Taking a chance, I burrow into the furrows of my freckle-spattered skin, digging out the white-grey hairs to display them, proudly, alongside any golden reminders of another me. There are so many versions of myself, in evidence still – each one as worthy of existence, as the one before that lingers, hanging onContinue reading “Savvy Poem – Enhancement”
Tag Archives: mid-life
55: Finiarted
Finished. Finished the day job. Started my life as me. Finiarted. Copyright owned by Jay Cool, July 2019 Image depicting my reaction a few moments ago, when Hubby returned from the supermarket minus the celebratory bottle of fizz I sent him out for, by Domenic Hoffmann from Pixabay
29: A Hat Day
What better thing to do on a windy and woefully wet Saturday, than a spot of hat modelling? One’s cluttered cloakroom shelf makes the ideal backdrop for the shoot! And, yes, I know it’s obvious that I’m doing my best to promote Suffolk Punch Comedy Club gigs, by wearing such a fabulous t-shirt!* But, IContinue reading “29: A Hat Day”
Today: A Poem Inspired by Matt Haig
Disclaimer: If you choose to purchase, via the link to Amazon, the book associated with this poem, I will receive a commission – at no cost to yourself. Today. Today, as I await my special breakfast, my special for-being-a-mother breakfast, I will read all of the books I bought yesterday – well, perhaps just oneContinue reading “Today: A Poem Inspired by Matt Haig”
Corrugated
Hands. Skin of middle-age – corrugated. Not quite attractive, but just enough, to keep the rain out – to keep the muscles, and the bones, inside, but not enough, to prevent the veins from bobbling on out of my me-ness. Copyright owned by Jay Cool, March 2019 Image by RonPorter, courtesy ofContinue reading “Corrugated”
‘Too old to love’?
‘Sand Sculpture’ courtesy of Pixabay.com Chance cheating, I tip my toes on the pool floor. Forward frogging, I propel myself onwards. Foam floating into third place, I collect my prize. Proud punching the air, I laugh. Nothing nudging. Until now. Now, forty-one years since. No prize am I for a novel-man of fifty. Bottom bulging,Continue reading “‘Too old to love’?”
The Silly-Savvy Salopian in Suffolk: read, believe and write ... 