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Darts | And a poem on the side, please.

https://andapoemonthesideplease.wordpress.com/2015/01/03/darts

January 3, 2015. He fired darts at her with a practised hand. Invisible, fast and deadly. She never screamed but the pain was sharp and deep,. The same every time,. And he knew they hurt. To remove a dart was to bleed to death,. So they remained,. A symbol of his power and her need. Or was it the other wary around? And as she sank her fingers into the wounds. And they pierced her skin daily anew,. She felt the mark of each individually. It was good to feel something. Leave a Reply Cancel reply.

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National Poetry Writing Month | And a poem on the side, please.

https://andapoemonthesideplease.wordpress.com/2014/03/28/national-poetry-writing-month

National Poetry Writing Month. March 28, 2014. Tuesday will mark the start of 2014’s NaPoWriMo, so it’s time for all poets and poets-to-be to mull over their metaphors and get their similes simmering for a whole month of poetry. As the somewhat more realistic sister of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), NaPoWriMo presents the challenge of writing a poem a day throughout the month of April. If you’re interested in signing up, you can visit the website here. Well although I will be away on holiday f...

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A Visit from Satchmo | And a poem on the side, please.

https://andapoemonthesideplease.wordpress.com/2015/01/03/a-visit-from-satchmo

A Visit from Satchmo. January 3, 2015. It’s been many months since I’ve tended this blog, and there have been various reasons for this. The main reason is that I’ve been busy with writing my first play, with growing my publishing business and with life in general. When you have three small children, time has a tendency to pass all too quickly. More on these two projects at a later date. For now, here’s a little something I wrote to get 2015 off to a poetic start. A Visit from Satchmo. Died in his sleep.

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About me | And a poem on the side, please.

https://andapoemonthesideplease.wordpress.com/about

Hello and thanks for stopping by. My name’s Vicki Watson and I’m a writer, publisher, book designer, ex-teacher and mother of three. I have the privilege of spending some of my time playing with words and pictures, and can think of nothing better. Oh, and I also write a bit of poetry…. You can find out more about me on my website http:/ www.callistogreen.com. Or follow me on Twitter at @CallistoGreen. 2 thoughts on “ About me. August 12, 2014 at 12:39 pm. October 20, 2014 at 6:30 pm. A Visit from Satchmo.

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Inside Out – A Calmer Insanity | And a poem on the side, please.

https://andapoemonthesideplease.wordpress.com/2014/01/08/inside-out-a-calmer-insanity

Inside Out – A Calmer Insanity. January 8, 2014. Here’s a poem I wrote today. Inside Out A Calmer Insanity. This house was washed away weeks ago. Freak storm or tidal wave or something;. One of those natural disasters. I was sleeping, so I didn’t notice. Look out of the window and you’ll see I’m right. We’re mid-Atlantic now perhaps,. Not beyond help, yet too far to be seen,. I’ve gotten to love these waves,. The lap, lapping sway and the cabin headache,. Like snow from a gun. Do you fancy a cuppa? With ...

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Daisies | And a poem on the side, please.

https://andapoemonthesideplease.wordpress.com/2014/05/09/daisies

May 9, 2014. Here’s a poem I wrote today. After the rain, I see the daisies,. In their clean, white dresses,. Washed and bright,. Their faces lifted to the skies,. And open to the sun. Is it their youth that makes them so fearless,. Despite their diminutive size? A naivety of spirit or. Lack of worldly knowledge? Or do their fleeting, precarious lives. Lead them to so embrace the now? No, their beauty springs from a truth far older,. For they are neither flashy nor flamboyant. A daisy knows no subterfuge,.

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Images to invoke your inner muse | And a poem on the side, please.

https://andapoemonthesideplease.wordpress.com/2014/02/27/images-to-invoke-your-inner-muse

Images to invoke your inner muse. February 27, 2014. Images for poetic inspiration. It might just be that I have a penchant for good photography, but I suspect that I’m not the only person who sometimes writes poetry in direct response to an image, whether it’s a painting, a photograph or a scene from in real life. But what types of image make for the perfect poetic inspiration? For the type of poetry I typically write (my poetry for adults, that is; my poetry for children is usually quite different!

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With a single chord | And a poem on the side, please.

https://andapoemonthesideplease.wordpress.com/2014/02/13/with-a-single-chord

With a single chord. February 13, 2014. With a single chord. With a single chord, I am prisoner,. My capture immediate and absolute. An injection of electric sound-silk. And I am immobilised. By its essential truth. With a single chord, I am devoured. I savour each note touch it, taste it;. I would eat it if I could. But it is delicate, bird-like,. And it must be treated gently. In order to soar. With a single chord, I am changed,. Lighter yet full to the brim. The walls of the world are thin enough.

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Olias cover art by David Fairbrother-Roe | Olias of Sunhillow

https://olias.wordpress.com/2009/10/13/olias-cover-artwork-by-david-fairbrother-roe

Jon Anderson interview w/ Allison Steele – 76. Olias cover art by David Fairbrother-Roe. For each of the following three images, you must click to enlarge. Above and below) inside gatefold, sides 2 and 3 — Jon Anderson’s story Olias of Sunhillow. Above) sides 4 and 5 — there is an inner page added between the front and back sides of the gatefold. Outer cover, full. A cousin of the artist). Below) closeup of Ranyart, from page 5. The text can be read after clicking on the image twice to enlarge it. But I ...

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The Guerrilla Gardener’s Song | And a poem on the side, please.

https://andapoemonthesideplease.wordpress.com/2015/01/03/the-guerrilla-gardeners-song

The Guerrilla Gardener’s Song. January 3, 2015. And a final poem for today (or yesterday, since it’s now past midnight) – one I wrote for a friend of mine. The Guerrilla Gardener’s Song. He liked to grow poppies in harsh, grey cities,. Calendulas, cornflowers, set against steel. He’d splash them like paint over walls, over chimneys,. Fling them at strangers with unrestrained zeal. And the green in their leaves was vibrant and verdant,. The green had the power to heal. The green had the spirit to stay.