If I had more time…

speeding time

If I had more time I would follow my nose
to a land exotic to my eyes,
bask in the glory of reading for hours,
lie on beaches, take in shows.

If I had more time I would go for a run,
I would go for a cycle, join a club,
learn how to crochet, bake like Berry,
learn how to switch off and have more fun.

If I had more time I would make a plan,
map the future, pinpoint the route,
take a scenic drive to my destination,
waymark the journey through my whole life’s span.

If I had more time I’d become green-fingered,
cultivate roses and honeysuckle,
watch things grow like a stop-motion movie,
enjoy my hard work, potter and linger.

I’d follow my children, each step on the path
pick them up when they fall and pick up on their skills,
never lose my temper – there’d be no pressure –
I’d find a way to bottle each laugh.

If I had more time I would sail away, yet stay,
cleave to the present, the future, the past;
appreciate every Earthly wonder,
take my foot off the gas and enjoy each day.

Linking up to this week’s Prompt from Sara at Mum Turned Mom who’s prompt this week was in fact “If I had more time…” and also Prose for Thought over at Vevivos.

Prose for Thought

Favourite poems…

I have to admit that whilst I love words, language and writing I sometimes hear the word ‘poetry’ and it turns me off until I remember to actually read some classics and it sets my imagination on fire and reminds me of all the beautiful things that can be done with words and the feelings they can invoke. My grandma was a huge fan of poetry and she used to have a lovely book of best loved poems which I would pore over as a child and I once copied out some favourites but I don’t know what I did with those notes. Something recently triggered a memory of one of those poems and it made me want to try and remember…

The Unending Sky by John Masefield is really beautiful – an ode to space and infinity and the vastness of the universe which puts all human tribulations in perspective.


The Convergence of The Twain by Thomas Hardy was one I learned when I was at school – its essentially an imagining of the underwater ruins of the Titanic and how it came to such a watery fate and its really eery, yet beautiful – I love the phrase ‘steel chambers, late the fires of her salamandrine fires’.


The poem Time to Stop and Stare by William Henry Davies is quite well known and it really speaks to me on a daily basis, particularly lately, in this life where children, social media and all the demands to keep on top of everything mean that we have to make a concerted effort to put the brakes on every now and again and feel some real, visceral pleasure from just taking wonder in the world around us, after all “a poor life this if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare”.

stand and stare

Lastly I bring to your attention The Listeners by Walter De La Mare – another poem I was taught at school but which has stayed with me all these years. A quote from the beginning of this poem is written on the side of the Premier Inn in Guildford (near where I work) and I have to admit this makes me love Premier Inn! The poem is about ghosts in an abandoned house deep in a dark forest and how a lone traveller stumbles across this place one night – its really atmospheric!

Premier Inn Guildford

Losing the muse…On writing

When I was a young teenager I used to love writing so much. I wrote everything from diary entries, to a romance novel, to poetry to a sit-com! My mum was a journalist of sorts and both my mum and dad went to, what was, The London School of Printing (my dad was a graphic artist) so when it came time to decide what to do after school ended I was thoroughly encouraged to apply for a course in journalism at (then) The London College of Printing (now The London College of Communication). I duly applied, was accepted for the interview/testing day and was put through a series of gruelling challenges and an interview which weeded out the less able and was (thrillingly!) accepted onto a two-year Btec HND in periodic journalism.

I enjoyed my time on the course although a lot of what we learned became very quickly obsolete (measuring up a page layout by hand!) just pre-dating the technological revolution (this is back in the early 90s). However out in the real world I found it frustrating and impossible to get the kind of job which I had dreamed of. Technical periodicals were too boring; women’s magazines drove me mad with their recycled material and patronising tone; and I just didn’t consider myself political or intelligent enough for hard news.

In the end I threw in the towel and headed back to full time education, opting for a four year BA in American Literature at Sussex University (American? I hear you ask… well it did include a year Stateside so why not??!). Writing took a distinctly academic turn for me at this point (obviously) and there is a huge gulf between writing off the cuff in a journalistic style and writing planned and cerebral arguments on facets of literature.

I got a little taster of being back in the journalistic saddle round about the turn of the millennium when I got a fabulous opportunity to write and edit the children’s commercial book website The Book Monster which was affiliated to The BookPlace – a site competing with Amazon (on the book front) in the UK. This was a fun and fulfilling highlight of my working life as it also gave me the opportunity to learn some HTML and get an understanding of web structure.

Since that time I have really lost my writing muse as there has been no real outlet until now. With this blog I have begun to enjoy the fact that I can write what I want in any way I choose. I’d like to think that what I have to say is of interest to someone out there but it is quite difficult to gauge in anyway when you get so few comments! I realise that the downside of blogging within any given niche is that your potential audience has literally thousands of other blogs and posts to choose from and this whole social networking is bloody hard work trying to make the magic happen!

Coming back from holiday I have really let it slide for the last week or so as I haven’t been able to find the time or motivation to string a thought together – let alone a thought interesting enough to share with others in an entertaining way!

I’ve just looked through some of my old poetry and wanted to share a bit to find out if I ever really did have a talent for this…To be honest the only one I’m happy to share is this:

Birds of Prey

We drop from the sky and we come in for the kill
we never lose that feeling
the adrenaline, the thrill
the sound of the echoing death cry,
the mixture of the mortal
and immortal so appealing

Our meaning in life,  our purpose, our love,

is not for one another but for our prey
we have the power
and we never need suffer

we haunt by night and we shimmer by day

There isn’t a moment
we don’t feel the wind,
the rain and the moon,
rarely seen through the clouds,
is our brother, unearthly, immortal kin
shining through at last
like a final shroud.

Perhaps this is how it feels to be falling, slowly, deliciously, towards the rocks,
chilling, the speed at which everything changes,
a feeling closer to madness than shock,
omitting the thought that this should be appalling,
like a book omitting its final pages.

Yet we have the power of self preservation, gliding and stalling in frantic turns,
swooping and spiralling with such grace

and we have so little left to learn that our movements will seem like a practiced formation

our fatal blow, a majestic embrace.

Seems I definitely had the muse once…