This And Nothing More*

Wake up yesterday after a good long sleep and do my Tarot For Growth August post. It rains 🌧 all day. Read my Dennis Wheatley book The Devil Rides Out: it’s brilliant and so I’ve ordered two more from the series.

At twelve o’clock visit the optician. It is all very hygienic in there: wear my mask and she wears a mask 😷, plastic gloves, covers the waiting room seats πŸ’Ί in plastic and gives me an hour long appointment. I know my optician well: she’s garrulous and there’s no way it’ll only take an hour. She’s not allowed to come up close to my face with the tiny torch πŸ”¦ so puts some drops in my pupils to dilate them.

She does a contact lense, glasses πŸ‘“ and prescription sunglasses πŸ•Ά check and photographs my eyes which are fine. My prescription hasn’t changed over the last year since our previous meeting but my contact lenses are three years old which is too old. So are my prescription sunglasses 😎.

An hour and a half later I come out armed with my prescription for new sunglasses to have made up at Radlett Opticians. Her lab has closed so she’s not doing glasses anymore.

One and a half hours later we’ve ordered my new pair of lenses. Her hairdresser πŸ’‡πŸ»β€β™€οΈ has been waiting outside for thirty minutes.

Mum drives me home and we have lunch. My visor arrives from Amazon so now I can go into shops as long as they’re empty. Can’t wear a mask really due to the breathing difficulties resulting from my lung condition.

Meditate and sleep. Wake up and have mango πŸ₯­ and ice cream 🍨. Do a Celtic Cross Reading for a friend for free. I’m only charging twenty pounds πŸ’· and they’ve been taking me two hours so I must speed up. I race through this one in one hour and fifteen minutes but of course it’s easier than reading for a stranger as I know this Querent really well.

We have spaghetti 🍝 for supper and then I have a message from a friend that she was so happy with her reading that she’s recommended me to a friend of hers. This is so exciting.

Another friend messages that she would like a Celtic Cross Destiny Reading. Ninety nine percent of my readings are “will my ex come back” so today’s two being Career Readings is more exciting.

Wake up this morning and do my Tarot For Growth August post:

Yesterday my Matt Hughes illustrated Edgar Allan Poe books arrive so I have a look at the pictures. Here are some:

Isn’t it beautiful. Am going to read it now for a bit as I’ve already done today’s first Career Reading using my White Sage Tarot:

White Sage is a pretty and feminine deck with a good booklet and at the moment I reach for it every time I have a Reading to do.

Fluffball comes in to sit on my windowsill:

Today I have Barre at 10.30am and then Suzy is visiting.

Happy Wednesday everyone!

*2018. By Matt Hughes. Beautiful illustrated edition of stories, poems and essays by Edgar Allan Poe by my favourite artist πŸ‘©β€πŸŽ¨ and Tarot Deck creator. His Deck is the Ethereal Visions Illuminated Tarot Deck and there is a stunning Dreamscape Oracle Deck coming soon.

All Apologies*

My illnesses they drain me,

In darkness I fear what will be:

I am strong, and I am brave

But long for the silence of the grave.

Fluffball sleeps in a new place:

How I love my lion’s face.

Of my pain, there’s not a trace –

To the slow and stolid the race.

Careering towards my untimely end:

All I can do is see my friends,

Walk the dogs, and do the stretches.

Fluffball chokes, and then he retches –

Coughs up a hairball: darling boy –

Animals are my greatest joy.

Yesterday was my anniversary with Seb though –

I miss him still. Why won’t my hair grow:

It’s the cancer meds and then,

I open Bumble, trawl for men.

I need a house, I need a Newf

My doom is coming: I have proof.

The night comes down,

The sky is black.

Stretched out across the rack:

I’m in such pain in mind and body,

Shall I start another hobby.

Still in the Earth, the green grass above me,

Just in need of someone to love me.

As above, so below:

The wheel turns,

The cancer grows.

Inside my head now, all is dark,

I take Dolly to the park.

Somewhere nearby the jackdaws roost,

We see them today, eating their foods.

Mum plays bridge and tennis too,

Oh what I’d give for one or two

Pain free days, or nights again.

Yesterday, I’m caught in the rain:

My umbrella doesn’t really work.

There was New Chap, he was a jerk.

I manifest a good man now

He cometh soon.

