Giving up sugar

I miss having my children in my life. It was like sugar in a cup of builder’s tea, sweet and nourishing! Now they have grown up and set off on their own life I miss that sweetness. I now drink tea without sugar and I am coming to appreciate the ‘not sweetness’. I remember the sweet taste with pleasure. Some people say they gave up sugar and now cannot bear a cup of tea with sugar in it. I’m different. The last time this happened to me I really enjoyed the cup of tea. It was a precious taste of what was no more. ‘Sugar’, ‘not sugar’… same thing.

There’s a place

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There’s a young oak by the path in the park
And every year it has green leaves
When all the other trees stand bare.

Bela Bartok stood on an island by South Ken tube
In Trilby hat and flowing overcoat
His feet were wreathed in flowers.

There’s a meditation room up steep stone spiral steps
And I have sat an hour or two just breathing quiet
The TICK TOCK of the old clock.

There’s a café in the park where walkers stop to talk
Egg and chips, a cup of tea and watch the world go passing by
The greeting dogs begin to bark

There’s a place in every heart
To take a break, to stand quite still
Sometimes in sunlight and then in dark

My panniers full of birds

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Bright winter
My empty panniers full
Of painted pigeons

I was stopping off to admire Streatham Hill Station from the road bridge above. I took this picture of people going to work.

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The day before I actually took the train to work. It was a very cold morning but bright with a sky of cream porridge.

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I’ve been trying to write some haiku alongside the pictures

Meeting in the church
One head and then another
Turns to watch the mouse

Cut flowers
In the light of candles
Aladin Sane

In the night
Her gentle breathing
And far flung limbs

In the morning
A tangle of golden hair
Wrapped in a duvet

Yesterday in Haiku

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Tried some haiku this morning because I haven’t for a while and think it is a good practice.

It’s really difficult to get that special moment or as Cartier Bresson called it ‘ that decisive moment’.   But I do think it can help if you can write like a photographer. By that I mean is only describe what you see. Of course as a writer you can also put down what you hear, feel, and smell; use all the senses just don’t start interrupting,  explaining …

One last thought. It doesn’t have to be perfect. These aren’t.  I think one is quite good. Bit of a numbers game.

Oh and seeing as I’m talking pictures I thought I’d pop one in up top for colour.

Yesterda in Haiku

Gerald the cat
In his large saucer eyes
A questioning

Standing on the edge
Of a rippling pool
Waving not swimming

The banter
Flying back and forth
In the handball game

Cold water
There’s a bite
To the old girl’s massage

In the cubicle
A fresh old face
Talks temperature

After a cold swim
Taking the top seat
In the hot sauna

In the cafe clamour
The smell of burning toast
Diverts the chatter

The art of being
Sitting inside the mind
Of the home maker

A peace of Bach
And then with wine and beer
Sad songs of Rebetika

Hey Hey

This is a cover of the Big Bill Broonzy song. I was taught it by legendary British folk singer and songwriter, and great accoustic blues guitar player, Wizz Jones. It was recorded on my phone in the cafe at Tooting Bec Lido. Bit rough but at last getting a bit of a groove and snap to the song. It was also covered by many others including Eric Clapton who had these lyrics with the song (I haven’t managed to sing and play at the same time yet :))

Hey hey. Hey hey, baby, hey.
Hey hey. Hey hey, baby, hey.
I love you baby,
Sure ain’t gonna be your dog.

Hey hey. Hey hey, baby, hey.
Hey hey. Hey hey, baby, hey.
My arms around you baby,
All I can say is hey.

Hey hey. Hey hey, baby, hey.
Hey hey. Hey hey, baby, hey.
I love you baby,
Sure ain’t gonna be your dog.

Hey hey. You lost your good thing now.
Hey hey. You lost your good thing now.
You had me fooled,
I found it out somehow.