Halloween

Dear Diary,

To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven. A time to be born and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill and a time to heal ... a time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance ... a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to lose and a time to seek; a time to rend and a time to sew; a time to keep silent and a time to speak; a time to love and a time to hate; a time for war and a time for peace.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

It is official, it is the end of Summer, and we have reached Halloween or Samhain, as this time of year is known in the Celtic calendar.

M and others have always called me a witch and I always tell (some) people that I am one, strictly tongue-in-cheek you understand.

M used to make me silver witch jewellery, many moons ago and he paints witchy pictures too.

With me it’s more of a state of mind that I have had since childhood, some people might call me a hedge witch.


That reminds me of the good book that is Hedgewitch by Beth Rae. I was led to it again last week when I was browsing in a bookshop in Hay-on-Wye; a day or so after I had been thinking about the actual book, funnily enough, (or not).

What is a witch anyway? This label started way back in the pre-Christian era before most people could read and write. I hate the word witch; it’s one of those labels I detest so much. Usually out of utter ignorance, society likes to lump people, along with their belief systems, into boxes and stick a label on them. But ignorance always mutates into fear and then from fear into hatred.


I’ve recently read a good book called ‘White Magic’ by Lucy Cavendish. It’s an excellent read if you want to understand the history of the so-called witches who were really the healers, midwives, herbalists, the country women who were in tune with Nature, the wise women (and a few wise men!) of the area. They knew and worked with the cycles of the Moon and the Sun, were attuned to the seasons, the wind and the rain and learned to plant seeds, tend plants and harvest them along with these rhythms. They made remedies (soon to be re-named ‘potions’) and were the nearest thing to a doctor in those days in their power to heal. These potions came to be called ‘spells’ when these ‘witches’ were seen as too powerful. But that’s what the power of a spell is really; it’s part belief, part imagination (I-magic), what we call creative visualisation nowadays, or positive thinking. In the olden days, well not that long ago actually, in order for authorities to have religious dominance over the people, these ‘secrets’ were suppressed.

The wise ones believed in the magic of Spirit, the joy of the Earth and they had an awareness of energies. Many people still do. And where sex is concerned the females of our species have always had the power to enchant, in order to attract a male. It is in our nature to be alluring, to bewitch, to cast our spell!

If you are interested in this subject two more books I would recommend are The Elememts of Natural Magic or A Witch Alone, both written by Marian Green.

I was asked for my three favourite words yesterday and one of mine is alchemy. True magic. From its simplest form, making a cake for example, or baking bread, they can both be construed as magical, do you not agree? Feng shui is another type of alchemy. Try de-cluttering, clearing out, and you will notice how it will lighten your load and make you feel so much better.

My other favourite words are love and peace, not original choices perhaps but they are the only two things that matter in the world, that much I have learned.

There is a Dark Side to all these energies of course; there is a Shadow for everything if harnessed in a Negative way, that way Black Magic and all things Evil lie.


*

People have been baptised in the river that runs through our garden as it lies close to a well-known old Welsh chapel. It might account for the special feeling of peace in this valley, who knows?

It got me thinking about witch-hunting and the millions of European witches who were drowned in rivers, hung and/or burned to death. The song Burning Times says it all
I have it on a CD with the same name and beautifully performed by Christy Moore but it was written by Charlie Murphy.

Here are his lyrics.

The Burning Times

In the cool of the evening, they used to gather
'Neath the stars in the meadow circling an old oak tree
At the times appointed by the seasons
Of the earth and the phases of the moon


In the centre, stood a woman
Equal with the others and respected for her worth
One of the many we call the witches
The healers and the teachers of the wisdom of the earth

And the people grew through the knowledge she gave them
Herbs to heal their bodies, spells to make their spirits whole
Can't you hear them chanting healing incantations
Calling forth the wise ones, celebrating in dance and song?