To G-d I vow

To be the best person I can be,

And far away there is the sea:

The sea of faith – Dover Beach,

Happiness always just out of reach.

Darwin’s pitcher plants,

My hero’s loving glance.

Pilates today, upon the ball

My abs hurt now, I stand tall –

Facing whatever life throws at me.

This is the only way to be.

*1993. Song by Nirvana. Appears on the album In Utero.

One Of Us Is Lying*

A plane drones overhead –

The coruscating sky,

Fat sizzles in the pan:

My mouth is dry.

A Labrador chews a stick –

The end of the world is nigh…

What will happen next –

The parakeets fly.

A pan is on the hob,

Industrial flooring:

Say what you will,

Life’s anything but boring.

Ginger and peach drink,

Converted C-type Jag,

I wave the white flag,

Surrender to it.

We all go through it:

And is it love, or is it hate –

Here we sit: we wait, we wait.

Something old and something new,

Something borrowed, something blue.

Spinach in the mixing bowl,

Now I’m really on a roll.

The slice of knife into the swede,

Cut me now, I bleed, I bleed,

But phoenix now – I rise, I rise,

I touch my hair,

I dry my eyes.

Where there are snowdrops,

There is hope:

Through the tunnel now I grope.

Heavy breaths, it rains, it rains,

We set off and return again.

Nothing happens, and yet it does:

I wipe my eyes, I strike a pose.

Seb is gone, and with him love,

You catch, and kill, and eat the dove:

You fry her up with bay leaves, then –

There have been so many men.

All is quiet, all is dark,

There are pointers in the park,

There are peelings on the board,

I pray for patience – help me Lord.

Trains on the table, and some diggers,

Remember that I have my triggers,

The bin is full, and so’s my heart:

The bats πŸ¦‡ swoop past now, in the dark.

*2017. By Karen M. McManus. Young adult mystery/ suspense novel.

Happens To The Heart*

I stand on the corner where we met:

Nothing now left but pain and regret.

I see you as if it were yesterday –

Walking down the street your hips sway.

I know I have to stop you, and I do

Twelve years pass of me and you.

And now you’re gone forever, my twin flame,

Only dust and stars remain.

You’re never coming back you said,

You’ve met someone else and we are dead.

Seb, all I want is you

It isn’t helpful but it’s true

And so I cry and miss you still,

Three years now since you had to kill

What we built in all that time.

Nothing left but I go on,

People say that I am strong

And yet my weakness overwhelms me

If I’d stopped drinking earlier

Would you have stayed forever

If I’d been less ill or more – what

More something else – I forgot.

I wonder if you’re still with that new girl

Why can’t I break free of you

Why can’t I move on and find

Someone who loves my heart and mind,

Someone different, someone new,

Of course there is no other you.

I don’t expect another soulmate,

It won’t be handed to me on a plate:

Not like you were on that day –

My fantasy made flesh anyway.

And nothing helps, and nothing’s left

I grit my teeth but I’m bereft:

Going through my life alone.

I gnash my teeth, I weep, I moan.

The sun shone that day but you were brighter,

Your hair grazed your perfect cheekbones

Jeans hung off your hips.

I knew you were the one right there and then:

Oh, of course I can date other men,

But no-one can compare to you.

What we had, it is so rare,

And yet, despite all my prayers

You have gone forever now.

I know this poem isn’t good

It doesn’t need to be understood

Just writing it is all I need

I cry so much that I can’t breathe.

Photo of actual Tim Henman from Champions Tennis 🎾 today πŸ’“.

*2019. Song by Leonard Cohen from his posthumous album Thanks For The Dance, which is brilliant: buy it now.


Blackbird singing 🎀 🎢 in the dead of night:

Take these broken wings and learn to fly,

It’s 6.14, I wait for the dawn

To break and usher today in.

Waiting by my window here –

Gazing at the darkness: blackbird sings 🎡

Chaffinch, goldfinch, blue tit,

Great tit, robin, coal tit,

Wren, collared dove πŸ•Š I hear them all.

Break now, new day as I fall

Into my mind where darkness creeps

I wish I could’ve stayed asleep.

Coffee on my windowsill,

Raise cup to lips and drink my fill.

The sky now is a midnight blue –

Day will come, household wake too:

Parents and Fluffball soon will stir,

And I can stroke my angel’s fur 🐈.

