Of Words and Red Dresses

Guest Post: Leeanna Lazenby

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The Importance Of Words And Red Dresses

Late at night, I laze about in a red lace dress pretending to be a diva and often take a stroll through my Twitter feed to see the latest poetry written by my online acquaintances. Okay, I don’t really wear such a glamorous outfit at all times but I do appreciate reading the talented words of many phenomenal people… and perhaps I should appreciate red dresses more than what I actually do. You will understand why I say this in a moment.

First, I must mention that I am sometimes lucky enough to stumble across Twitterers (as my Mother likes to call us) who have travelled across oceans to meet each other. They record their love affair or journey of meeting up through an exchange of one hundred and forty characters. The funny thing is, we have all done it. Most of us who are part of this tight-knit poetic community have connected with people from across the world in an uncanny, unexpected way. I, personally, have been blessed to find companions all over the place but there is one particular agonizing story that I have been longing to release and share. I was originally going to give the following account via Twitter but prolonged making it public as I was afraid that it could potentially bring my friend harm. I am not sure that I will ever be able to describe her extraordinary light in true form but I was then offered the opportunity to guest feature on this blog.

For this, I am very thankful as I now have a beautiful space to dedicate something to my lost soul sister. Thank you. As you read her tale, please know that I think of her daily.

Once upon a time but not too long ago, I opened a poetry account on Twitter as a way of recording snippets of my creativity. Naturally, I began to network and follow other like-minded individuals.

One day, a girl sent me a message and we exchanged a few words. We started to correspond frequently and eventually switched to emailing so that we could have more elaborate conversations. She was from Egypt and I, London. We were the same age so we could easily talk about boys, celebrities, fashion and life plans but it became much deeper too. We had lengthy discussions about the Higgs Boson experiments, scientific theories and philosophical viewpoints. We were unbelievably similar in countless ways but incredibly different for one catastrophic reason. She was oppressed whereas I had my freedom.  I could make my own choices in life. I was able to work, study, socialise and have friends. She, on the other hand, was confined to being kept at home by her extremely strict parents. They tracked her phone, did not let her have a bank account and withheld her passport in case she tried to leave for a better life. She was subjected to countless physical beatings and verbal insults on many occasions. She was not even able to take a walk since the city in which she lived was suffering from rioting, protests and violence. There was a lot of division between the inhabitants so it was dangerous to go out alone. She wanted to be herself but she was treated as an outcast by her family as they did not understand her personality or attributes.

This resulted in us having to communicate in secret. Sometimes, I would not hear from her for weeks on end but she would Skype/email as soon as she was able to. Her family did not want her to have a friendship with a “westerner” in case I was secretly a male and even when she showed them my photograph, they did not trust her to be telling the truth. They told her that a poet would corrupt her. I was a sinner for being creative. She was a sinner for associating with me.

Over time, she gathered money by any method that she could and kept it hidden. At one point, she managed to have an anonymous poetry book published on Amazon and was earning money through advertising via the online edition of her masterpiece. Her words were magnificent. She wrote in extravagant detail about mermaids and sea creatures without any hints of the daily struggles that she had to put up with in her own reality. She was planning to fight for her emancipation and have the life that she deserved. She was going to flee.

But then it happened. She could not see a way out and she became depressed. Hope left her. We spoke every night on a messenger and I tried to raise her spirits or at least restore her faith but she could not cope with what she had to experience. She attempted suicide. Not once but six times. Yes, six. They put her on medication and locked her away for months. I heard nothing. I thought she was dead.

Then, one day, I received a message from her. She told me that she was okay and that she had been sectioned in a mental institution for the entire duration of her absence. They were releasing her on the condition that she carried on taking the pills. She agreed but I know that she probably never swallowed them. You see, there was never anything wrong with her. The people at fault were her family and those around her. She was a creative type in a life where expression was forbidden.

She used to tell me every day how a woman like her could never be free in her world. It was wrong for her to be filled with passion. Can you even begin to imagine what that would feel like? She could not write, she could not take a walk in the park, she could not do any of the simple things that I took for granted. The most basic thing that she longed for was to be able to wear a red dress because I had one on in my photograph. In fact, I had one on in all of my photographs. She used to imagine that she was going to buy one from the shopping mall and have a collection of vivid lipsticks to match. She would joke that we would, one day, walk around London together and be the “red pair” without having to worry about what anyone thought of us.

She ended her email to me by explaining that my messages had kept her balanced throughout many of her traumatic experiences. She said that she had read my poetry every day and cherished the stories that we had shared with each other in our emails. She was very thankful that I gave her a sense of “normality” because we had our companionship. Her final statement to me exclaimed that my words filled with support/friendship could not have a value put upon them and that it was those very words that saved her life.

