Merry Go Round – dVerse Poetics: Even Monkeys…


because I held on too long to what happened before

because I thought too much about maintaining the status quo

of the good times now

because I didn’t want to rock the boat

because I couldn’t bear for you to shout at me again

(a rare thing

just one time

but that was more than enough)

because I didn’t feel like the daughter

and you didn’t (know how to) behave like the dad

because I wanted to bask in your sunshine

like a satisfied seal on summer-heated rocks




now you’re gone and I can never ask you –




and I only have the echo of your voice

in the cavernous shadows of my mind

and I only have your smile

slightly faded now, in my eye

because of all of this and so much more –

I ask questions

I seek answers





a hard lesson, cruelly earned.

I’m thankful.


I think.


dVerse Poetics this week is hosted by guest host CC, who blogs here.

Our prompt this week is to think and write about mistakes we have made – have we learned from them? Did they have a silver lining? Were they the worst thing ever, even with the clarity of hindsight?

I wasn’t going to take part – not because I couldn’t think of anyhting to write, but because I damn well could, and some days, I am filled with ‘if only’ and ‘what if I..?’. You know. But I grabbed the thorny rose and I am glad I did. It’s cathartic. And I know the lovely dVerse community will be equally as honest – and that’s a comfort to me, to know that we’re all just human and none of us perfect.

Can I encourage you once again to open the door of the dVerse Poets’ Pub and stop by for a drink, a natter and a read? Maybe write your own thoughts down and share them too? We don’t bite – well, only if asked 😉

Fade away – dVerse Quadrille 10


Ethereal as the breeze you are –

were. You are gone now,

but were you ever here?

I have nothing physical,

no artefact to lay my hands on,

even the pocket-watch is hearsay,

passed to me the day after.

‘It was his father’s’.

I wonder.

Tonight Bjorn is barkeep over at dVerse, and is inviting us to write a Quadrille (a poem of 44 words), incorporating the word ‘breeze’ in the body of the poem.

I have no idea why ‘breeze’ inspired me to write this memory – for that’s what it is, and that is the pocket-watch above. Bizarrely the time it stopped working at (many years ago, I assume) is the time in the evening that my dad died.

Of course, you can be much more upbeat, sensual, comedic in your response – the choice is all yours! Please do take part though – it’s a great crowd over there!

Because it means something


“… don’t just paint it red because you like red, or because that’s the only paint left in the store or whatever. Paint it red because it means something. And so every idea, every use has to have a meaning, as well as every cog and every screw.”

This is an extract from an interview with the author Sara Baume, which I read in the Spring 2016 edition of The Moth magazine. It was guidance given to her by a tutor when she was studying her art-based degree.

This really piqued my interest. I try to make every word count, try to excise the superfluous from my writing, but sometimes, I don’t quite manage it. I’m human, after all. Life (the non-writing part) sometimes interferes with my concentration and dedication. Oh, the perils of writing in your spare time – we all know it, right?

Sara Baume is the author of ‘Spill Simmer Falter Wither’ which is a fantastic book. I haven’t quite finished reading it yet, but I adore and admire it greatly. The Guardian describes it as ‘An atmospheric tale about the friendship between one man and his dog’. They are both outsiders, both not quite fitting into the world around them, both have ‘histories’ that shape who they are.

Perhaps I am enjoying it so much because I feel like a complete and utter outsider myself. I do catch myself thinking that unless I’m writing or creating art (a more recent rediscovery of mine), then I’m pretty much acting a part. That I’m not quite shaped for the world around me to fit in quite as I should.

That may be all in my head, but aren’t we all in our heads, to some degree or other?

The novel is lyrical, flows like a river, intriguing, painful, beautiful and heartfelt. And goodness me, the publisher (Tramp Press) made very few changes to the manuscript – such an achievement!

Anyway, choose red because it means something. That seems a decent guideline to live by.