All posts by kathyrollinson

About kathyrollinson

I am a self-published author on Amazon. I have written and published six books, on Amazon and CreateSpace. The 'Fallyn Trilogy,' 'A Twist of Fairy Tales,' Maranda the Mermaid'.All fantasy, children's books. In complete contrast, I have written 'The Rode to Justice,' (John Rode, first-grade detective, murder stories). I hope to publish my faction book, in March/April 2016, mostly set in Africa, 'Where Lies My Heart.' I've won the Ian Govan Award, 2015, for this book.

A thousand moons

Jane Dougherty Writes

For Magnetic Saturday in honour of Elusive Trope whatever he’s about today.

The oracle of the fridge magnets has a clear theme.

A thousand moons Screen Shot 2016-08-20 at 17.50.14

light the sky above,

singing winds

rock the black lake,

as cool forest shadows

recall summer beauty.

Red raw rain,Screen Shot 2016-08-20 at 18.11.42

blood beat

of moon music,

playing to you.

Roses watch

as black petals rust.

Sing to the purple sky,

let it soar.

No moon,Screen Shot 2016-08-20 at 18.44.54

forest sleeps

through summer storm.

I sing,

waxing purple,

as honey music

rains like sunlight

on water.

View original post

Advertisements

Blackbirds

Jane Dougherty Writes

A sad postscript to my post about the midnight blackbird drama. After finding two of the chicks dead yesterday, Finbar found a third one this morning. One had drowned in the rain water butt the two others were just dead, from exhaustion, cold, fear, maybe, but not the cats.The blackbirds have gone, either taking the last chick somewhere safer, or because they have none left.

800px-Little_Birdie_Seen_From_Very_Closely_Up

Nature’s law,

Build a haven, fragile and ephemeral,

Hunt the bright glint of beetle and worm,

Back and forth, ever on the wing, no time to rest,

No oblivion in sleep, ever-watchful,

For the night hunters prowl.

Ask for little,

For no stark, white winter death,

No spring flood.

Hope for only hunger but not famine,

Give no names, no love, to the open mouths,

Clamouring one day, cold and still the next,

For the task is to be redone while the summer lasts,

Over…

View original post 35 more words

A LETTER TO RUPERT BROOKE, POET 1887 – 1915, BY K J ROLLINSON

MARSocial Author Business Enhancement Dragon Post

Rupert Brooke

Dear Rupert,

May I call you this, for I feel I know you? I MUST write this letter to you because you are so real to me. I agree with the Irish poet W.B.Yeats, who described you as ‘the handsomest young man in England’. You are one of my favourite poets – not only for your good looks, but because of your poems too. One of your famous poems, and one of my favourite is ‘The Soldier’, and I quote it below.

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there’s some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England’s, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And…

View original post 338 more words

POEM – A GOLDEN BOY BY K J ROLLINSON

MARSocial Author Business Enhancement Dragon Post

In the ‘Writing Magazine,’ a UK magazine, there is a lady, Alice Chisholm, who invites you to send in your poems for a critique. I have sent the following poem to her. The magazine only comes out once a month, and if my poem does appear I will let you know the critique.

The poem was inspired when a friend and I went to a restaurant, by the sea, and watched this blond boy gazing out to sea and sometimes playing on a rock.

THE GOLDEN BOY

He stood in the moonlight as he called to Jupiter.
I thought him Ariel, a lion cub of God,
with golden mane, limbs pale against the dark of the sea.
I thought him a prince of the waves, Poseidon’s son. 

I watched in awe this golden boy, attune with nature,
as he commanded the restless sea to follow
his rhythmic dance. Naked torso…

View original post 118 more words

ODE TO AUTUMN

Annika Perry's Writing Blog

Autumn colours

As we slowly slide into Autumn with the first frost of the new season stealing upon us last night I awakened to the sweet crisp chill air. 

This brought to mind a poet whose work I relished as young; snuggled into bed I would read his words aloud, enraptured by their beauty, their cadence; his verse so rich and full in sound and meaning.

Below is a poem by John Keats that captures this season so well. Take a minute or two to read aloud, revelling in his exquisite eloquent Romantic poetry.

Ode To Autumn

1.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, 

        Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;

    Conspiring with him how to load and bless

        With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;

    To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,

        And fill…

View original post 293 more words

TRANSCENDENCE

Fiddlbarb's Blog

Sunshine 10

TRANSCENDENCE

Electrifying energy,
mystic melodies divine,
filled with a mixture
of darkness and light —
from ethereal moments
transcending the mind
to the recesses
and dark corners
where sun never shines
and where birds never sing,
where it’s impossible to know
the twists and turns life brings.

But I’m curious about them
and fascinated by each one,
especially when finding myself
upon the edge of the dark
and drifting into that narrow space
between day and night
where a sense of adventure
overtakes my fears
while struggling to maintain
that balance I seek.

For upon that fine line
where day meets the night,
I dance as the darkness
descends upon the ebbing light,
embracing each one of them
just before the moon and stars
illuminate the darkness
and transcend it all
with a pervasive and subtle glow,
where forever will be imprinted
upon this heart of mine.

For if it…

View original post 18 more words

Interview with Margaret Rowland by K J Rollinson

I’ve reblogged this to Marsocial Poet’s post, in case anyone is interested. Margaret Rowland is a very talented poet.

MARSocial Author Business Enhancement Dragon Post

2014-06-21 16.26.08

This week’s interview is with a very talented lady. She is friend at WordPlay Writers’ Forum, a group we belong to in Spain. Her short stories are delightful, but as she says herself, her first love is poetry. She has a beautiful speaking voice, and she recites her poetry at Open Mic sessions. She once dyed her hair bright pink to recite the following poem. Part of which I copy here. The rest can be seen in ‘Give Voice to Verse’ by Margaret Rowland, available on Amazon.

Crazy Lady

I want to be this crazy old lady
Who dyes her hair pink gives waiters the wink
And doesn’t have to think about consequences
I want to wear spotty tops and stripy bottoms
at the same time, and with odd socks?
I want to,dance all night long, shout at the moon
Stay in bed until noon if I want…………

1. Please…

View original post 545 more words

Bealtaine revels

Jane Dougherty Writes

Painting by William Blake

Oberon, Titania and Puck with Fairies Dancing circa 1786 by William Blake 1757-1827

The fire blazes high and strong,

Surrounded by a happy throng,

Singing, dancing all night long.

*

And in the dawn of spring’s new day,

When all the songs have died away,

Last night’s wishes are here to stay.

*

Homeward now, hair rumpled, clothes torn,

They yawn and smile and sleep lovelorn,

Dreaming of winter and bairns to be born.

View original post