Look a lovely new award!

Dear Missus Tribble was kind enough to drop  a little present in to my email which I only found  this evening!! – thank you so very much!

Now I have to tell you seven random things about myself:

1 I love the Tour de France

2 I love books,tv shows and films with Vampires, Warewolves , Witches and the like!

3 Love cats and dogs.

4 I want to do something for others , I want to help yes corny I know I want make the world a better place!

5  I like AbbA and Alabama 3

6 Alanis Morisette  and Imogen Heap sing my life.

7 I love WordPress and blogging

Now I need to nominate seven lovely people. This should be easy!



LadyBlueRose’s Thoughts Into Words


Betty Hayes Albright

Maggie Mae

Mrs. Peacock

Holly Anne



And so many many more sorry if you are not mentioned you all deserve this award!! Thanks again to Missus Tribble 

Trapped insided my Head

Black to the left of me black to the right above and below me too, all around is endless night.

Am I dreaming am awake, this constant gnawing at my soul is getting more than I can take.

The more I struggle the more it hurts I scream and I shout in the silence   my mind disconcerts.

Am I alone in here I do not know I reach out my hand and I feel around slow.

No don’t you give up now you must not sleep whatever is happening your conciousness you must keep.

Tired, tired I am so painfully tired but I must not sleep. If I do the monsters will rip my out my senses, I need them I need them my senses I must keep.

Tied down, I am tied down. It feels like there are tubes in and out of me running to ground. Lost, I feel lost why cannot I not see why isn’t anyone looking for me. Help me, help me come save me and set me free. Please , please someone answer my plea!

Poetry Challenge #7 10/06/2012


Death, Desolation, Destruction! Men taught hate men taught to wait til death comes to claim them.

photo credits google image

Stink, Stench Smell of bodies sinking in the mud tell their own story. Is this man’s best glory.

Drench, Damp Dripping their guns are filthy,bullets all spent . They all gave up hoping.

Boom,Bang Whistle,  they no longer hear they no longer fear the hair on their necks no longer bristle.

Dead all dead and left to rot . This was the war to end all wars ……….. How soon we all forgot

Sear, Smear Singe .

photo credits google image

Nothing has changed in the theatre of war they are battling still on the fringe they know the score.

Shout , Scream Squeal they will still advance they have lost the ability to feel.

No longer human their souls are worn out and why are they out there? Can you answer beyond any doubt.

Sun ,Sand Storms fight for your life, fight for your sight fight freedom for all if that day will ever dawn wait to hear the cock call!

Death, Desolation, Destruction! Men taught hate men taught to wait til death comes to claim them.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++

Today I am taking another step away from the norm I have used a poem I have written. I published this poem on my blog last year but it is one I started when I was about 8yrs of age. We were asked to write a two line poem on war. My two lines were ‘ Death, Desolation, Destruction! Men taught hate men taught to wait til death comes to claim them.’

Nothing much was said of my lines but I never ever forgot them and so last year having watched a history programme about the 1st and 2nd war followed by a distressing news bulletin about the war in Afghanistan  I picked up those lines and wrote on.

What have I tried to convey in this poem? I have said it all before but I shall say it again. War, ever since the first man or woman picked up a rock and threw it in anger, has been with us. The only changes have been that the weapons have become more evil and dastardly as time has gone on and they will, no doubt get even worse as time goes on.  Women and children have always suffered and no one ,except the politicians and arms dealers ever again from war. Young men and women are sent out to fight some as cannon fodder.  Some to die on the theatre of war others die later from trauma..mental or physical or even both.

war stinks,war sucks,war is wrong  but like fleas, death and the tax man war is always with us.


Poetry Challenge #7 is to create a journal of links and your reactions to poems by established (living or dead poets.) Details are here.  Example response is here. Mr. Linky for Challenge #7 is directly below:

photo credits


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