50p Lil & Her Place in History

A good day – a rare blog post from author Lucy Brazier – writing of the everyday, the overlooked, the walked by, with conscience, in her unerring English way…

Lucy Brazier

How does history decide who will be remembered? And – perhaps more pertinently – how they will be remembered? How do we know who is great enough, wicked enough, famous enough, clever enough, loud enough – to be remembered? Does a person have to make a big impact to find their names written indelibly upon the pages of time?

This is quite a big question and one that started from just a little thing. That most innocuous of things, a thing that more often than not is at the very beginning of all the really big things. A conversation – between colleagues, most of whom are Northamptonians born and bred, all of them intimately familiar with the mostly unremarkable town. And there were some of them – prepare yourself, now – who had never heard of 50p Lil.

Can. You. Believe. It.

One explanation for this travesty is undoubtedly age…

View original post 669 more words

Words link…

Well, it’s done now,
words written, raw
thought released, not
held in, too late now,
no going back, if only,
we’d met, we’d spoken,
eye-lined, heard words,
well, it’s done now,
finger trouble, texted.

~

For what it’s worth,
I’d been warned, that
photograph, too good,
not yours, too late, you
had me, looks and lines,
the way you took to being
mine, you never were, I see
it now, yet, years on, still ask,
could you, could I, be real?

~

Just a letter, lying there
found on return, a week
of junk mail layered thick
picked up, shuffled, let slip,
as if a plea, don’t bin, please
read, decades on, words link,
of her, of him, pull close,
erase past doubts, mistakes,
love’s last post, of her to him.

Of the day…

A bit of afternoon rain,
unfelt, unseen above,
false light, their dawn,
their noon, heavy metal
dusk, night shrapnel stars,
screen raked, sunflowers seed.

~

There could be no other day,
no song, no thought, no prayer,
old men’s fingers twitch, playground
bully taunts, cold stares, grow up,
grow wiser, press, mistake, too late.

~

A spoonful of dreams
lace a jar of nightmares,
a trace of sweet lingers
on the waking sour of day,
all wanting greed of others,
all airways news consumes,
viral fear, war worn tremble,
‘I love you’ say be heard.

Today It Is Ukraine. Yesterday It Was Elsewhere. Tomorrow? This Never Rests.

Such depth and eloquence – I had to re-blog this…

Writing Despite Computers and Programmes

Where do we begin? How do we explain?

24th February 2022. Another Date To Remember….So many events, actions and commentaries since the day Putin and his court decided to take the next step in their endeavours to bring The Ukraine back under Kremlin control. The avalanche into the medias has been such that I literally had to check the start date. It was as if Time measured in days had ceased to be a relevant method of recording, all that counted was The Narrative, every daily action is affected by The Narrative, even Sunrise and Sunset are but part of the backdrop. So many folk are asking ‘How could this happen?’ Understandable.

Under the lens of the seemingly disturbing and dispassionate study of International Relations’ Realism theories what is happening in the Ukraine is predictable, almost inexorable. However this is not the arena to be bandying terms such as ‘Anarchic…

View original post 934 more words

Rivers Cry

After the storm
trees hold, shed twig,
branch fall, root torn,
survival, just, lament
their like, cut up, lifeless,
rivers cry, enough, too much,
another day, another named,
helpless tall, weakest, proud,
spring calls, sapped, new bud,
fractured, scarred obey.

Say be Heard

A spoonful of dreams
lace a jar of nightmares,
a trace of sweet lingers
on the waking sour of day,
all wanting greed of others,
all airways news consumes,
viral fear, war worn tremble,
‘I love you’ say, be heard.

On Three

A butterfly in the classroom,
a window-dressed reflection
of another bound by nature,
wings held, seen yet silent,
no words until asked, as if,
yet, clocks tick, on three,
shoes kicked off, barefoot,
a painted lady in her head.

Tide Falls

The water chilled her, rising
knee deep, waves to thigh,
he, a head above, standing,
slips beneath, strokes out,
she holds a scream, mouth
to mouth, his lips, tide falls.

Borders

A summit of angels, all equal,
of one place, no borders, one
language, each walked among
us, on earth few understood.

Read, Part Through, To Be, New…

A new pile, a cut above the old, both merged, size matters, trouble is Mr McCartney I kept dipping in, book shelves rearranged, well the ones to hand, the read, the part through, the to be, the new, now all equally within reach, all bought for a reason, some I remember, some I haven’t a clue, yes I do, titles on past present lists, interest piqued through online and newspaper reviews – and some because I know you!

And what about my Kindle, well I once had one, an early one at that, gave it to my youngest grandson, he’s into retro, got most of my old gadgets, thinks it cool I had them when expensive and new, though I wish he wouldn’t keep asking ‘How old are you Grandad’ as if I underestimate my age! Anyway we both got Amazon Fire’s for Christmas and as if by magic (grandson explained the logic, he’s eleven by the way) all our e-books appeared on the pre-loaded Kindle app. Now I shudder to tell you, and in truth I wont, how many titles on there, the read, the part through, the to be and the new… that’s the thing with piles, once you have them they kind of stay with you!

#

This oddity written as my response to Diana’s Writing Challenge – The TBR Pile

https://mythsofthemirror.com/2022/01/09/writing-challenge-the-teetering-tbr-pile/