Poetry helps me see life in its reality. Or maybe my reality helps me see a poem. To follow is one I wrote in the seventies - PLEASURE Fifteen minutes more in bed on a cold and wintry morning Face inhumed in soft white pillows Conjuring breakfast Breakfast in a ... READ the POST

In my previous two blogs I have 'walked' around my town. Maybe by the time I've finished this one today the series will be complete. Then of course there is the potential to depict other country towns I have known. There's something wholesome and rich about the social and parochial aspects of a ... READ the POST

When we travelled Australia in the seventies - our home hooked up behind our Toyota Land Cruiser and with two toddlers wide-eyed and trusting as trapeze artists - leaving our home, our roots, our security behind was something that flattened me for a while. Gradually though I began to take ginger ... READ the POST

My sister and I walked to school in the fifties. About a mile. Uphill. Took us about fifteen minutes. Mostly heads down, focussed on getting there quickly, avoiding puddles or rapid storm water in the winter, running our hands along the rosemary or lavender hedges which would have helped subdue the ... READ the POST

It is becoming evident to me, even at this later stage of my life as a single, that I am developing my spoken (as opposed to written) voice. As the partner of a vibrant, excited-about-life man who usually filled the room with his ebullient sharing of what each day had brought him, I was the ... READ the POST

( ... and some more poetry) As a child, the Christmas gift I was always most delighted with was a book. It hadn't taken my parents long to discover that, after having learned to read, I just wanted books, and there always was one - a give-away by its wrapped rectangular shape - under the tree for ... READ the POST