions.
NB Where there is a link, I have endeavoured to take you, the linkee, to the submissions guidelines page of the publisher’s website; where that is not possible I…
View original post 2,881 more words
awake
in awoken dreams
there is no further waking
until we must sleep
What is
The names of the paths are these;
‘What was and is gone’,
‘What may or may not be’,
‘That which should have been, but isn’t’
Or ‘should not be’ and ‘I wish’
I have travelled them all in the past
Now I travel the path of ‘what is’
That is the path that runs straight ahead
Step by step, I follow,
Whether I run or walk
Or sit on the verge and dream
It leads only to that which will be.
Under the Willows
When we were young and dreaming
we hired a boat, floated beneath the bridges
made of worn and ancient stone
we rowed stronger and further than anyone else
to be alone on the tranquil river
We pulled in and laid back beneath willows
toes touching, smiling, reading
while the afternoon drifted downstream
dazzling sparks and flashes on ripples
sunlight filtering green through the leaves
We never thought to look deeper
into the darker shadows
to the tangle of weeds beneath us
but we rowed against the current
to make our way home in the evening
We were young and we were dreaming.
Dreaming
I had a dream I didn’t know you,
I’d forgotten all about you,
So it seemed very strange to me
When you took me home
I was startled by what I found.
Stranger still was the way I knew
Where all your things should be,
You had moved some around.
It made no sense to me.
I knew how you felt
And what you thought
And all that we talked about.
Pre-destined, anticipated
As if it had all been scripted
My responses were all defined.
I didn’t know why I spoke.
It all seemed oddly fated and timed
I couldn’t help wondering if we’d met
Or was I so insightful?
I knew I had dreamed it all before
Then woke to find I was dreaming.
Life is lucid dreaming
Where all can be as it seems.
We can make it so.
Dream upon dream
Always dreaming
Always eternal dreams.
How much do we ever choose
The way our lives will go?
The Dreaming Path 