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Day 5: Time for an ekphrastic poetry prompt. Write a poem in response to Grayson Perry’s ‘Vote Alan Measles for God’. I researched the artist and learned that he created a fantasy life involving his teddy bear who became something of a “father-figure”.

Alan Measles

He sits on the end of my bed

Innocently inanimate by day.

Floppy limbed and softly napped.

Eyes embroidered and unseeing.


But night.

The house is quiet.

And dark.


Alan Measles awakes.

Eyes open and glaring red

Slashing teeth snapping at the dark air.

I look out from under the covers and he’s standing in front of my face

So close I can feel the heat from his fur.

His claws flash past my cheek and I think I can feel a scratch

Think I can feel a trickle of blood

But I daren’t move to feel it.

I can see something grasped in his fist.

Metal. Glass. A needle. A plunger.

He moves closer, waving the syringe menacingly.

Ready to inject me with its horrific virus.

Ready to infect me with the appalling life threatening disease of adulthood.

I clutch the sheets tighter.


I begin to whimper.

I don’t want to grow up.

Not yet.


Morning comes.

He sits on the end of my bed.

Floppy limbed and softly napped.

Eyes embroidered but all-seeing.



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Poem A Day May: Day 4
Write a poem from the point of view of a favourite character from a film or book.
(A lighthearted draft)

The Edge of Reason

Do NOT snigger as I totter
past on vertiginous heels that threaten
to topple me
chest first onto the floor.
They may be more Brantano than Louboutin
But they still make my calves look slim…ish.

This morning I washed my own hair
I didn’t get it “done” into cappucino
and crème caramel waves.
I’m more Superdrug than Oribe
I’m more curly frizz than sleek tresses
But it still smells of papaya and coconut.

You may know all about contouring
while I have only just learned to use blusher
in subtle shades
and suck in my cheeks while I do it
I may use more No.7 than La Mere
But I’m still wrinkle-free…mostly

You’re all Chanel and I’m more Dorothy Perkins
I’m more M&S than Agent Provocateur
But don’t look down your
rhinoplasticised nose at me
YOU may think that
you epitomise cool and that I epitomise lukewarm
But…Mark Darcy loves ME!

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Fib is an experimental Western poetry form, bearing similarities to haiku, but based on the Fibonacci Sequence. Write a poem that follows the Fibonacci sequence.  My poem follows the sequence thus: 1/1/2/3/5/8/13/8/5/3/2/1/1

‘The Sea’



waves hiss

swell and flow

backwards now forwards

sea spittle soaking into sand

depositing rubber strips of salty mermaid’s purse

coiled wetly on their gritty bed

teased again by waves

forwards now backwards

ebb and flow

sand shifts



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Day 2: Use 6 random words and incorporate them into a 12 line poem

Tree House

I like to watch the world
Gaping through sliver cracks at the world below.
Always the same place.
Scramble up the tree bent over like an old man
Old man bark-skin scrapes young soft knee-skin.
I’m helpless to stop it so suck sharp breath through tightened lips.
My fingers clutch the still sticky wood as I drag myself through.
Walls gleam solid and true after four loving coats of varnish
Pure golden syrup.
Not yet sweet. Yet a sweet death for an inquisitive bug.

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Short (definitely),  creative (hopefully) bursts in response to given prompts.

Day 1:

I press my hand onto
the cool glass
Warm skin leaves a misty outline –
The breath of angels.
I watch it fade.

A cold, wet droplet
hangs swollen
Then trickles downwards –
The tears of angels.
I watch it flow.

I look past the tear-splattered glass
Gaze through mist at sodden trees.
Drip. Drip.
I sigh.
My dog sighs.
We want to explore but
We’re waiting for the rain to stop.

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Ok. So it might be already paid for, I might be on holiday, but that does NOT mean that I have to behave like I haven’t seen food for months.  I am on a diet.  I am used to a banana and a cup of green tea when at home.  I can do this.

I’ll just have some herbal tea and some fruit.  That coffee smells good. I’ll have that instead of the tea as I need to be awake for some sightseeing later, so it’s medicinal really.

I’ll just have some coffee and some fruit.  And a slice of that holey cheese.

I’ll just have some coffee, some fruit and a slice of cheese…or two.

I’ll just have some coffee and some fruit and a few slices of different types of cheese…and some bread to go with it…and maybe a little tiny, tiny slither of butter because we never have the real stuff at home.

I’ll just have some coffee and some fruit and a few slices of different types of cheese, half a baguette and an ounce of butter.

I’ll just have some sliced cheeses, a baguette, lashings of butter and some slices of melon and pineapple…oh dear, the pineapple juice is making the bread soggy – I’d best get another small plate to put that on.

I’ll just have some sliced cheeses, a baguette, lashings of butter and I’ve got enough room left on the plate for a croissant…maybe two.  On the side plate I have some lovely healthy fruit.  I can make a start on that while I wait my turn to pick up some grilled tomato for the added vitamins.

I’ll just have some sliced cheeses, a baguette, lashings of butter, two croissants and a pain au chocolate. The second plate is now empty so I have plenty of room for some grilled tomato.  And maybe a nice healthy poached egg.

