Commonword Blogs

It's 8, wake, it's late, on the brush and paste, haste, to wake up at 8 is too much to take
Get wet, get set, get dressed, forget, regret, get upset,
It's 9, whine, no sleep divine, but act benign
To board a train, a pain, a bane, the crowd insane, inane
a journey, mundane

Shirt wrinkled, hair draggled, shoes mangled, head rattled, brains addled.
It's 11, reached slaves' haven, now a shaven pseudo maven,
Now work, overwork, rework, call your boss a jerk.
It's 3, work, overwork, rework, deal with your boss' smirk
Now shirk.

Back on Stockport Rd road I spot a red red sled dangling on a shop hook – if it snows this month it’ll be good for when she visits, though Levenshulme is all flat bogs, I could be a husky to her driver, rope round my waist – now would that be hernia territory or good for the heart according to the doctors at the blue cube surgery by car crash junction where I haven’t yet registered? -the one next to the unfinished mosque (Donations dried up? Planning trouble?) - you know the one?

Fire Is Dangerous

Fire Is Dangerous. Never Play With Fire.
This was solemnly told to me by mum on the occasion
Of my half burning the kitchen down trying to see
Whether sliced potato would fry if placed in the grill
Of the cooker with a drop of oil.

‘Half’ was my mum’s exaggeration. Apart from
Blackened windows and a slight charred smell
In the air, the kitchen was untouched.
But I behaved. I did not do any more culinary experiments.

Months later my dad was fixing his car
And could not get a nut loose from a bolt.

Well I have always steered clear from writing too much on blogs as I just saw it as people needing to moan or just talk about themselves a lot.

I would like to apologise for this crude view as I have seen it do so much more, it can be used for fun, to exercise those personal demons and all sorts in fact it is a very useful tool.

Anyway my name is Danni Skerritt and I am a lesser known writer meandering from genre to different medium if it can be written I have tried it or am in the process of making it happen.

“THE World is Maya, an illusion; fools, don’t chase after the transient, it will only cause heartache. Follow the holy path, its difficult brothers and sisters but if you’re vigilant, nothing can delude you. You are free, eternal and full of bliss; don’t become attached to petty material objects. Look at me for inspiration, I’ve taken sanyasa with the click of my fingers and donned the ochre robes. I’m only twenty-five with life before me and yet if I can succeed then all of you can!”

I walked across a crowded lane,
Gathering eyes that ceased to blink
Failed to understand your presents of sympathy,
and the heads that didn't seem to shrink.

Don't look at me with pain,
As none of it I feel,
This life's full of courage and hope,
as I strive and learn the nuances of human beings.

Change may evade me,
and I grow with every step of patience galore,
Indifferent it doesn't make me,
Instead, a lesson to persevere with a smile,
I put in the fore.

So turn back, blink and look deep within,
Think of this face, when a life you want to leave and shun.

Enjoyed an evening with Manchesters literati. Great crowd, great writers no more to be said.

Taxpayers paying the price,
Through the incompetence
Of the privileged few,
Water, electricity, food and the like
Too pricey to maintain.

Ordinary folk selling their cars,
Losing their homes,
Redundant from their jobs,
When will it end?

The courage to be themselves
Diminishing fast,
Rising up to be tested,
The masses unite.

Bankers' blunders,
Ministers' malpractices,
Weighing heavy
On the consciences
Of the righteous.

Working into the grave,
Pensions that don't stretch
To even the most basic of rights
To be properly fed and heated.

This is your chance

If you would talk to me
I would know why
I was in such deep pain
We could avoid the gaping chasm
That holds us in its grip
I could be happy
One of us could be
But your silence
In its loudness
Takes both of us as prisoners

Melanie Duncan ©

Only he
Has the Capacity
To transform
My darker days
His kiss
Releases a thousand butterflies

He is someone
That I both like
And Admire
His personality just shines
Humility, his sweet nector
Oozes from him
Just like the honesty
That is obvious to me

I am who he makes me
I admit this
Because it is what I always required
Experience has taught me to be cautious
But he is infectious
And I have caught him
Happiness spreads through me

I look forward
To every moment we share
As he penetrates my icy exterior
He is the making of me

Melanie Duncan (c)