I’ve had a bath πŸ› and washed my hair –

Dressed and smoothed flyaways too.

Today’s New Year, if you’re a Jew:

Apples 🍎 🍏, honey 🍯 and fresh starts,

So needed, as I wait for dark

To lift, reveal the new day.

For my sins to be forgiven

To G-d I pray πŸ™.

I’m a good girl, I know this is true:

Sky turns now a lighter hue.

Music 🎢 playing on my phone:

The mix of Oshic Zen Tarot –

Tinkling bells πŸ”” herald a new day,

I can’t wait to run πŸƒβ€β™€οΈ and play.

I’ll walk down to the village later,

See my friend, I won’t berate her

But be kind and warm and loving too.

Dawn is breaking – and how

The sky 🌌 is filling with new light.

This new year, new day, we are reborn.

*1968. Song by John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Appears on the 1968 double album The Beatles.

The Mysterious Magickal Cat*

My precious angel fluffball

I love him to distraction

He’s not a man of thought

And he’s not a man of action

He is a man of furry tail

A man of apricot paws 🐾

And every time I see his sweet face

I love him more and more.

He has four breakfasts

And he has three lunches

If you can’t find him in the house

Just follow the crunches

You won’t hear the last of it

If you don’t feed him again

I love my cat more than all men

If you don’t feed him even more

I can’t answer for his actions

In a world of constant pain

He’s the best distraction

So give him his third supper

Then he’ll go to sleep

On top of Mum on her bed

Stretched out so he can keep

The whole bed for himself

He clambers up on and

Walks around on the precious objects shelf

Darling, sweetest fluffball

I love you with all my heart

Don’t ever leave me because

It would break my heart.

He is the best at kisses

He gives the fluffiest cuddles

He steps gingerly out when it rains

He jumps over the puddles

And then he rests inside again

On his spotted sofa

He grooms his damp fur with his tongue

He sleeps for many hours

In him G-d has invested

Many special powers

He can growl and he can meow

If you don’t meet his needs

And now it is time again

For another three feeds.

He sleeps the sleep of an angel

Tail wrapped around his paws 🐾

And I gaze at him again

I break all the laws

Of how much to love someone

He has my whole heart

Let’s end this poem now

With the sentiment at the start

He’s my precious angel fluffball

I love him to bits and pieces

And he loves me so we are square

And for once things are fair.

*2018. By D.J. Conway. Mythology, folklore, spirits and spells. The history of the cat and our relationship with this magickal creature.

Angels And Demons*

5.35am and it

Is dark and silent

As I sit

On my bed: summoning Spirit:

Janet, Ann, Lucy and Furry.

My vision is all blurry

Inside my head.

They are all dead.

“Come closer Spirit, come to me,”

I say and sprites sit on my bed.

Three’s a crowd: but four –

Perfect. I show them then

The door. “Go back spirits

From whence you came,”

I say, and they drift away

Again. They fly backwards

On angel πŸ‘Ό wings.

As I see them in my

Mind’s eye. My soul

Sings and then I summon

Them close again.

It doesn’t thunder, doesn’t rain.

The night – pitch black,

They tread, leave no tracks.

“Come here again you sprites,”

I say. They flutter to me

On turquoise, pink, black and white wings.

They sit on silver carpet –

Drop feathers on my floor

To leave a trace.

Then, I gaze at these whom I

Loved so much in life.

No more pain, and

No more strife assails them:

They don’t have bodies now.

I reach a hand

Which pushes straight through one

Of them. Open eyes and they’re

All vanishΓ©d again.

But now at least, at least I know –

There is a place where shadows go.

*2009. Feature film. Written by David Koepp, Akiva Goldsman from the novel by Dan Brown. Stars Tom Hanks, Ewan McGregor, Ayelet Zurer, Stellan Skarsgard. Directed by Ron Howard.

Cherry Cheesecake Murder*

For some reason my pictures aren’t uploading so will just write this quickly as it’s supper in 17 minutes at 7pm.

Finally make it out for a walk today. It’s dry then rains then rain stops then starts again. Am out for about 55 minutes and am soaked through on my return. See lots of sheep πŸ‘ and drystone walls. The sheep are black with white head and are Swaledales.

Supper tonight is pasta 🍝 followed by cheesecake. Am hungry now even though there were chocolate brownies and lemon πŸ‹ squares at tea time.

