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Lorna’s Wisdom, 1
Once upon a time in a blue stone house at the end of my street, lived an elderly, vibrant Soul. Largely she kept to herself. She lived in a blue stone house overlooking the Southern Ocean. Fierce winds...
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The Crone
When I hear the word crone, connotations of an wizened, wrinkly, old lady fill my imagination. Where did this perception come from? Surely a lifetime of conditioning has filtered through into my...
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Lorna’s Wisdom, A Silent Gift
As writers we use words, to create images, feelings, and experiences in the consciousness of our readers. It is largely a silent pursuit. We don’t really talk our books although we may read sections at...
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A Book in My Brain
I have a book in my brain. The aura is misty and the idea vague. It rumbles around inside me, bumping into bits of me, Sometimes my hear flutters, sometimes my stomach churns. I put endless cups of tea...
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Mother
On my writing desk I have a photo of my mother. She laughs at something riotously funny. The image in the sepia tones of time, is someone I never got to know. Her European side locked in the vault of...
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The Old Beauty Case
Writing ‘Schicksal,’ I often came to dead ends. My three children inadvertently helped. I’m sure their intentions whilst pure were never intended to be so far reaching. Some months after my father’s...
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Finding the Way
This poem came to me after my morning walk. Having recently taken a leap of faith, I meet people daily undergoing the same metamorphosis. Change is the best tool to meet the hidden self. Endless, I...
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Anorexia and the Ageing Woman
I’ve lived with the shadow of anorexia for 45 years and have spent a lot of that time trying to understand why this happened to me. It took me nine years to physically recover: weight within a normal...
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My Ongoing Relationship with Food
Food, arghhh! It’s complicated isn’t it? I love food, I really do. Even at my most vulnerable, as a restrictive anorexic, I loved food. I loved watching people enjoy food. ButI loved chips and...
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The Girl with Spots on her Dress
Love spots? I do. I’m wading deep. Doves coo and immediately I’m back home, a child barefoot in the back yard among the fruit trees, Gardenia in the air. I’m unravelling. The past and present co-exist...
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In the Gap
I’ve been home two weeks exploring the new me. The changes astound me. An avid talker, I’ve descended into an eerie silence. The need to express an opinion on everything has vanished. My poetry, a way...
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