I read, I like, I share (22) : Sylvia Plath



I am silver and exact.  I have no preconceptions.  

Whatever I see I swallow immediately  

Just as it is, unlisted by love or dislike.  

I am not cruel, only truthful —

The eye of a little god, four-cornered.  

Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.  

It is pink, with speckles.  I have looked at it so long

I think it is a part of my heart.  But it flickers.

Faces and darkness separate us over and over.


Now I am a lake.  A woman bends over me,

Searching my reaches for what she really is.  

Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.  

I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.  

She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.

I am important to her.  She comes and goes.  

Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.

In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman

Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish. 





For You (5)



There is freedom waiting for you,

On the breezes of the sky,

And you ask “what if I fall?”

Oh but my darling,

What if you fly?


— Erin Hanson


I read, I like, I share (18) : Saxon White Kessinger

Indispensable Man

Sometime when you’re feeling important,
Sometime when your ego’s in bloom,
Sometime when you take it for granted
You’re the best qualified in the room;
Sometime when you feel that your going
Would leave an unfillable hole,
Just follow these simple instructions
And see how they humble your soul.

Take a bucket and fill it with water,
Put your hand in it up to the wrist,
Pull it out and the hole that’s remaining
Is a measure of how much you’ll be missed.
You can splash all you wish when you enter
You may stir up the water galore,
But stop and you’ll find that in no time
It looks quite the same as before.

The moral of this quaint example
Is to do just the best that you can.
Be proud of yourself, but remember
There’s no indispensable man.

I read, I like, I share (17) : Daphne du Maurier

The Writer    [1926]

Not for me the arrow in the air,
Nor the mountain snows,

Nor the dumb ocean,

Nor the wind on the heath,

Nor the warm breath
Of the bare bright sun upon my hair

Not for me the mist of the white stars,
Nor the singing falls,
Nor the deep river,
Nor the flung foam
Upon the hard beach,
Nor the other mountains that I cannot reach.

Mine is the silence
And the quiet gloom
Of a clock ticking
In an empty room,
The scratch of a pen,
Ink-pot and paper,
And the patter of the rain.
Nothing but this as long as I am able,
Firelight — and a chair, and a table.

Not for me the whisper in the ear,
Nor the touch of a hand,
And that hand on my heart,
Nor the quick pattering of feet
Upon the stair, nor laughter in the street,
Nor the swift glance, intangible and dear.  

Not for me the hunger in the night,
And the strength of the lover
Tired of his loving,

Seeking after passion the broken rest,

Bearing his body’s weight upon my breast

Mine is the silence
Of the still day,
When the shouting on the hills
Sounds far away,
The song of the thrush,
In the quiet woods,
And the scent of trees.  

Always the child who loved too late,
The poet — the fool — the watchman at the gate.
I am the actress mother who must make
A pretended cradle of her arms, lifeless and bare,
Who has never borne a child.  

I am the deaf musician, calm and mild,
Singing a battle symphony, who has never heard the guns,
Nor the thunder in the air.  

I am the painter whose blind gaze defiled
Would conjure an ocean, who has never seen the sea break
On the wild shores of Finistere….  

Not for me the shadow of a smile,
Nor the life that has gone,
Nor the love that has fled,
But the thread of the spider who spins on the wall,

Who is lost, who is dead, who is nothing at all.


from The Rebecca Notebook & Other Memories   

When summer’s gone

Already August
Thunderstorms and hailstones, astunned
Don’t blink don’t
The summer’s gone

Then one day
Here again
Grass is green and flowers
Blooming in the garden
Don’t get caught in a daze don’t
Look back
What’s been missing and gone
What – if – once – were

Just watch
Butterflies kiss
In the breeze
The swaying butterfly-bush
Keeping the bees company

Let go, Mum

For reasons I cannot even explain to myself, I have been lingering down memory lane these days.  Perhaps it is the hours I spent on YouTube listening to songs of yesteryear that brought me there.  Yeah, probably.   What else can it be?

My daughter has just sent off her application for culinary school.   She is nervous, “It is real now”.   Yes, my dear, the world is waiting for you out there.  So allow me to stay a little longer and cherish some precious pearly moments before I let you go.

1)  I don’t understand

Mama, please tell me
Felix is always allowed
   another sweet
   a second frizzy
   to leave the greens on his plate, crumbs
   all over the place

Why are you, Mama
   not too busy
To answer all his questions
He can always
For tea, for more TV

If, it is because
Felix lives
  not in this house
I wish I were
Living at his place

2)  Best bits

I don’t know about you
But I do love
Blue icing
  on Lizzie’s birthday cake
Chocolate flakes
   in my yoghurt corner
Crispy crust
  of my toast, also, my pizza

Since I have
  no brothers, nor sisters
I always save
Till last

3)  Just for once

Keep telling me what to do
What to put on
When to feed
Where to keep my toys
How not to raise my voice

Just for once, I’d like to
Drink my water as I please
Finish my rice
Eat my ribs
As slowly
can be

Just for once, if you’d
Telling me

4)  It’s not fair

And it made me very cross —
When Papa and Mama
  talked, I wanted to
  join in

I could not

“Say excuse me please”
“Wait till we finish”

When I was a baby, they got me to
Open up
Then when I did
They told me to
Shut up

5)  Mama is always too busy

When I am not watching
My favourite programmes on TV
I want to play Domino, or Junior Scrabble
No!  Mama is ironing, or setting the table

When I have to stop the video, or square eyes
I will have I am told
I’d like to go swimming, perhaps roller skating
No!  Mama is hoovering, and the linen needs changing

Then — 
Mama has just put her feet up in front of the telly
Would she go and fetch my jelly
No, I’d rather
Mama is catching up with the news, and she hasn’t been
Sitting down all day

6)  I can’t do that

I told Papa
Go to work
Not to worry
I’ll take Mama to the hospital
Look after her
Make sure she’s comfortable

A long wait
We have had a long day
Mama looks pale and frail
She needs a rest
A quiet space
She asks
To be left alone

I can’t do that

I have to make it clear
  “Why do I have to leave you alone

7)  Have a look

Why did you shout at me, Papa?
Can you see
My feeling
You hurt it a little bit

8)  Mama’s grey hair

I will look after you when you are old, Mama
I shall tidy up
   do your shopping
   make you a second cup
I may even cook you dinner, wash your car  —  no
No, I’ll take you

But, Mama
  Look here
It’s another
  Grey hair
You pull it out
  Or I will
Not later

9)  Don’t worry about me, Mama

I am four
Of course I am old enough
To know
Getting married is
  to hold hands and have a cuddle

When I grow up
You know
I’ll marry the one I love most

When I grow up you know,
He is the one I love most

10)  I want to be …

When I was first asked
What I’d like to do
When I am bigger
    “ At a supermarket check-out, so Mama and Papa can come to my counter”

That question came back
After a year
This time
     “ At the same place with Papa
       I’ll be a scientist too and go to work in his car”

Maybe it’s not a good idea
Perhaps, a gymnast?
I just learnt cartwheels and somersaults —
That was the thought,
Much later

Now, if you’d ask me
Well…… I just want to be
Like Mama
Staying home
Cooking dinner

That’s all folks.

This mum has to let go.  Her baby is going into the world to make a mark of her own.  She can no longer hold her hand and watch her every step.  Mum will always be there, though, if she calls…