Testing the Kindle upgrade

I am testing the Kindle upgrade.
It lets me talk instead of type.
In theory, this should save me quite a bit of time;
I just need to get my head around the punctuation function.
For, whilst I know how to insert a comma, and a full stop.

So that’s how it works. If I say, ‘new paragraph’, it will indeed give me a

However, if I want to say

I can’t actually say it because it will give me a new paragraph instead of the words. (I had to type that in).

If this is not making sense, might I suggest that you upgrade your Kindle, if you have one, and try it out for yourself.

Overall, I am rather impressed and will probably have a lot more to say from hereon in.

She sells seashells on the seashore.

Wow! Such fun!


Today, I choose to muse.
Remember those we loved, who lived,
and those we love, who live.

Today, I wander and ponder.
Take a stroll down Memory Lane,
use clichés to underplay the pain.

Today, I’m cold; controlled.
Lost heat from a listless heart.
Chapter closed, page turned, restart.

Today, I try to cry;
feeling I should make the tears flow.
Let it all go to let go.

Today, I’m free to be.
Whilst others play host to their ghosts,
mine return to their rightful posts.



They say nothing lasts forever, and I’m testament to this.
I’ve changed my life from year to year;
changed my men more often than my socks.
Perhaps that’s a slight exaggeration,
but allow me my poetic licence.

Marriage comes, and marriage goes,
and whilst I tell myself that it’s just a piece of paper
and a ring of slavery,
something inside me still has hope,
and belief,
that one day… one day
someone spectacular will come along and humour me;
sweep me off my feet, thrust a ring on my finger
and ask me if I will
and I will
And he will be my Mr Right.

Until then, I lay myself bare
and I pray that the next man who spots my naked hand,
like a beacon of red glowing in an Amsterdam window,
does NOT think I’m prey;
does not comment on my ‘availability’.

You see…
I’m not.
I’m very much unavailable.
There’s a ‘do not disturb’ sign stapled to my forehead
that only a magician can remove.
And despite my years, I still believe in magic.
And one day, I will be adored and adorned;
not by Mr Right, but by Mr Spectacular.

Lines Upon a Page (LBN)

Jane Goldsack:

And here is my other half’s submission… with link to what it’s all about :)

Originally posted on Graeme Sandford:


IMG_5141 edit 1

…am taking centre stage

(in an LBN – a little black number

which is slightly ‘off the wall’)

Am I on the right lines

As I preside over my court?

I focus upon the passers-by

who are by-passing the others to gaze

solely at my décolletage;

barely pausing at the collage next to me;

before also by-passing the purchasing of a single thing.

When suddenly, I descried someone wearing…

IMG_5140 edit 1


the exact same creation as me!

Imagine my total loss of elation.

Just imagine!

I could have cried.

Now, side by side we stand;


Imperceptible in our differences


but, one of discerning tastes

Must have preferences…

Look at her page lines!

I, am the real



This poem was inspired by the two delightful pictures above by the Natural Connections artist Sarah Louise Baker.

For more information, visit:http://www.hampshireartandcraft.org/community–fundraising-events.html

Saturday 8th November 2014, 6.30 – 8.30pm

An evening of…

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Bespeckled Moonglow

My submission to Natural Connections.

I chose to write a poem inspired by the artwork of Russell Moreton.


Bespeckled moonglow
through rain-smeared windows
blurs reality with fantasy.
Azure glaze of lunatic spirit
smoothly drifts heavenward
across darkened cobalt skies.
Virga wisps seed virgin tears.
Indistinct, hazy crescent;
nebulous perceptions deny pure clarity.

Streams of consciousness

Jane Goldsack:

Beautiful words

Originally posted on Peace, love and patchouli:

You come to me
In Deepest slumber
Lessons of student and sky
To fly yet grounded
Document lost
Who I am
Nowhere to be found
On the higher plane
Conscious running free
Like clearest mountain stream
Slivers of silver reflected
Through the rushing movement
Emotion like slippery stone
Creating waves
From underneath
Below the surface there lies
A higher horizon of night to day
And caught in the middle
Between light and dark
The stream slips past silently
And in the moment of perfect solitude
The dawn of realization
That this is all
There needs to be
The here
The now
The who I truly am
A part of whole
Yet nothing at all
A speck
A grain
Of sand in time
Streaming form
Of memory.

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