{Refrain}
Isis, Astarte, Diana, Hecate, Demeter, Kali, Innana (3x)


There were those who came to power, through domination
And they were bonded in their worship of a dead man on a cross
They sought control of the common people
By demanding allegiance to the Church of Rome

And the Pope declared an inquisition
It was a war against the women, whose power they feared
In the holocaust against the nature people
Nine million European women died

And the tale is told of those, who by the hundreds
Holding together chose their death in the sea
While chanting the praises of the Mother Goddess
A refusal of betrayal, women were dying to be free

{Refrain}

Now the Earth is a witch, and the men still burn her
Stripping her down with mining, and the poisons of their wars
Still to us the Earth is a healer, a teacher, a mother
The weaver of a web of life that keeps us all alive

She gives us the vision to see through the chaos
She gives us the courage; it is our will to survive

Charlie Murphy



Something to think about especially today, this Halloween, 31st October 2007, when the veil between this world and the next is at its thinnest and the gates are open back on the Past and forward into the Future.

The light may be fading but the Earth’s energies are rising, the trees are scattering their leaves and the frosts are stirring. A time to prepare for Winter, a time for New Ideas.

For my part, I will also be rediscovering the delights of Early Nights, Good Books and cocoa or rather organic hot chocolate. I’ve treated myself to a new goose down duvet (because I’m worth it!) and soon I hope to spoil myself further with a new patchwork quilt. (My original one has been ‘borrowed’, don’t ask…..).

Enjoy the day,

Bye for now
Go mbeannaí Dia duit
Many Blessings,
Caitx

Early Morning Rambles

Dear Diary,

The video is one by Christy Moore, one of my favourite Irish musicians. If you play it, do Pause the other music player on this page or you will get a cacophany.

Today's blog is very late in the posting and it's a bit of a ramble. But hey ho it's Friday.......

I would love to live Like a river flows Carried by the surprise Of its own unfolding

John O’Donohue

I wake two minutes before I hear the Radio 4 Today programme which is my usual wake-up call at 7 am. But it’s still dark! As I make my way to the bathroom it still feels like the middle of the night. I am soon back in bed and M brings me the reviving cup that cheers, laced with honey and I sip it while listening to the news or rather the Bad News which is what our news bulletins should be called, don’t you think? The sweetness in the honey seems to go straight to my bloodstream, I slowly feel its effects and start to feel better. I have always been allergic to mornings, the reward or rather the punishment for being something of a night owl. The day also slowly lightens and by 8 am all is clear, but it’s a grey and cloudy vista, there are to be no magical mists today.

Last night the Moon was Full. I had real trouble getting off to sleep, so did M. And my dreams this past week have all been troubled and disturbing ones. Sometimes these are bad dreams that feature other people in my circle and I wake feeling concerned about them and hope that all will be well. From time to time in my life I have kept a Dream Diary and know too well that dreams can be very revealing, such is the power of their symbolism.

Today is my long day at work so after just a little bit of a read I get up and then it’s my shower, yoga, porridge routine. I am accompanied from now on by music, which helps to lift my spirits.

Yesterday was another glorious Autumn day, cold but a sunshiny blue sky day that made me feel glad to be alive. I spent time in the garden, sweeping, tidying, getting it ready for bed. I just do an hour at a time now and potter to my heart’s content. Ah pottering; now that should be added to my blog profile really as it’s one of my favourite pastimes and ranks up there along with Cloudwatching, Sleeping and Taking Naps.

I’ve planted some bulbs, miniature narcissi, crocus, and alliums so far, but will buy a few more this weekend. I also planted up some troughs with winter heathers, those lovely dusky pink ones. I’ve replaced my hanging pots of fuchsias with winter violas, purple ones of course. They hang outside the back door because folk hereabouts all use the back door as their ‘main’ entrance.

The breadmaker is producing heavenly tasting loaves, probably the best I’ve ever tasted, apart from Irish soda bread of course, now I wonder if it will produce that for me?

