Thanks for the advice and support!!

I'm over at Six Degrees of Sexy with a classic poem from Lord Byron. Please do stop by and leave a comment, or your name - or heck, just have a read of 'She Walks in Beauty'.

But before you go...

Thanks y'all for your advice and support about my little 'Bright-faced Sweetness' problem. Leading by example is the best bet (I'm afraid if I make TOO much out of it, it will backfire) and reading lots of books with hidden messages is part of the game plan.

That said, my older son had a birthday party over the weekend and the guests were very diverse in ethnicity (out of 8 children, only four could be classified 'caucasian') and Sweetness didn't blink an eye or make any untoward comments. In fact, he was stuck to one little boy with a face 'not bright like mine' the whole time. Maybe (with fingers crossed) it was a one-off episode triggered by another child's comment.

AND - Christine d'Abo has a new release!!! I haven't had a quiet moment to read it yet -- not without trying - but alas, the shovel beckons. It's called Chasing Phoenix (great title, eh?) and you can buy it now from Ellora's Cave. Just click HERE.

Poetry Train Monday

Wine in a box.

Supposed to eco-friendly but experts in the environmental field have speculated that the paper-plastic-metal combination tetra paks are too costly to recycle.

Wine in a box.

Eco-friendly or not, I don't think I can bring myself to do it.

Wine in a box.
Call me a snob but give me a bottle with a cork.

My poem for the Train:

Roses are red and so is my wine
the pop of a cork makes me feel fine

but wine in a box is a terrible sin

give me a bottle or I'm switchin' to gin

Wine in a box.

Discuss.

Poetry Train Monday

All aboard for another session of Rhian's Poetry Train.
Gots lots on my mind these days (see Saturday's post) and am not in the mood to write new stuff so here's one from my dusty past.
I was rather angry when I wrote it -- in case you couldn't tell ...

LIES

How dare you look me in the face and tell me all those lies

It’s the one thing about you I absolutely despise

You might not think it’s bad

Twisting facts to suit you

But you erode my respect

Shake the foundation

Of our tenuous relation

Look me in the eye

It comes so easy

How much practice have you had

If you though you could hide your dirty tricks

You should have picked a stupider chick

To you they’re little and white

To me their black and oozing

A cancerous growth that eats my soul

You used to have integrity and my respect

Now everything you do, I suspect

My chest squeezes tighter with every one you tell

Because you do it, looking into my eyes

How do you feel inside

What secrets do I harbor

None from you, except my crumbling ardor

copyright P.Watkinson 2006
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Gah! Blogger has simply ignored all the formatting!

And I must offer up my apologies -- I've been a bad blog-buddy these past few days... I've been lurking but not commenting.
Hope to be back to my formal chatty self in a few days :(

All Aboard!

Rhian invited us on her poetry train...
Here's one that I wrote a bunch of years ago whilst listening to the third straight day of rain on my Bermuda stone roof. It seems fitting since I'm currently listening to the plink-plonk of rain against my windows, punctuated by the occasional distant rumble-boom of thunder off in the distance.

Waiting for the Sun

(April 2003)

And so it begins

The rhythm of nature

Tap tap tapping at the glass

Smothering me in gray

Reaching in to invade my sunny soul

With cold steel needles

Long tendrils of gloom take hold

Wrapping me in despair

But still I fight

I cling to the memory of a bright sky

That feeds the light of my heart

Hoping to feel the warmth on my face

Before I break under the hypnotic pulse of God

Despite the darkish sentiments, I do love me a good loud thunderstorm! (just not for 3 days)
And we need it now to wash away all the dust and grit left over from the melted snow. We had a fantastic sunny weekend. My tulips are high up out of the ground now, reaching for the sun. I have a smattering of wild purple flowers (?) in my front garden and am gearing up for trip to the nursery for my perennials. Does it sound at all like I know what I'm talking about? Cause really, I don't. What I don't know about gardening could fill a farmer's field.

And while you're sitting at your computer, go see West of Mars for more on aging rockstar Walter. He's got a last name, and I'm guessing he likes perogies!!

And don't miss Thomma Lyn's latest musings about drawing from personal struggles to enrich your fictional characters. Awesome post, TL.