Tonight Hamish is reading his new project: Parallel Lives which is about John Lennon and Dylan Thomas.

Am having such a wonderful time here. There is no television πŸ“Ί in the house and feel much more relaxed and am sleeping better than I do at home. Also, of course, there are no shops or gyms.

Would like to go in to town with Rebecca if she goes tomorrow as lunch is cheese and biscuits and the local cheese is so good.

Right had better post this as need to change for supper.

Happy Thursday everyone!

*2007. By Joanne Fluke. Cozy Murder mystery.

Three Bags Full*

The past is gone,

Future’s unclear:

All you have is

This moment here.

A sheep gazes at you

With curious eyes –

Stop the torture,

Ignore the lies.

Grasp the present

With both hands:

It trickles through

Your fingers: sand.

All shall be well

The angels say –

You wake, begin another day.

The past is gone

And with it fear:

Soon we start

Another year.

But first exams,

Then maybe snow

Will blanket the hills.

And now rain falls,

The grass smells fresh –

The country air

Exhausts you: but

You just don’t care

About your mistakes:

Behind you, they

Crumble. You still

Can pray.

For deliverance from

Your unpleasant past:

Now the sun doth

Shine at last.

Green hills, blue sky,

White black-faced sheep –

You only wish that you

Could keep this moment

Bottled up. For later:

When you’ve drained the Cup

Of pleasure. Gaze at

Your leisure. On sheep,

And hills, a train rolls past:

And now you are

Content at last.

*1976. By Leonie Swann. A sheep detective story. A flock of anthropomorphic Irish sheep try to solve their shepherd’s murder.

The Lives Of The Poets*

I make the tortoise out of clay.

No, no I don’t: steal it away.

Slipping out of the pottery room,

Creature hidden in the bloom

Of youth I wear, aged eleven.

Now they are all in heaven –

All those whom I loved:

Janet, Anne, Furry and Lucy

I summon them to me –

They glide on angel wings, and sit,

Across from me. As it is writ-

In the great book πŸ“– the end of days,

I make dragons out of clays:

Red and grey: I fire them,

I would have that time again –

Take tortoise 🐒 back and beg forgiveness,

No-one there to bear witness

To my magic creative skills,

I wonder: can I mould clay still.

You’re just so talented darling,” says Mum

And places it on the high shelf, it’s done.

Door πŸšͺ opens, she is back again:

The hum of tractors and the train.

Kleptomania revealed

I make them – no, I don’t – I steal.

Pottery’s the cruellest month,

Out of, now, my skin I jump.

September here is acid rain:

Only carcasses remain

Where once were sheep πŸ‘

Now phone πŸ“ž goes bleep.

I take it back now, to the kiln

And leave it there: unfired, still:

Never steal anything again.

The heather’s scorched by acid rain.

The fool on the hill is woolly and white,

With a black face. He’s alright:

The heavens open. Acid rain

Falls again – it burns the train πŸš‚

It scorches the grass now –

Slash and burn.

I must stop starting fires πŸ”₯,

It’s time for me to retire

From this world, from her temptations –

I plan new, dark assignations –

Each new boy will be The One:

The drummer beats his tiny drum πŸ₯.

The Eagle πŸ¦… Of The Ninth raised high,

Her crest reaches up to the sky.

Centurions are decimated:

One in ten killed, lacerated.

The Spartan army is the strongest:

Leonidas holds out for the longest.

There’ll be time to edit after:

Past the crying, past the laughter πŸ˜‚,

Past the school coach, past the kiln,

Past the hills, and ever faster –

Past the road and past the mills,

Past the station πŸš‰ – on the train πŸš‚ .

I need now – to go back again,

To the age, the age of ten,

To that time, the time when

I steal other people’s work –

My duties to G-D I shirk.

Furry’s a baby, then he’s dead:

I kiss my angel Fluffball’s head.

The Dragon πŸ‰ that I filch still

Sits on my brother’s windowsill.

She shouldn’t guard us but she can,

She kills and eats another man

Swallows him whole –

Wear his lungs – a pair of wings behind her head:

The dove πŸ•Š flies past with angel feathers –

You shoot and roast and eat her now:

You slit the throats of cattle, and

Blood spills scotch the grass, poor cows πŸ„ .

*1998. By Michael Schmidt. A celebration of poetry.