Tuesday, April 22


...a new commission has brought these fellows into being....
...wearing boots and ready for action...
...they will soon leave so I'm making sure that I have a memory of them...

Monday, April 21

In the Garden...

...the frogs have spawned and turned into tadpoles...
...watch out you slugs and snails...

Wednesday, April 2

A Poem for Thursday

The prompt we were given at The Writer's Workshop on Thursday morning in The Gateway Warrington was a card. Mine had a pic of a baby polar bear and inside the word ...Christmas!!
So in a couple of hours I came up with this offering!

Baby Polar Bear

"Christmas comes but once a year
And when it comes it brings good cheer."
But if you're stuck upon a floe
And there is nowhere else to go
It's hard to keep a cheerful face
Accept what's happened with good grace.
I didn't mean to push my brother
He landed one way or another
Inside our mother's fishing hole.
He didn't like the freezing cold.
He screamed and called me such rude names
And mother said I was to blame
For all the things that made her mad
Broke her heart and left her sad.
I thought that rotten fishy heads
I left beside her on the bed
Would pacify and calm her down.
Would make her smile, but when she found
Them sticking to her tummy fur
That ..was the very end for her.
I sit upon this icy floe
And wonder which way it will go.
If north, I'm sure to find my way
If south to melt? well who can say....
If Christmas on some warmer shore
Will find me laid out on the floor.
A present for some mother's child
My eyes still sad ..my whiskers wired.
I'm going to promise to be good
To be the joy I know I could
If only to be sure that they
Are MY presents on Christmas day!

I'm linking this one into DeVerse...Poetics....hope it finds some laughter!!!

Thursday, March 13

A Poem For Thursday

Revelation Day

This morning
In particular.
This morning…
After the afternoon
Even before the evening
And this morning…
My feelings
Are too powerful to ignore.
Stirred up are feelings
Long time hidden
Under plastic washable
Keep it clean-ness.
Today they are revealed.

I remember soldiers
In blue cotton suits
Up the hill...
Up to the red brick hospital.
To the building that dare not speak it’s name
Too much to think of

Too much to answer to.
I remember soldiers
Gazing out of steamed up bus windows
Making their way
To some safety.
Back up the hill.
Making me nervous.
Watching me
The child watching.
The child feeling
Fear that oozed from every glance.
Fear that hit me
As it had hit them…
That tried to envelope me
That caused me to run
To avoid that
Which I would never know.
Strong emotions
In a culture
Inside and away.
Away  away.
Revelation can take a life time.
Today is revelation day.

We went to the Royal Exchange Theatre in Manchester yesterday to see an adaptation of Virginia Woolf's book "Orlando". I find that theatre often releases long gone memories in me...and so it was with this. 
The poem has really nothing at all to do with the story of Orlando but somehow this is what came tumbling out today.

I'm linking in with DeVerse today....I think that the poem fits the bill......thankyou Brian for the prompt!

Thursday, February 13

A Poem for Thursday...."The End of the Line"

With so much relayed over the media and the papers full of the sad stories of flooded homes and broken journeys...I'm putting up this post as a memory of another sea...another train journey...another ending...though for how long none of us can be sure any longer.

The End Of The Line

Let's go live at the end of the line
Where breakers fall over rolling stones.
We'll ride the train that we rode when young,
Watch how the steam mists our view of the sea
As it hisses and cools on the iron, on the brass.
And the cry of the gulls as they dive, as they soar
Will welcome us back
Will welcome us back.

Let's board the train that we rode long ago.
Where the end of the line will have water and sand.
We'll be welcomed again by the mewing of gulls
By the smell of spun sugar and hot lardy chips.
And there, will be space enough for our thoughts
With salt winds to blow away stale urban fog.
To welcome us back
To welcome us back.

They're saying the crust is beginning to crack.
That the cold winds of change are blowing our way.
Yet, when I take  the journey again to the end
Of the line, where the seagulls are soaring above,
To the edge of the tide, to the line in the sand...
The memory of all things, of all being well
Embraces me back
Embraces me back.

Monday, February 10

geraldinesnape's photostream

...the abandoned bike... #pottershousepenkethCreated with Photo Editor- Putting the wood together in the yard to get an idea of the layout. # pottershousepenketh # ceramicCreated with Photo Editor- Distressing the oak in the fire for the installation at The Oaks Centre @pottershousepenkethCreated with Photo Editor- Burning the oak for the installation.imageimage
Created with Photo Editor-Created with Photo Editor-imagedark sky over the promboats on the bay 2boats on the bay 1
The Red Road Donegal"The Leaving"two figures rodinlife drawing three minute sketches collagethe goliath bowl collageBlue stone...Fran Crowe
assemblage... gull and seadonegal girl denisedonaghadeebridge at kilcarbottom of rosies garden donegalpath over the shingle

Some photos of work by
The Potters House Artists.

Thursday, February 6

A Poem for Thursday....Two Sisters.

Two Sisters

They reared me.
Those two sisters
Who stand there
Side by side,
Smiling out at me from the  photo frame.
Cherry blossom falling around them
Like snowflakes
Tinged with cochineal …
Pink… used for the icing
They spread
 Into the middle of their sponge cakes.

They hauled me up
Those Scottish sisters.
With their german biscuits
Almond slices and
Scones…no raisins... thankyou!
Brought colour into my monochrome world.
Into grey years... brought laughter…
In a grey decade
Where the pavements were always wet with rain.

Those canny women
Wiped my nose.
Told me to stand up tall
And straitened the parting in my unruly hair.
Criticised my big feet...
"Big as shipyards
Big enough to float the Titanic",
They said.
Drew me into their strong arms
And called me
“Wee pet”.
Those sisters.

...this is linked to DeVerse...Meeting the Bar  this week it's Songwriting and the link to Poetry.
 I was published as a songwriter in the late 60s early 70s and find that most of my poetry now has to have some rhythm and rhyme..at the least an underlying rhythm to move it along...so I read the work  quite a few times until a sense of pace comes into it naturally........
...why so long ago??
 well family ...children and The Potters House Penketh took precedence until I started writing again a few years ago.