Recent forays into pottery…

I have decided to show you some pictures of my pottery,

I have been doing this for something like 1.5 yrs now and I can’t remember if I have mentioned it, but I am really beginning to love it and develop a style…

I go to a class every week with the lovely Jess from Jessica Jordan Ceramics because it is definitely the sort of art in which you need tuition. Jess is extremely talented, and seems to know everything there is to know about clay and pottery…certainly everything I have needed to know so far!!

There is still room for improvement but I am proud of how far I have come 🙂


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Busy: A Senryu

One last thing —
To fill the space between
tick and tock.

Inspired by a Haiku written by Mick Canning here 🙂 He made me think about time and how we spend it.

Frosty morning: a Haiku

Morning sunlight–
The sound of crunching feet
on frozen ground

The first line of this was a bit of a poser, I actually tried three different ones…

Stark white branches–
The sound of crunching feet
on frozen ground


Sunlight through branches–
The sound of crunching feet
on frozen ground

I think I prefer the “stark white branches” version best, but I was trying to be inspired by the picture and the one I chose seemed to fit best…

Flash Fiction 2: Smoke rings of my mind.

Second attempt at flash fiction in this challenge… the prompt was:
“the smoke hung so thick in the library’s rafters that she could read words in it”

Chloe lay on her back on the smooth wooden floor surrounded by the smell of old books and woodsmoke, she thought, not for the first time that the old library was the best place in the world. This time was different though, this time the peace of the place was somewhat marred by a distant buzz of people. People rushing, people stomping and quite possibly people yelling although that seemed quieter than she would expect.

She lay calm in the midst of the commotion looking up past the mezzanine levels filled with leather bound tomes to the ceiling where the oak beams showed the buildings skeleton. The smoke hung so thick in the library’s rafters she could read words in it, which struck Chloe as strange, so strange in fact that she couldn’t understand why no one around her was remarking on it. Smoke was not usually particularly literate, maybe it was a particular feature of library smoke that none knew about until now.

Words were rising within the smoke and floating away through the stacks, words such as “freedom”, “peace”, “adventure”, and “please, now is the time”

At this last set of words, this odd imploring phrase, Chloe decided to follow these vaporous messages which seemed to be just for her. She got to her feet and set off between the shelves. With an experimental finger she prodded the words which dissipated around her like the smoke they were, with new ones forming a few meres ahead. When, at last, she was led to the door of the library, she burst through into a cacophony of light and sound.

Blaring sirens and blinding spotlights coming at her from all angles. She felt very alone, and wistful for the peace of the library floor, when a news headline cut through the chaos:

“Woman found dead in library fire, student Chloe Philips (22) died of smoke inhalation”

Flash fiction 1: cherries like rubies…

The first flash fiction prompt was: a time when an impulse buy meat to intergalactic war. I am not 100% confident in this one but it was short and quick and practice makes perfect I have heard…

Harry had stared at his Belgian bun for about 5 mins before eating it, it was an unusually fine example with a cherry on the top which resembled some sort of exotic precious stone. Actually, it probably resembled a ruby, but Harry wasn’t really well up on precious stones.

He had picked it up without really thinking, drawn in by the shiny icing. He had contemplated just leaving it in the bag and forgetting it existed, after all he hadn’t spent £100s on a personal trainer to go around eating Belgian buns all willy nilly.

None of this bun related angst occurred to him at all when he was being dragged from his bed, extremely confused and mostly naked, at 3 in the morning by some extremely tall well-armed fellows who looked suspiciously like they had scales beneath their face masks.

The bun incident was completely eclipsed by the fact that he had been dragged through the streets

and bundled into the back of a small capsule by these chaps with scales, he had decided they

definitely had scales, who kept repeating the same phrase.

͞your guardianship of the seed is at an end; the fragments must be salvaged.͟

Harry could not make head nor tail of this, he had decided during the journey to the ship that the tall

fellows had drugged him. After his initial terror and confusion, he seemed to be considerably calmer

than he would have expected under the circumstances. He was even surprisingly unconcerned by his

lack of trousers, he was not normally at all comfortable with nudity, especially his own!

He stood now in the centre of a large room looking down on the earth from a huge viewing window which harry had hitherto believed to be the stuff of science fiction. He was vaguely aware of a heated discussion between these creatures and 10 Downing street. He heard words such as ͞failed experiment͟, ͞immediate consequences͟ and ͞extreme danger of destruction if allowed to become emotional͟ amongst stammered replies from an increasingly flustered Prime Minister

As he stood wondering whether he should be more worried about ͞danger of destruction͟, he heard the phrase: ͞The ruby universe fragments must be extracted before catastrophic meltdown͟

The word ruby jogged a memory in the back of Harry’s mind of that shiny sweet icing. He was desperately trying to work out how this memory could possibly help him when there was a sudden burst of brightness on the view screen. Ships started to appear form all sides shooting extremely unlikely lasers from their hulls. The room started to shake and Harry finally started to panic.

A rumbling started in his stomach. As the panic rose so did an extreme warmth and rosy brightness emanating from Harry himself. He finally remembered about the Belgian bun, just as everything faded to red.