Tomorrow could be too late, I wish I could change that date.

Remembering Dolores O’Riordan…..


Weekly Photo Challenge: Scale

Following a recent trip to the Yorkshire Sculpture Park a review of some of my photographs prompted questions of scale amongst friends, interest in a park most were unfamilar with, and plans for a return visit for myself. As you can imagine I took many pictures and have limited myself here to just two of the sculptures (Network By Thomas J Price and Caldera by Tony Cragg)  I really enjoyed viewing.

This is my entry for this weeks Daily Post Weekly Photo challenge: Scale.

“O that Abstract Garden” by Ben Okri

Rereading this poem…

O that Abstract Garden

O that abstract garden of being
Tells me to be brave, and clear,
In the fire of living,
And in the journey through the year.
So I will grow me like an oak tree
And make life’s honey like a bee.
Each day I will walk an interesting mile
And with the sun I’ll share a smile.
I will play again like a child,
And celebrate what’s wild.
I will swim in every sea or river,
And reflect the light of the sublime giver.
I will be at ease with opposition,
And will cultivate intuition.
I will walk the surprising streets,
And dance to life’s unexpected beats.
I will notice all the phases of the moon
And try not to act too late or too soon.
I will write something new every day
And look at paintings in an alternative way.
I’ll not dream the same way twice;
But I’ll not be shy to repeat what’s nice.
I’ll have the courage, when needed, to change;
And I won’t forget that life is strange.
And so I’ll learn to love the simple things
As well as the complexity that life brings.
Good or bad I’ll learn to treat the same
And I’ll not forget that it’s all a mysterious game.
I’ll not let that general fear of death run my life
And I’ll make magic even out of strife.
Into the higher realms I will enter
And make my corner the centre.
O that abstract garden, make me clear,
Make me brave, without fear.
I intend to love this rich new year

(Copyright, Ben Okri, December 2010.)


Buchi Emecheta’s Legacy: Women are not Second-class citizens – David Adeleke

I read alot of her books as a teenager, and was very sad to hear that she had passed away at the end of January 2017. This year I plan to read her books again. This post gives a great insight into the author and her work.


buchi-emechetaI was in SS2 when I first read Buchi Emecheta’s The Joys of Motherhood. Like most of my classmates, I was only concerned about doing well in the Literature tests and exams. All that talk about Nnu Ego and motherhood meant very little to me and so I didn’t understand most of what I was reading. Or maybe I understood but the weight of the subject matter hadn’t dawned on me yet. Many years later, it has become impossible for me to ignore the burden and pain that women go through every day – now when I read The Joys of Motherhood, it is enough to weigh me down. Emecheta did not pluck Nnu Ego’s story of suffering, sorrow and eventual loneliness out of thin air; it is a complex and authentic illustration of what many mothers in Nigeria and Africa go through every day.

On Wednesday, January 25…

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The Pigeon -Hole, a poem by Mabel Segun

This poem by Mabel Segun is a very popular post I am guessing it’s on a number of reading lists. Time to enjoy it again.
“But self-knowledge comes too late….” is one of my favourite lines of this poem.


How I wish I could pigeon-hole myself

and neatly fix a label on!

But self-knowledge comes too late

And by the time I’ve known myself

I am no longer what I was.

I knew a woman once

who had a delinquent child.

She never had a moment’s peace of mind

waiting in constant fear,

listening for the dreaded knock

and the cold tones of policeman:

“Madam, you’re wanted at the station”

I don’t know if the knock ever came

but she feared on right till

we moved away from the street.

She used to say

“It’s the uncertainty that worries me –

if only I knew for certain…”

If I only knew for certain

What my delinquent self would do…

But I never know until the deed is done

And I live on fearing,

wondering which part of me will be supreme –

the old and tested one, the present

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