M made bread pudding for me yesterday with some leftover ‘ends’ of the loaves and it too was delicious. I worked with a woman once, a fellow Londoner, who called bread pudding Irish Wedding Cake. I wasn’t offended, especially as I much prefer it to fruit cake anyway and I dislike wedding or Christmas cake, especially their marzipan and the oft too-sweet icing.

A has put sheep in our field again so I am now taking the dogs beyond the ‘estate’ for walks so as not to disturb the flock. I also want to lose weight so some more long and brisk walking is called for. I am taking medication (aromatase inhibitors) whose side effects are weight gain round the middle and also a slight loss of appetite. So I still put on weight but without the corresponding sinfulness of eating too much tasty food. Cruel eh?

Ah, but we must accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative…..

Blessings Today?

I shall soon have a little time off work, a week or so to play catch-up: get on with writing, some for my course and also other stuff. Time to walk, to read, to garden, do a spot of painting in the cottage and to work on the family tree. We are having a few days away seeing family as well, as M and my brother have birthdays near each other.

The aforementioned Bread Pudding. Delia Smith style.
Here is the recipe. I grew up with the stuff but M who is not a Londoner first tasted it on Petticoat Lane one cold winter’s morning and fell in love with it.

Old fashioned bread pudding a la Delia Smith,
or St Delia as I call her.

8oz bread any type, can cut crusts off but I don’t worry.
Half pint milk
2 oz butter
3 oz sugar any type, we use brown/molasses
2 level tsps mixed spice
6 ozs mixed fruit
Grated rind of half an orange (M used lemon and it was nice)
Freshly grated nutmeg

My tip, a secret ingredient:
Don’t forget also the sprinkle of LOVE, I take it you all have a jar in your kitchen?


Break bread up and soak in milk for 30 minutes. Stir it all up first. Add melted butter, sugar, spice, beat with a fork till not lumpy, add fruit and rind. Spread in buttered baking dish and sprinkle with nutmeg and LOVE. Bake in pre-heated oven (Gas 5 ish) about an hour and a quarter/till done. For a touch of white wickedness sprinkle a wee bit of (white) sugar over when it comes out of the oven.

Nice hot with custard and some love it cold as well (I do!).


A new Diana Cooper book. This one is called Angel Answers and is proving very interesting. I’ll do a proper review another day.



My computer is still working OK so far (Touch Wood!).


Finally,

Purplecoo, I don’t think I’ve put the site down as a blessing before and I should have, it is a very Big Blessing.




Before I go here is a poem.

Extract from the Prophet
KahliI Gibran


And a woman spoke, saying, "Tell us of Pain."
And he said:
Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.
Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.
And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;
And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.
And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.
Much of your pain is self-chosen.
It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.
Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquillity:
For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen,
And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears.


I must not forget that the clocks Fall Backwards tomorrow. Then it’s all change, the dark evenings set in and the mornings lighten. I don’t know which is worse!

Bye for now,
& God Bless,
Cait

Books, books and more books.

Dear Diary,

This is Blog 101. I did not realise that the previous one was the century. I have been blogging now for six months, am still enjoying it and hope there will be many more to come.

I'll start with Blessings today.

Sunday Mornings.

We have had sunny but chilly mornings and even colder nights recently but the mists have hung in the valleys, they are the oceans of magic that we look forward to each year. I shall never forget when I was first an incomer to this fine country and I encountered this phenomenon from my smallholding, on my own high vantage point. Visitors to Wales revel in the sight, it hits them deep inside as well, such is its beauty.

The repair of my computer and the removal of all its nasties (fingers crossed they don‘t come back).

A good novel. I have just enjoyed Lollipop Shoes by Joanne Harris.



Our new bread maker which has just produced its first delicious loaf. And thanks to all those people who recommended a Panasonic.

And finally I don’t often stick a poem in as a blessing in itself, but this one is by Seamus Heaney, my daughter sent it to me recently and it’s one I hadn’t come across before.

