I want to write

I really do

But what to write

I haven't a clue

I dream of pages

Leather bound books

Almond  scented

Lined up in nooks

Pen to paper

And fingers to board

All is blank

Inspire me dear Lord 

The picnic rug is rolled out,

Freshly pressed.

Brightly coloured stars,

And flecks of glitter woven throughout.

The soft moist grass

Envelopes around the material,

As the weight of the children

Presses down into the soil.

“Hooray, hooray,”

They sing in delight,

“The piñata is ready,

Let’s go, go, go!!!”

The children,

Squealing with delight,

Jump to their feet,

Knocking over sticky candied apples

And other gooey treats.

Bubbly drinks,

Are tipped over.

And the impatient family dog,

Is only too eager,

To clean up the sweet mess,

Himself.

The children,

Push through one another,

In eagerness,

Reaching for the stick,

For the game of Piñata.

Each child wants a turn,

And the fun has begun.

But really, no one is worried

When the game will end,

As the ultimate ending

Is a grand prize for all;

Lollies and candies,

And bubble gum,

To fall.

One hit,

Then two,

Five, six and a few more,

Then crack and crumble

The donkey piñata does fall.

Out pours the jewels

And the treasures within.

Golden wrapped candies,

Chocolates and deliciousness

From within.

Scattered across the floor

Of the old oak tree,

Lay hundreds of prizes

For you,

And for me. 

The need to be desired

The want to be needed

The love to be wanted

The desire to be loved

The need to be loved

The want to desired

The love to be needed

The desire to be wanted

The need to be wanted

The want to be loved

The love to be desired

The desire to be needed

The need to be needed

The want to be wanted

The love to be loved

The desire to be desired

My additions to fiction is causing despair.

I’m running out of time.

And my bookshelves, 

No longer bare.

Each spine has such a tantalising appeal.

I admire them all.

Each holding a promise of adventure, 

So real.

I take one off the ledge.

But I add two to three more.

“That’s it for a while”, 

I promise and pledge.

But I kid myself knowing 

The promise of a book,

As I walk into that corner bookstore,

Grabbing an armful and filtering down,

In the baywindow nook.

Yes indeed, I come home 

With more thrills than a carnival.

I sort out those shelves,

To find room for more promise of adventure 

And the courage of Helen Barnacle.

Blank page

....lost for words,

Stringing letters together

...to...make...some...sense.

Brilliance hidden, 

Deep within.

Searching...

But not quite deep enough.

Sitting patiently,

In earnest,

For Madame Inspiration to draw near.

Take a breath, for she is in sight,

Stretch out carefully and grasp her,

Before she takes off once again

In full flight.

What am I, you ask?

I come in abundance when I am freely given

But I  whither away when I am withheld.

I grow beyond space and time when I am true

But I shrink to nothingness when I am not.

I light up the world with colour and light

I warm up your heart and feed your soul.

I am what everyone yearns for, searches for,

Yet fears losing.

Some say the risk of finding me is too great,

For I am difficult to keep.

But there in itself lies the risk.

For without finding me, life is not worth its moments.

Find me, nourish me, respect me, keep me.

Let me guide the way for you.

All you need to do is accept me and where others fail to do so,

Teach them, forgive them but do not let me go. 

Hold my hand and I will keep your heart and path alight.

With this light you will never lose your way.

I am Love.

Lifeless,

Where once life bred.

Charcoal, burnt bark,

Nothingness, dead.

Overwhelmed by heat,

Smothering smoke.

Now ash, formless,

Lifeless,

Dead. 

Lifeless, 

Where once life bred. 

Charcoal, burnt bark, 

Nothingness, dead. 

Overwhelmed by heat, 

Smothering smoke. 

Now ash, formless, 

Lifeless, 

Dead.