It’s less than a week since I arrived back from Sweden and the transition to everyday life has been harder than ever. The break was perfect on all levels and once home I realised that my body made it across the North Sea whilst my soul was still residing in the summer house, wandering blissfully on the land, clambering on the rocks.

Senetti with Petunias and Flowering Chives
Senetti with Petunias and Flowering Chives

To aid the unification of body and soul I set out to do what often helps in these circumstances. When I was younger that would have meant a splurge at a bookstore after hours of browsing. As an adult and keen gardener I headed to the local garden centre and spurred on by the rare warm sunshine the temperamental trolley was soon filled to the brim. Muttering at the trolley under my breath I steered the plants to the car and kept my fingers crossed for a sunny Sunday.

Senetti with Petunias
Senetti with Petunias

Today I woke to fair weather and keen to get started I left the housework and headed out to the garden. Quickly a new solace took hold of me, gently pulling or cutting the plants from the tight pots and planting with joy. Childlike glee swept over me as soil spilt onto the grass, the patio; little granules of compost sneaking their way into my shoes. One old and tired plant needed to be replaced and proved particularly stubborn on being pulled out. I tried digging it out with a trowel. No luck. Then it was time for the fork and with satisfaction I attacked the rock hard roots, hacking away! At last, I managed to replace it with a beautiful new flower. I could feel my spirits lift.


A few hours later everything was in place…happily including my soul! 

Nemesia 'Wisley Vanilla'
Nemesia ‘Wisley Vanilla’

That is when the idea for this post struck me…another book-style post is partially written but just didn’t feel right at the moment and I had initially left comments on my last post on Bert Håge Häverö but turned them off at the last moment as I was dazed and exhausted upon my return to the UK, feeling overwhelmed to respond.


Thank you all for being patient; I’m slowly catching up on your blogs and look forward to easing into normality in the coming week. Meanwhile, I want to finish with one poem featured on Brainpickings this morning. Maria Popova is a gifted writer and her articles are always a treat and consist of interesting, informative and thought-provoking essays on writers/artists/philosophers and it was:

‘Founded in 2006 as a weekly email that went out to seven friends and eventually brought online, the site was included in the Library of Congress permanent web archive in 2012.’ *

Today’s feature on poet Jane Hirshfield is particularly relevant as it was Earth Day yesterday. Enjoy.

by Jane Hirshfield

On the fifth day
the scientists who studied the rivers
were forbidden to speak
or to study the rivers.

The scientists who studied the air
were told not to speak of the air,
and the ones who worked for the farmers
were silenced,
and the ones who worked for the bees.

Someone, from deep in the Badlands,
began posting facts.

The facts were told not to speak
and were taken away.
The facts, surprised to be taken, were silent. 

Now it was only the rivers
that spoke of the rivers,
and only the wind that spoke of its bees,

while the unpausing factual buds of the fruit trees
continued to move toward their fruit.

The silence spoke loudly of silence,
and the rivers kept speaking,
of rivers, of boulders and air. 

In gravity, earless and tongueless,
the untested rivers kept speaking.

Bus drivers, shelf stockers,
code writers, machinists, accountants,
lab techs, cellists kept speaking.

They spoke, the fifth day,
of silence.

* From Maria Povova on



Senetti with Petunias
Senetti with Petunias

The Flying Trapeze


My recent Writing Group prompt proved rather challenging; involving both a genre in which I’m not adept as well as a topic that sadly holds little interest. 

The topic was circus and more on that later. The genre was a limerick – although I enjoy composing some for a laugh after dinner, I’ve never seriously tried to write any. 

My first port of call was ever reliable google and helpfully I discovered the basic principles of limericks; the first, second and fifth line have the same number of syllables (approx 7 -10) and rhyme, whilst the third and fourth rhyme but have fewer syllables (4-6). As often happens one site led to another and soon I became engrossed in the history of limericks, which came from Ireland but are thought to have originated in France and first appeared in England in the Middle Ages. To read more about limericks click here.

Circuses never held any fascination for me and way before the current spate of scary clowns, I’ve always found clowns frightening. On top of that I worried about the exploitation of animals which meant I have never been to a circus. However, I would be thrilled to witness the exploits of acrobats and trapeze artists, such as the ones in the limerick below – hopefully under far less eventful circumstances!

On writing my limerick I approached it from the story first and sketched this out. Quickly I realised this would not be one or even two limericks, rather an epic limerick or perhaps more accurately a poem with limerick verses. After endless revisions, tapping out the syllables repeatedly, this was my contribution – I hope you enjoy it. 

I surprised myself by have an absolute ball writing the limerick and ‘perfecting’ it – just proving that it’s always good to write outside one’s comfort zone. You never know what will emerge!


The Flying Trapeze

The man on the flying trapeze

He felt just a little unease

The girl he had missed

The Earth she had kissed

And died of a fatal disease.


He now had death on his hands

Which he did not understand

Had he been tricked?

Had he been picked?

As part of somebody’s plan.


In a seat in the back of the tent

Sat the person who had the intent

So pleased that their dream

Achieved by their scheme

She smiled, gave a laugh and then went.


The cause of the sudden demise

Was about her increase in size

She’d put on weight

And in that state

Her future was not a surprise.


A justified lesson would be taught

The ultimate revenge must be sought

She who took her place

Would fall on her face

And the culprit would never be caught.


To ensure there would be no scandal 

She took wax from an old church candle

For her anger to cease

She applied candle grease

All along the long trapeze handle.


The man on the flying trapeze 

Had failed in his innocence pleas

He’s now serving time

Without reason or rhyme 

And spends all his time on his knees.

© Annika Perry