I think it ‘so deep and so full’ as all good poetry should be.



Follower


My father worked with a horse-plough,
His shoulders globed like a full sail strung
Between the shafts and the furrow.
The horses strained at his clicking tongue.

An expert. He would set the wing
And fit the bright steel-pointed sock.
The sod rolled over without breaking.
At the headrig, with a single pluck

Of reins, the sweating team turned round
And back into the land. His eye
Narrowed and angled at the ground,
Mapping the furrow exactly.

I stumbled in his hob-nailed wake,
Fell sometimes on the polished sod;
Sometimes he rode me on his back
Dipping and rising to his plod.

I wanted to grow up and plough,
To close one eye, stiffen my arm.
All I ever did was follow
In his broad shadow round the farm.

I was a nuisance, tripping, falling,
Yapping always. But today
It is my father who keeps stumbling
Behind me, and will not go away.


Seamus Heaney




I started off intending to write about sounds, my most-loved, memory-inducing, that sort of thing. It’s a piece of homework that I should have done ages ago for a fellow blogger. As I said, I’ve just finished Lollipop Shoes by Joanne Harris and was browsing my (home) bookshelves for something to read, as, quite unlike me, I have neglected to bring anything back from the library. I came upon on a book, then another and ended up bringing a wee pile back to bed, (Sunday mornings what a treat they are).

As I lay in bed, through the window I can see frost, but rays of sunlight are peeping through the mist on the field. It’s going to be another perfect autumn day so I decide not to waste too much of it with my head in a book.

I start thinking of Books I Have Loved and remember that is another piece of ’homework’ that I am meant to have done so I set to and make a list.

Here it is:

The first book I just want to mention is one called The House on Beartown Road, by Elizabeth Cohen. It's a memoir written by an American woman who is caring for her father, who has Alzheimer’s, at the same time as she is bringing up her young child. It sounds like a depressing book but it is a real gem and a positive one that will stay in your memory long after you have read it. Especially if you have a member of your family with this disease, but even if you don’t I would recommend it.





I know a few ‘carers’ sometimes read this blog and I have just heard a wonderful book on the radio, Blue Sky July by Nia Wyn. It is a Welsh publication and is set in Cardiff; it was Radio 4’s Book of The Week last week and was written by a woman caring for her son who has cerebral palsy. The writing is poetic and I recommend it highly. Siriol Jenkins narrated it on the radio and she did it so beautifully.





Back to the list:
(Books I Have Loved)

Little Women by Louisa M Alcott. As a child I enjoyed this one, it brought a family to me and sisters that I would have loved to have had.


Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame. I always loved animal stories. I still re-read this sometimes, it’s more than just a tale about animals of course.




The Female Eunuch by Germaine Greer. This book alone would have converted me to feminism when I was growing up.




The Primal Wound by Nancy Verrier. For me this book was better than any therapy could have been. It is written for adoptive parents and for those adopted ‘children’ so it will help them understand why they feel as they do, being all about bonding, scarring and loss.


Twenty Years A Growing by Maurice O’Sullivan. An Irish classic. One of many.


Talking of Irish writers:

Anything by Edna O’Brien. She writes so lyrically. I started many years ago with her Country Girls Trilogy.




And now a Canadian writer.
Unless by the late Carol Shields. When she died a few years ago it was a very sad loss to the literary world. She was one of my favourite authors.





Walden or Life in the Woods by Henry David Thoreau. An American classic, one of my all time favourites.

Read, dream, savour.




I’ll finish with a couple of New Age type books, first an American-Irish writer, Sarah Ban Breathnach. Anything by her is a joy to read. Start with Simple Abundance, a Daybook of Comfort and Joy. If it is positivity you are looking for, she is your woman.



Another writer I would recommend is Gill Edwards. Try her Living Magically, all about creative visualisation and positivity. I lent this book to a friend once and she said it changed her life.



