Life in Poetry reading, writing, reflecting

Life in Poetry reading, writing, reflecting
April showers bring May flowers

Wednesday, 7 July 2021

⌗IWSG-Wednesday July 7th- Really ? What Indeed ?

  Thank you to all my followers on Blogger and Wordpress for their support and praise for my poem Trapped by the Undertow, published 1st May 2021 on Bandit  Read More section Poetry.

See post, beginning of May, entitled Trapped by the Undertow, Bandit Fiction.

And for their encouragement on the publication of my poem CARTHAGE in ORBIS quarterly Literary Journal June 2021, Issue 196. Subscriptions on

Welcome to

Another writing day for the Insecure Writers' Support Group

Congratulations to Alex Cavanaugh (ninja captain himself and founder of the IWSG) on the publication of his novel CassaDark , release: April 2022. Pre-orders open , see his post on Blogger.

Please give us your news and comment on other blogs participating this month, offering advice and comfort to all the writers out there, grinding away....and who keep writing no matter what.

A LARGE HURRAH for the Insecure Writer's Support Group. Let's keep it alive and thriving.

The question as usual is optional.

July 7 question - What would make you quit writing?

The awesome co-hosts for the July 7 posting of the IWSG are Pat Garcia, Victoria Marie Lees, and Louise – Fundy Blue!

The question as usual is optional, but also as most times, I choose to offer my take on it. I may sometimes shrug and change direction, but I'm not a quitter.

Well this question is certainly a catcher ! Stumble, trip, maybe....but always get up and onwards, to the last breath.

Cut off my hands, sew my mouth shut.... terminate my brain, now that would certainly do the trick.

Like breathing, writing is an essential part of my being and character: making up stories, describing my surroundings and experiences poetically, likewise. Book reviews are also starting to be my thing too. The joy of sharing writing that whispered beyond the pages to hidden corners of your soul, or caused a special string to twang, is becoming on par with creative writing.

So why stop ?

Although the output can seem enormous compared to slim publications, I have always thought that the reward lay first and foremost in the creating and writing. It is a question of keeping a good balance between what you write and how much rejections and bad criticism you are willing and tough enough to take. I will quote my good pen buddy, here, "I'm glad I'm not famous", Yvette Carol, after an open air conference she attended this year by one of New Zealand's leading novelists, Neil Gaiman.

The craft of writing for me is : painting a scene, sharing emotions and ideas; finding just the right word to convey all these; playing with expressions, metaphors, rhythm and rhyme; how the words sit on the page; the voice in my head, insights, a muse, the subconscious, a mood , who knows ? Maybe reader and writer alike could offer some answers.

If ever there are moments of despair, self-doubt and sometimes just pure laziness, the words and stories keep rolling and bugging me until I can set them free on a stage, launching them to live a destiny all their own as characters, settings, dialogues or poetry. Babes flown from the nest of my mind, to be replaced by newborn thoughts which will, most probably than not, find a way to surprise and enchant me, again and again.


Thank you for reading. Please feel free to leave a comment and I will be sure to reply.

My latest photos. JARDINS DES MARTELS, special FĂȘte des Lotus, Japanese Garden near Toulouse France, July 2021


early start after thunderstorm

cosy ceramic houses for little creatures

natural sculptures of water after the rain in lotus leaves

coquille St Jacques !

One day, the Peacock got in the way, while cementing the path.

ever since, he's taken to the top branches of the cedar tree and entertains us with his throaty music.

In full bloom, a wedding cake heart.

Can't do without the temples and deities to look over the gardens

But let's not forget our woodland friends

nor the pond under the weeping willow, to catch our breath,

where the carp lurks and Mr Toad, sitting on the bed, sipping air through a hollow reed,
is waiting, patiently, for Beatrix Potter to invite him to tea on the moss beside the trunk of the tree.

Behold, the sun has come by and the turtle family is drying out on their wooden ledge next to the unfinished Italian basins' fountains.

A last foray into the bamboo wood and it's time to take our bow. Time to wander back along hilly lanes to our homes after a rewarding day, the first of hopefully a new decade.

What a wonderful world Louis Armstrong