Wee Important Message

Hello everyone

My re-vamped website is now up and running here:

http://poetryandpandemonium.com/

This means that all the BlueBeretMum posts have moved too and I would love to see you there too.

Could you take two seconds and quickly subscribe again on the new website if you would like to find out what happened next?  Virtual bubbly is on me.

Thank you and see you all on the other side.

Love

Poetry & Pandemonium

BlueBeretMum is No More…

Sometime last week was my first bloggoversary.  Yay!

It all started with this post and…

in the last 12 months I  joined a book club, wrote my first book review here and, most importantly, I gradually slipped back into creative writing and writing poetry.  I also started drawing cartoons, just for fun, and published a book with motherhood inspired haikus.

And not to forget, I gained great readers and met some fantastic writers and poets – that would not have happened without my wee blog but…

BlueberetMum was initially meant to be a parenting blog, full of cute pictures and stories about raising Peanut.  It turns out it is not me and although I occasionally write about parenting, I have realised it is time to re-brand.   Having looked through my posts from the last few months I split them into two categories:

  • Poetry – no explanation needed
  • Pandemonium – everything else, mainly parenting cartoons and book reviews and whatever takes my fancy

So wave bye bye to BlueBeretMum and say hello to Poetry & Pandemonium.  I will be working on more updates in the next few weeks so watch this space.

And I hope you stay! Poetry and Cartoon Service resumes next week.

Happy Friday everyone!

x

Love is in the Air …

How the story ends…

A Busker’s Love Song

I

Pink-glazed clouds hoist frayed sails

over pilgrims, tourists, ghosts; they flock

around a busker as he folds his wings, frail

golden sheen and half the feathers lost

like his ragged repute.  Some idle thoughts

burst into mind and soul as he admires how

a lonesome painter’s brush slipped across

indigo canvass of the unsuspecting sky.

II

Half-torn  hat in his hand declares

whether to cry or commend this day.

White Lady struts through town and a fan

of yellowed papers saves the busker’s face.

A pirouette later she sweeps his dreams,

his breath, a kiss into drifts. His faith

in providence gives him daily strength

when his heart lies in the gutter.

III

He whistles when stifling day of May

and a bitter song cling by his side;

he follows starry signs and secretly prays

for the Underdog pub to show him the way

to ease this pain.  Behind a wall of noise

five jesters take shots of his rusty stubble.

A trumpet’s cry tears the air above all those

who gather around legend turned to rubble.

IV

A pack of jolly gods cheer as White Lady turns

towards our hero; her dress, his leg, her feet

his chest explodes with thousand fireworks

as his and hers, his and hers lips meet.

Ladies and gentlemen look at them how

they sing of pinkish clouds and the lush

lapis lazulis of the unsuspecting sky

coloured by a painter’s shaky brush.

20140124-191924.jpg

Prose for Thought

No Good News January

So here is my writing update for the last couple of weeks – linking with Stephanie and her Writing Warriors updates here.

  • my ego suffered terribly after a few rejections of my poems last month – I know … I know – this is the way life goes but it made me question my writing skills/talent..or face lack thereof. Anyway, I am back, writing and poeting and I am determined to learn from my rejections. Lesson number one – do not send out your work too soon. Hold off if you can and review, review, get a second opinion, forget about the poem for a few weeks and then cut, cut, cut and review again!
  • I have drafted another poem as a result of my writing prompts- this time a Culinary Poem – this is how it starts:

Lament Home, London 2010

For the mothers left behind with their backs curved,

new moons of boiled potatoes upturned.

For the empty plates, laid out in the usual place.

(it is still work in progress so I am not disclosing more 😉

So dear readers, off to scribble some more verse and see you soon!

And the moral from this story is – yes, you will not always hear that you are the next Sylvia Plath/Ted Hughes but pick yourself up, write a poem about it (I did … it contains a lot of swearing – Sweary Poetry Therapy is very effective!) and move on.

For the love of poetry, keep writing!

Love is in the Air – Part 3

Welcome back and if you would like to catch up with the previous installments click on Part 1 and Part 2.

A Busker’s Love Song – Part 3

He whistles as stifling day of May

And a bitter song cling by his side;

He follows starry signs and secretly prays

for the Underdog pub to show him the way

To ease this pain.  Behind a wall of noise

five jesters take shots of his rusty stubble.

A trumpet’s cry tears the air above all those

who gather around legend turned to rubble.

And there is more next week…

Prose for Thought

Crawling out of the Poetic Rut

Inspired by a recent article on the Brain Pickings website I decided to set myself a few writing challenges – mainly to re-gain focus and to write with intention to stretch my Muse a wee bit (yes, she has become a little bit too comfy where she is right now).

So I did some browsing and put together my own list of writing prompts that I will use for the next few months.

My first one was Paperclips and Trains and resulted in a poem about a call centre.  This is a first draft and very much work in progress but happy to hear your thoughts.

Call Centre

At first
explosion of noise in a row of phones, gongs
of ringtones, faceless voices in discord: bored,
chirpy, confused, irate, ‘Whatever you say sir’
‘It does not matter’, chattering fingers drum
keyboards, screens flare up with targets,
excel, always, think success even when you fail

to impress that new girl two desks away.

The lucky ones escape at lunch time, huddle outside,

 stare at blue smoke rings disperse to staccato of trains
going anywhere but here.  The railway peters out
into the silent hills. The employees shuffle back

 to their chairs, put their customer first and tighten

the cords round their turkey necks. Beam, do not dare

to leave them hanging in no resolution air.

Live and breathe customer care.

5.01pm – a light bulb hesitates, then goes out; distant
billboard swallows the last slice of the sun and a man
hides his head behind the fence of his hands. A chain
of paperclips sways on his outbreath. One last ring.
Then silence.

I am linking this post with Stephanie at The Beautiful Misbehaviour (a great website for creative women) – Writing Warriors is a great new linky where you can share your writing progress, exorcise your poetic demons or ask for feedback on your work.

Love is in the Air – Part 1

I wrote this poem when I was in my hometown Krakow last autumn.  I spent days  strolling around the Old Town and observing crowds, pigeons and eccentric street artists.  As a result,  I dedicate this short love story to Krakow and its buskers – here is Part 1 and Part 2 follows next week.

A Busker’s Love Song – Part 1

I

Pink-glazed clouds hoist frayed sails

over pilgrims, tourists, ghosts; they flock

around a busker as he folds his wings, frail

golden sheen and half the feathers lost

(more…)

Making Memories

This poetry was inspired by my favourite granite city, lovely family, BlueBeretGranny’s profiteroles (Mary Berry eat your heart out!) and one Christmas tree.

I already look forward to Christmas 2014!

Aberdeen

She, who got into her head

that she was Midas’ daughter,

turned the gold of twilight to lead

(more…)