Obviously there are loads of titles that haven’t sprung to mind, books that might mean more to me and that I would loved to have made mention of. There will be other blogs, I can add one or two at a later date. I might, in true librarian mode, start recommending books more often. One of the (many) joys of my job are the borrowers who tell me about books they have read, or ones they have heard about and are wanting to order. This way gems are uncovered and shared.

The sun is getting stronger now and it’s now shining on me, full on, almost nagging me with its insistence to come out from under the covers and to get up and get moving and to stop dreaming about books,

But before I go I feel another quick poem coming on, an old one of my own this time.

Because looking out of the study window I see two of these.



October Rose.


Will she hang on to Christmas
or is her blooming over?
Once young and dewy,
frail and fragile.
Then, maturing, she was lush and luxuriant,
prized and proud.

Fading now, a late October Rose is rare,
so all the more special
in the newly-misted garden.

Not red, nor blowsy,
too old for blushing, yet still young enough to pick.
Still beauteous of colour, still romantic.
With scent enough to sate the senses

Still inspiring a crush, or rush of love,
thus charming all who seek her out,
be they very young, or be they like the rose
who’s nearly past her prime.

Cherish her, for she is still in bloom,
clinging on to youth and beauty,

though her petals fall so quickly now.

Soon she’ll be a sucker gone to seed.

Soon banished,

quickly dried,

or cast away.


Cait O’Connor


Bye for now,
Cait.

ME ME

Dear Diary,

To say this is late would be an understatement. I was asked weeks ago to do a MEME which I think is to write about myself using the letters of my name.

So here goes. I have, as my tutor would say, skied off piste, it is not in my nature to reveal too much about myself, or perhaps it is just that I am not in a the mood today to do so, but I think I have given a few clues.


C If I appear cool, calm and collected, my emotions are probably churning inside


A Art matters. The visual, the literary, the musical. It’s what sets us apart from animals I guess.

But why then do the birds sing?

I Inspiration. This goes hand in hand with ‘A’ above. Art always needs the Muse, the Source, the Supreme Consciousness, call it what you will. When artists inspire they breathe in the breath of this ‘God’.

I will sneak another one in here. Intuition. I live by it.


T Truth also matters. I named my daughter for it.
(Verity)


O Order. We spend our days trying to create it, out of chaos. So much time is wasted on this pursuit and it just reinforces my belief that less is more. The less ‘stuff’ we desire/consume the less there is to organise. The less we do, or aspire to, the less stressed we get. Simplicity is my goal.


C Children. They have so much to teach us as they are still touched with Spirit.


O Origins. I spent years and fought hard to discover my own.


N Nature
versus

N Nurture

I could write reams on this but there isn’t room!


O Oh No, not another one. I am a bit stumped.

It’s a weird choice I know but all I can think of is Obituaries and that leads me to the dear Spike Milligan‘s gravestone inscription, God rest him.

I told you I was ill!

Last but not least

R Rebels - and coincidentally Spike was one.

May there always be strong and spirited individuals among the ‘sleepwalking folk‘ who inhabit this planet and may their passion never die.



I was sent this today, what a lovely quote it is, wish I had written it.

If love does not rule your heart,
all activity is just the spinning of wheels.

And now for something completely different.

This is a fun thing that has come my way, it can be sent round to friends - if you want to do it, copy and paste your own, ask them to give their own answers and send on again into the ether.

1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?

Being the first daughter of an Irish mother, I think it was my maternal grandmother.

2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?

A few minutes ago. It was something I read.

3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?

Yes but only my ‘best’ writing, not my usual, illegible scribble.

4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAL?

I am not good at choosing favourite anythings as they change. Today it might be pasta, tomorrow it might be home-made soup.

5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?

Well they are Grown Up Kids now but they are still the light of my life, a girl, now aged 29 and a boy, now aged 26.

I am lucky enough to be a youngish grandmother too and have three very beautiful grand-daughters, aged 11, 9 and 7. They are also the light of my life.

6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?

I don’t know because I would be another person.

