Poetry from my first book of poems on Amazon - Kaleidoscope
All in, All in, Wherever you Are!
Voice trails of childhood games
echo through the dusk filled streets.
Alone, realising they’ve gone,
no longer searching for me,
and leaving me hiding in an empty garden shed
with a stray cat brushing against my legs,
I begin the long walk home.
Passing the Empire, wondering what’s showing,
the queue is going in, now I’ll be for it,
it’s later than I think.
I dawdle under the purple glow of gas lamps,
admire my alien skin, the iron-clad transporter clanks
and groans across the Tees.
I don’t look down, imagining
the black, oily water swirling beneath my feet,
closing over my head. I shudder,
the thrill of being out so late is gone,
the choking smell of coal fires in damp air,
and the yellow smog from the chemical factory
burns my throat.
Glimpsing through dank, dark alleyways
an exciting glow of dog racetrack behind the shops,
a strange smell from the funeral parlour
fills me with imagined horrors,
makes my flesh creep.
Leaping the whirling chip shop papers along the street,
I thump a row of dustbins, my grandma’s home in sight,
and shout to keep the ghouls away,
clench my fists, and loudly smack my sandals
along the back to backs.
Then down the narrow passageway,
where painted bricks sweat water droplets,
and into kitchen warmth.
Under the dim light from the single bulb,
the dog turning himself inside out in greeting,
I hear the crunch of the mangle,
sniff the smell of scorching tea towel, and baking bread.
Wriggling on the slippy, leathery seat behind the gate-legged table,
Dislodging the bobbled chenille cloth in search of homemade cake,
I scatter jigsaw pieces to shouts of stop it,
and happily tell a garbled tale of why I’m late.
from Kaleidoscope
C.A.Carr.
Gold Dust For the Writers Amongst Us
I am nearly…hush…have been writing for ten years after many careers, achieved an MA in creative writing with merit recently, and I know you are probably inundated with suggestions, forgive me, but John Truby’s book ‘The Anatomy of Story’ should be shouted from the roof tops….it is pure gold. It added so much to my knowledge of creative writing, should have saved the expense of courses and bought his book instead.
Being Creative is Magical
With the help of my grandson James Brinkler, who is a website designer, I have begun again to use the website he created for me. It is a struggle to remember what to do, after such a long break from Wordpress, but I am relearning slowly with his help. I struggle with writing my books and poetry again, there is so much to finish, but it is a step in the right direction.
In the meantime, I am enjoying sketching copies of illustrations for personal Christmas cards, just like my mother used to sketch Winnie the Pooh drawings onto the dyed shell of a breakfast egg on Easter morning. In the days when it was possible to be creative and there were no chocolate eggs.
A New Beginning
It takes all my courage to continue writing, but with the help of my grandson, James Brinkler, who designs websites, I’m attempting to start again. It is only recently that my dear husband died, after fifty years together of happy marriage, and I am hoping, through these posts,to begin again. I have so much to finish. The sequel toFirst Wolf, to be called Kendra, is only a few rough pages, but I am making progress with first my book for adults, Snakeskin and Failed Feathers. Then there is the second book of my poetry to complete.