Something about scarves

I’ve had a ‘thing’ about scarves for very many years. Some silk, some cotton, some woollen. Some are ancient and, especially the silk ones, have got rather threadbare in places. But, they bring back memories of either where they were bought or who bought them for me.

Back in the 1990s a young lad came up to me in the school corridor and said ‘I like your style miss – you always wear nice colourful scarves!’ He shall be nameless, but I hope that somewhere he’s achieved his dream of being a hairdresser. Maybe he’s a fashion designer now – he certainly had an eye for colour.DSC00823

Catalogue of Scarves

Silk scarves escaping from a shelf

fall with a cascade of thoughts

and years of memories.

Fiery shades bought to lift spirits

on a winter’s day.

Business-like greys and blacks

to convey confidence.

Sea-green shot with blue for calm days,

lilac or purple when feeling my age.

Some have a touch of the orient

bought in Bradford.



National Poetry Day

As today is National Poetry Day, I thought that I should add at least a couple of poems to my blog.

First of all, a bit of nonsense – but maybe a serious thought behind it.

Well … what do you think?

The tea-leaves and the Tarot,

when accurately read

can tell us of the future …

or so it has been said.

But is it better to foresee

what problems lie ahead …

or live life day by day

in blissful ignorance instead?


Now for something completely different – for all those who suffer from procrastination …

This Could Be the Day

This could be the day for cutting the grass

but today is not that day.

This could be the day for painting the gate

but today is not that day.

Days come, days go,

many things to do; I know.

This could be the day for sorting things out

but today is not that day.

This could be the day for washing the car

but today is not that day.

This could be the day for writing a poem.

Perhaps today is that day.


And finally – for today anyway. A poem for those who have a talent for sewing and creating wonderful quilts. I, who feel as though I have ten thumbs when I pick up a needle, can only look and admire!

Patchwork Quilt

The colours, they’re now fading fast

though vivid memories will last.

Family history sewn with care;

each person represented there.

Squares from a favourite lilac skirt

and from an old tan gardening shirt.

Patterns remind us of times now past,

the old and the young, now growing up fast.

Clothes for holidays, working and sleeping

all ended up in squares for safe-keeping.

Parts of our lives, measured and square

organized, stitched, we’re all lying there.

I’ve been Digging

Using the Irish Bog-oak pen given to me on Mother’s day and a day gardening – this was the result  –


Yesterday was spent digging turf.

Grass making way for raised beds;

my spade marked the squares to be lifted.


As I dug, I thought of folk

digging peat, digging the past

revealed in ancient blackened layers.


Today I dig down into memories

lifted from shoe boxes  – photographs

that cast my mind back over years.


Now I dig deep with a pen as I

scribble, draft, redraft to recapture

scenes, emotions that emerge.


I dig again for words to reveal those

times that have been hidden away.

Hidden in a size eleven shoe box.