7. DO YOU USE SARCASM ALOT?

I used to, not so much now.

8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS

No.

9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?

No - definitely not. I believe in self-preservation in all things.
My stairs have proved dangerous enough for me.

10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?

PORRIDGE! I couldn’t live without it.

11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?

(When I am not wearing wellies) I only wear one pair of shoes at the moment, they are comfy red slip-ons from Lands End, I call them my energy shoes.

12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?

Yes very, both physically and mentally; it’s in my genes to fight back.

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?

Chocolate of course.


14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?

Their eyes.


15. RED OR PINK?

A hard one that as I love both. Pink?


16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?

Another hard question, where do I start?


17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST

My mother.


18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU?

Oh yes please!


19. WHAT COLOUR PANTS (TROUSERS) AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?

(I had a funny phone call from a pervert once that asked me that first bit of the question!

but then I read on and see it is an American thing and pants are trousers!}

Blue denim jeans and my red shoes of course, keep up!
How would you answer this if you were wearing a dress or a skirt I wonder?



20. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?

Porridge!


21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?

Would you believe there is complete silence? If I was listening to anything it would be music but I am not in the mood at the moment. It would be Mark Knopfler or James Blunt or Annie Lennox (my latest CD’s).


22. IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?

Purple! Some people will understand and appreciate this choice more than others.



23. FAVORITE SMELLS?

Garlic (cooking), lavender, rosemary, basil, mint, lily-of-the-valley, better stop there, I could go on. We witches have a strong sense of smell J


24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?

My ‘relatively newfound’ brother Phil who lives in Essex.

25. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU?

She is a cyber-friend who I have never met but I like her very much.

26. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?

Football!


27. HAIR COLOR?

Well it varies………


28. EYE COLOR?

Blue


29. Do you wear contacts?

No.


30. FAVORITE FOOD?

Today it is a Sunday roast followed by apple crumble and custard.


31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?

Oh happy endings please.


32. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?

Miss Potter.


33. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?

A shocking pink three quarter length tee shirt.


34. SUMMER OR WINTER?

Summer for all that it entails, I need not explain.

Winter for being cosy and hibernating: log fires, candles, red wine, comfort food and snuggly clothes. Snow, wind and rain.


35. HUGS OR KISSES?

Hugs.


36. FAVORITE DESSERT?

Blackberry and apple crumble with custard.
Vanilla ice cream and hot chocolate sauce.


37. MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?

I haven't a clue!

38. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND

Men probably.

39. What book are you reading now?

Lollipop Shoes by Joanne Harris (delicious). But Chocolat must be read first.

40. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?

A rainbow of coloured stripes, bought cheap in Asda. Colour therapy and all that.

41. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T.V. LAST NIGHT?

England v France playing rugby.
I’ll say no more.


42. FAVORITE SOUNDS?

Birdsong.

Uillean pipes, guitar, wooden flute.



43. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?

Has to be the Beatles; I grew up to them and used to be a big fan.

44. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?

Only been to Spain, France, Guernsey, England, Scotland and Ireland. Live in Wales now. Not much of a traveller. Ireland is my spiritual home

45. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?

I’m a very good speller and I can read minds.

46. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?

Lambeth, London.

47. WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK?

Everyone’s!

48. WHAT TIME IS IT NOW?

16.08 Sunday



Before I go, a poem, it seems so long since I posted one.

This is one by a young emerging poet who I admire, she is from West Cork and her name is Leanne O'Sullivan:


Self Portrait


This blank paper is the one good thing.
I want to fill it with colour, soundlessness
like a heart that shuts with slow murmurings.
I feel myself slipping into that whiteness.
My dumb legs, my red hair pale by moonlight
as I doze into a laudanum pod,
secretly happy, blooming in the night
though the cold surrounds my bed.

