wordsaremychocolate – where on earth did you get that name??

I went over to some friends for dinner recently, and this was the in phrase round their table – people were saying, when mushroom soup arrived, “I love mushrooms, mushrooms are my chocolate!” or “bacon is my chocolate!” So when I was thinking about trying my hand at a blog, since I’ve always loved words and spend a lot of time mulling them over with people in writing groups, it seemed the thing to call it…..

Incidentally, the friends we were visiting are passionate art collectors, particularly Mark who’s been a friend since school. Not that they’re rich, they live in an ordinary house, but it’s full of paintings and pottery – beautiful sculpted ceramics. They don’t buy what’s expensive and fashionable, but Mark trusts his own taste and follows the cutting edge in what he likes. And he was saying that when the house is full up he donates a slice of his collection to a museum and or public art gallery and starts again! Now that’s confidence – and being free of attachment to your possessions – and making your mark on the future. He’s making a donation to Swindon art gallery, because he felt they really needed some good up to date stuff. I like his style!

We need more like him, to buy young artists’ and potters’ best work and give them encouragement and appreciation, and then donate it to an art gallery and buy some more – what’s not to like??

On a more practical note, we’re helping with the organisation of my son’s wedding at the moment – negotiations about the cake this morning. There’s a definite tendency, where wedding arrangements are being made, for everybody who can supply or make things to think that you have infinite time and money at your disposal. Of course that would be great….. but it’s not the real world, not in this house anyway! I got told off by a shop this week for not being free at 11am on a Wednesday. I can’t get my head around this. Do they assume everybody is unemployed….. and if so, how do they think they can afford their prices?

High grey (rather rainy) skies this morning: I’ll post a poem about swans, as there are some flying across. In the last verse there’s an unusual word. “Limned” means to draw or paint like the animals on an illuminated manuscript.

                                        On two swans, flying


Like haikus written on the wind,

matched wing on wing precisely so,

smooth neck by neck, great-striding by

a giant’s pace across the sky,

– what do you voyage so far to find?

An ancient priest at sacrifice

would pause before the fatal blow

if two such swans, like mystic words,

gods’ sendings, mute-prophetic birds

wrote on the sky their scrawled device

foretelling battles won or lost,

a shrine to seek and far to go,

the doom of empires, fall of kings

in sighing of momentous wings,

the earthbound left to count the cost.

Reproach us from our grubby ponds,

where children look out stones to throw!

In meagre parks you bend your head

to pick up scraps of mouldy bread,

like a proud unicorn in bonds.

You two strange voyagers, onward fly,

limned on the clouds like snow on snow,

no one may know their destiny

so, sunset bound, fly westerly,

your element the boundless sky.

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