A new life begins with the smallest of seeds,

Each new beginning not knowing its needs,

Like the acorn that falls from the mighty oak tree,

Or the rosebud that opens and flowers with glee,

From the dew of the morning as the earth wakens new,

To the darkness that falls as the stars take their cue.


An innocent beginning will never know shame,

Mistakes not yet written will never know blame,

Like a babe that is born as it takes its first breath,

Or a mother that cradles new life to her flesh,

From the first gasp of air that fills a small chest,

To the soft sleep of slumber that honours the blest.


Just an unpainted canvas not burdened by form,

Landscapes not captured until age can transform.

Like rain drops that fall and ripple still water,

Or a storm cloud that causes a blue sky to falter,

From the first touch of summer that hails from afar,

To the last bite of winter as it sings au revoir.


All life begins with the smallest of things.

We Will Always Have Paris

After enough turkey and ham to start a small holding and enough chocolate to cover a small country it’s thankfully back to reality with this weeks Friday Fictioneers. A 100 word photo prompt hosted by the fabulous Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, this weeks photo provided by the equally creative Douglas Macilroy. Follow the link and have a go….


Penny pulled up the collar of her coat against the chill and let herself be swallowed back into the crowd. No more noticeable than the person in-front, behind or on either side.

While up above, Jack still waited on the viewing platform. Arcs of white light cut through a starless black sky and his heart died a little more with every minute that passed. His head knew she wasn’t coming long before his heart did.

He would never know she was there or never know how close she came to meeting him. But she would know and for now that was enough.

Merry Christmas

I would just like to wish everyone a very Merry Christmas and a wonderful New Year. This weekend I hit 500 followers and am absolutely blown away with all the wonderful comments and feedback I’ve been given over the last 6 months. I’m not a clever writer and just write what’s in my head but I thank you all from the bottom of my heart for reading and following.

chris 3

When Black Was White.

When black was white,

And love was blue,

When love was hate,

And lies were true,


When night was day,

And stars were gone,

When wake was sleep,

And dreams were none.


When songs were read,

And words were sung,

When need was want,

And weak were strong.


When war was peace.

And foe was friend,

When fighting ceased,

And wrongs were cleansed.


When love was ours,

And fear withdrew,

The world still turned,

But it turned anew.



I watch you from the edges,

From a place that I’m not seen,

I leave a trace behind me,

A scent of where I’ve been,

I am the sense of something,

A glimpse or fleeting movement,

A taste of something missing,

Or a long forgotten moment.

I am the blood that rises,

In the heat within your chest,

The heartbeat that increases,

And the fear that you accept.

I’m close enough to touch you,

To feel your skin on mine,

Close enough to whisper,

If you’d only cross that line.

I’m here for you, I’m waiting,

In the shadows of your mind,

With dancing echoes calling,

For our paths to re-align.

I’ll watch you from the edges,

For a lifetime I’ll be there,

Waiting for you always,

Not knowing when or where.



Sometimes are good times,

And sometimes are bad,

Sometimes, I long for,

The sometimes we had.


Sometimes, are lost times,

And sometimes, are found,

Sometimes, I yearn for,

The times not around.


Sometimes, are quiet times,

And sometimes, are still,

Sometimes, I look for,

Past memories to fill.


Sometimes, are new times,

And sometimes, are old,

Sometimes, I hope for,

Some more time to hold.


Sometimes, are gone times,

And sometimes I forget,

And sometimes I struggle,

With the times I regret.

The Dream-Catcher

My favourite day of the week. Time for Friday Fictioneers. The 100 word photo prompt hosted by the fabulous Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. I can’t recommend it enough, take a look over, give it a go, you’ll soon be addicted.


Photo : Jean L Hays

For most, dreams are fleeting. Just echoes that dance between waking hours and sleeping thoughts. Then they fade and vanish into nothing. But for Gran it was different. Gran was the 2nd daughter of a 2nd daughter and was able to choose which dreams to re-visit. Gran was a ‘Dream-catcher’.

As a child I was captivated by the stories she told, the choices she made. Tales of how she soared with the eagles and hunted wild stag, how she sailed to the Indies and swam with the dolphins. But now she’s gone and it’s my time to choose. I pray I choose wisely.