This is the woman as God has created her,
this is the woman I am outdoing.
She is a ghost the more I see her.
Her eyes dry against my breath. She is moving
from me into this true radiance while
I stare. I don’t move, the heart stops its flood
of rust and the mirror crackles to sand.
My babe, the brush is slipping from my hand.


Leanne O’Sullivan



Bye for now,
Caitx

The Fall

Dear Diary,

The fall of a leaf is a whisper to the living.

Russian proverb


It’s a long time since my last blog. And I am afraid this will have to be a shortish one.

Life has got in the way of blogging, it does that sometimes doesn’t it? Work, home and family commitments. Chores, trying to play catch-up, yet never winning and never managing to do all that I want to. It is Saturday night now and I am going to do some blog reading as well this weekend if it kills me. I have missed reading all my favourites.

The pics are three more by Paul Henry, my favourite Irish artist. I hope you like them too.

Yesterday M and I went to Llandeilo on the train. We went to buy a poetry book, it’s a long story really but the poet, Maurice Barnes, lives in the house in Dorset that was the childhood home of M’s grandmother. Family tree searching led us to him. I traced a copy of a book Barnes had published some years ago, to a secondhand bookshop in Llandeilo, a town on the Heart of Wales railway line. So we combined a trip out with a visit to buy it. M, being over a certain age, gets free travel on this line and his latest ’hobby’ is travelling along it, sampling real ale pubs en route, taking photos and doing little write-ups about the pubs. Sounds like a good way of spending one’s retirement and it makes me very envious. I warn you, that is what happens when you marry a much ’older man’, he gets to retire long before you do! Of course if he is a rich ‘older man’ then that would not be a problem.

Llandeilo is a lovely Welsh town and we enjoyed a good pub lunch in The Angel, we sat outside in the walled garden and it was so warm that it felt like the south of France, not West Wales in October!

M found another gem in the bookshop, well two actually, two books by one of his favourite authors, a writer called Jeffery Farnol. He wrote in the 1930’s and is relatively unknown. From what I have read, I can only liken him to Shakespeare! I had not read any of his work before but here is a wee sample - the first paragraph from ‘Over the Hills’


I heard it first of a bright midsummer night in the dark coppice beyond the Ten-acre meadow; a sound of faerie, marvellous wild yet very sweetly mournful; a sound that seemed to echo the sighing of wind amid desolate trees, the gurgling sob of misty waters; a sound, indeed, that seemed to hold for me a magic and mystery, like stars and moon and the deep wonder of this brooding night - and yet this sound no more than a man’s whistling.

Farnol was a very romantic author who certainly had a way with words but I wonder why he is not well known? I shall have to do some research. M read him when he was a child at home, he is still a voracious reader, always has his head in a book, it’s a good job I work in a library as I can keep him well supplied with reading matter, both the old and the new titles.

I’m sorry this has to be a quickie blog tonight, I have lots of other reading and writing to do but….

before I go, here is a poem. The theme is New England.

As it is Fall time again and leaves are only just becoming colourful in this part of Wales, I dream of a holiday in New England, somewhere I have never been but feel sure I have lived in a past life. M will be checking his lottery ticket shortly, one can always hope…. But I am not discontented here in Wales with Autumn’s beauty all around me. I am a real home bird actually, it is so hard to get me to leave and I quickly become homesick when I do stray away from my cottage. Still, New England would be one place that could tempt me, along with Ireland of course and France.


New England Mind


My mind matches this understated land.
Outdoors the pencilled tree, the wind-carved drift,
Indoors the constant fire, the careful thrift
Are facts that I accept and understand.

I have brought in red berries and green boughs-
Berries of black alder, boughs of pine.
They and the sunlight on them, both are mine.
I need no florist flowers in my house.

Having lived here the years that are my best,
I call it home. I am content to stay.
I have no bird's desire to fly away.
I envy neither north, east, south, nor west.

My outer world and inner make a pair.
But would the two be always of a kind?
Another latitude, another mind?
Or would I be New England anywhere?


Robert Francis -

Bye for now,
Caitx