I’ll just have some sliced cheeses, a baguette, lashings of butter, two croissants, a pain au chocolate and a small blob of marmalade.  And one of jam.  On the second plate I’ll just have some grilled tomato, a poached egg…and maybe some scrambled egg in case the poached egg is too runny, or too hard.  Ooh look, maple syrup.

I’ll just have some sliced cheeses, a baguette, lashings of butter, two croissants, a pain au chocolate, marmalade, jam and Nutella.  (Gosh, these plates are small – I almost lost a croissant there!)  Then I’ll just have a little bit of grilled tomato, a poached egg, scrambled egg and maple syrup.  I’ve already had some fruit so that’s me being all nice and healthy.

I’ll just put these down on the table so I can go back and get some coffee.  And maybe a biscuit for afters.

Thank goodness I can exercise self-control.breakfast

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Cake.  There really is something about cake.  Cake for happy days and sad days.  There’s a cake for every occasion.  We spent our childhood yearning after cakes in the shape or princesses or horses or castles.  We spend adulthood trying to make the aforementioned cakes…oh the memories of ice cream cones and half a ton of fondant icing being manipulated into a fairy castle…but I digress.

My stepmommy is fantastic at making cakes.  My stepmommy is really lovely and I am so very glad that she and my dad got together – he absolutely worships her and she is so very good for him.  Something I am grateful for every day.  But that’s another story – and not really mine to tell.  So anyway, my stepmommy makes great cakes.  When she knows we are visiting she always makes a gluten free cake for my awkward gluten-intolerant OH.  And they always rise! And never taste like dust!  (anyone who has eaten GF cake can understand what I am saying).

So the other day it was her birthday.  And I decided that for once she would not have to make the cake and that I would make one for her.  Had I set myself too great a task?  Was it a little like the “oh gosh, of course I can learn to play the saxophone in 2 months”?  Were my culinary skills about to be pushed to their extreme limits?  Well let’s see…

At the moment we are at our lodge in Wales so I don’t have access to my usual array of culinary gadgets. Or shops.  Well, of course there is a supermarket…but it is a one hour round trip away so this means that there is little opportunity for mishaps.  I do have to mention here that buying a gluten free cake, and icing it under the guise that it was made by my own fair hand, did indeed cross my mind.

So I have some class of an electric whisk like thing at the lodge.  I eschewed the old-fashioned wooden spoon.  I knew that GF cakes take a lot of beating or they would resemble thick pancakes.  Butter in.  Castor sugar in.  Whisk on.

Hmm….. buttery sugary mixture all up the walls.  So that wasn’t very successful then was it?  It appears that the whisk-like thingy is so long and floppy that it creates an immense amount of splatter.  I tried short bursts.  I tried longer bursts.  Neither seemed to work.  I had to settle for a pulse-like approach.  I’m sure the wooden spoon would have been quicker.

Eggs were beaten.  Flour was folded.  Lavender was added (don’t knock it till you have tried it – just make sure it is food grade).  I poured it lovingly into the cake tin.  Oh.  So that wasn’t very much then.  It kind of sat there in a measly half inch worth of cake batter.  I think the tin was a bit big.  I just knew the snidey-looking woman in the cake decorating shop had known I would come unstuck – I bet she knew this was some class of a tardis cake tin that would need super volumes of cake mix.  I bet she sniggered all the way home.  Could I face a one hour round trip to purchase a smaller tin?  Nope.  I could not.  I decided I would just bung it in the oven and hope for the best.

Despite my fears, the cake did rise.  But not enough to fill the tin.  So yup, I had to repeat all of the above and make another one (I had only bought one tin).  After almost 2 hours in the kitchen I had managed to make 2 one inch deep cakes.  However luscious they smelled, they were doing very little to emulate the deep and spongy loveliness of my stepmommy’s cakes.

Well, these little beauties got sandwiched together with some rather lovely jam.  Then I had the amazing idea that I would frost the cake.  With vanilla frosting.  Did I mention that I was utterly rubbish at plastering?  Well I am.  I tried though.  Thirty minutes later I was still trying to get to grips with how the spatula both put it on AND managed to take the icing off 2 seconds later!  I don’t think a cake has ever been sworn at so much!

To finish, I carefully placed an iced (and bought) “Happy Birthday” message on the top.  But I wanted more (mainly to cover up the dodgy plastering).  My beady eyes alighted on a pack of sugar stars. But how to get them onto the sides of the cake?  It perilously slid as I began to tip the plate.  Nope, another plan was needed.  So instead I hurled these little stars sideways at the cake – like a Ninja warrior frenziedly throwing shurikens at an unseen enemy.  They stuck into the icing.  I was happy.

So the end result is not the most amazingly pretty cake ever made.  It may not be six inches deep.  It may have used up every last egg known to mankind (or at least to my kitchen) It may have taken an hour to clean off cake mixture from the walls, floors and myself.  But you know what…?  It tasted pretty good.  Happy birthday Stepmommy xxx

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