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Bee Loved


Diary (England 1916)

His awkward writing

No better than my own.

Eager to be understood.

A century away-

But still

I connect.

the dawn:

Unabashed appreciation;

Of life,

Of nature.



Change us all.

We are both pulled to a

Foreign land.


It made us;

Still calls.

Time doesn’t change;

It just smiles.


My beloved;
Elusive one.
Scent of
Feral honey and
Satin cloaked in
My heart
When you
Words dance around you:

Why, if, may I, when?

Colours blend;
In the gloaming.
Mars and Venus
Your kiss;
Out of chaos.

A Complicated Love

She threw her pain down
Like a gauntlet.
A toy for a
Small child;
A game.
Badge of courage;
Strength under fire.
Too much truth
Can do much damage.


Their faces smile out from the newspaper
Like an ad for a vacation;
A picture perfect family.
The child missed two days of school.
A call was made.
The police found them;
Mother’s arm encircling child.
Love and desperation
Poison given?
“Better dead than
Was is whispered?
The child said
When she was 8 months old
But never met him.
Santa Clause
Didn’t arrive last
His sleigh was broken.
And this year?
What lie to tell?
No need to worry now;
“The pain will fade.
Tomorrow will be a new day.”
The street is littered with votives
Gifts too late.
All they needed
Was a guide.
Out of the labyrinth.


Hands folded
Nails dig into skin.
Corset bound.
Enough to keep alive.
On the street corner
The trousseau chest;
Her life’s blood,
Her reason for being.
Started at ten;
Finished at eighteen.
Ready for the
With all the linen and
Embroidered bedsheets
She would need.
Victorian propriety
Her only weapon
Against the
Coming storm;
Damn the War.


When he said he did,

He wasn’t sure.

When she said she would,

She was frightened.

Awkward hands


For perfection,

Finding only



Under the chestnut tree
The world was wide open;
We were fearless,
Laughing as a nut exploded
On the road.
Your smile
Was catching.
I tried to catch up.
And together
We were trouble.
We knew love,
We knew fun,
We knew now.
Time changes;
And you grew distant.
Our childish ways;
Your baby face changed to lean and handsome.
We no longer laughed alone.
You set out
Searching for answers.
I only have questions.


The red haired girl was different.

She was a forest dweller In a land encircled by water;

‘Different,’ might be a kind word.

Perhaps her genes had been wired wrong?

When the men had gone to sea

Women would stand by land’s end and pray;

That their men would return safe

From the turbulent waters.

She would be found In the apple orchard;

Testing the russet hue and

Wild clover of the honey comb.

The village was scandalized the day

She joined an ocean bound vessel.

None had noticed the withering branches;

The dark haired man

Who piped forgotten tunes and kissed passionately.

He loved the open sea.

One day when the sky was blue With a trail of dreams in its wake;

He disappeared.

Silent in her determination

To find the man who could offer the world ;

She left the shore.


God of paradox
You guard the door:
The entrance and the exit.
Witness to the past and present.
When war is declared
Your heart quickens;
Hungry for the fight.
Those same arms will offer
Solace for the peacemaker.
Patron both of the conqueror and
Tears can be shed in both anger and love.
You embody
Light and darkness

Youth and age
Love and hatred;
In one being.
The challenge of being human.

All Things Georgian

Blogging about anything and everything to do with the Georgian Era

Atalante Knits

through space and time


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Teaching. Learning. Living.


Magickal Arts

hands in the garden

Poetry, song lyrics and other literary junk

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Poetry, musings and sightings from where the country changes

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“Imagination is the beginning of creation. You imagine what you desire, you will what you imagine, and at last, you create what you will” – George Bernard Shaw

Chronicles of an Anglo Swiss

Welcome to the Anglo Swiss World

Wuji Seshat

Selected Poems

Wayfaring Focus

A blog about travel and photography by the documentary photographer Johannes Laaksonen

Live & Learn

David Kanigan

Light & Shadow

Once more you hover near me, forms and faces Seen long ago with troubled youthful gaze. And shall I this time hold you, limn the traces, Fugitive still, of those enchanted days? You closer press: then take your powers and places, Command me, rising from the murk and haze; Deep stirs my heart, awakened, touched to song, As from a spell that flashes from your throng. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, "Faust, Part I"


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