This was over two years ago now and I have not had any correspondence with her since. I have tried contacting her but her phone is disconnected, her Twitter is deactivated, her Skype account is permanently offline and the emails bounce back. I do not know what happened to her but she made me promise that if ever she disappeared, I would tell her story and be the voice that she never had. I cannot do her justice with my words but all I can say is this:

“There is a girl, location unknown, who writes of magical creatures and believes in freedom. She is one of many that is misunderstood but despite her sufferings, she is a strong person. Her mind is filled with creativity whilst her tongue whispers stories from her hushed dreams. And somewhere, in the depths of her beautiful imagination, she walks freely… swaying elegantly in her sparkling red dress.

I am forever thankful for all of the lessons, laughter and wisdom that came from this remarkable girl. Who knew that a mere poem on a social media outlet would bring such a wonderful person in to my life. She enriched me with a friendship beyond description.

Thanks to our poetry, two girls from opposite lives were connected and intertwined in a way that seemed impossible. You never know the power that your words will bring.

After looking over this, I would like to add that she is unaware of the impact she has had on my life. She always spoke of being courageous and having strength. She used to tell me, in her own way, that anything is possible and we have to follow our dreams. I can attribute many leaps of faith to her friendship and I only hope that she is out there somewhere experiencing her own slice of freedom.

—–

By Leeanna Lazenby

(Poet with the parrot and the red dress collection.)

***Please note*** I am aware that her individual circumstances are not a reflection of life in Egypt in any particular way. You could be anywhere in the world and experience a very strict family/upbringing. The mention of where she lived was entirely for context to highlight how we connected despite the distance between us.

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Lady in Red

Bio:

“Leeanna is a lover of taking bits and bobs from her head, dreaming of poems and making them in to tiddly chunks of art. Put them all together and you may just have a picture of what’s going on up in there.”

Leeanna wants to say a big thanks to @Beatonm5 for the opportunity to write on his blog. Thank you!


Thank you Leeanna it has been a pleasure having you, and thank you for sharing your story, words alone are not important its also having someone, to take a moment to listen…. When I have a story to tell that’s all I ask for, a listener.

Leeanna and her parrot can be found on the Twitterverse, tweeting poetry  @24LoveHeart24

~B

 

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Of Coffee In The Rain

 

Of Coffee In The Rain

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If you were having coffee with me, I hope you brought an umbrella because it’s been raining heavily in my neck of the woods, almost non-stop. They say it is the La Niña effect, so flooding is expected.

I love the rain, I love dancing in the rain, and I love the sound of rain drops falling,

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but now I wake up singing rain, rain go away come again another day cause it’s a little much too much, and I am running out of clothes to wear.

Rain Drop,

Drop Top,

How can my laundry dry when it rains non-stop?

If you were having coffee with me I would tell you I watch the lightning and count the heartbeats between the lightning flash and the thunder. I have a friend who giggles at the claps of thunder, she squeals in delight as the thunder peals across the sky and I; I am just happy to be alive.

Does it mean anything when it rains heavily at the beginning of the year? Well obviously it means the harvest is going to be bumper, after a couple of near droughts, it’s a welcome relief. But does it signify anything like the end of an era or the start of something new washing away the old and beginning afresh?…

If you were having coffee with me I would ask you, do you ever wonder if when people sing at the top of their voices “Open the floodgates of heaven” they could really be asking to be drowned? No? Just me then. But it’s been raining like someone opened the floodgates.

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What’s been happening in your neck of the woods? I saw America inaugurate their 45th president and said farewell to Obama, and over here we have had the same president since 1980, and he is a candidate for the next presidential elections in 2018; when Zim Decides. African presidents seem to have a penchant for lengthy terms in office, and staying in power against all the odds. The former president of Gambia Yahya Jammeh who lost the elections in December 2016 after 22 years in power refused to acknowledge the poll results causing a crisis situation for the past month even going so far as to declare a State of Emergency a few days ago, but after some intervention efforts he has finally decided to step down on a TV Broadcast saying “I believe in the importance of dialogue … I have decided today in good conscience to relinquish the mantle of this great nation

Maybe the rains do signify change….. RAIN

If you were having coffee with me I would introduce to you my next Guest Blogger Leeanna Lazenby she is a creative poet with a parrot and a collection of red dresses. You can find her on twitter, and her story features in my next post, so stay tuned.

Thank you for the visit I would walk you out but see, my shoes are muddy, cause of all the rain, there is a certain reluctance involved in putting on wet shoes let alone wet socks, so I’ll just wave you away, until next time.

~B

 

Of The Ghosts Of Hogwarts Past

Genre: Fan fiction

Of The Ghost of Hogwarts Past

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“Are you afraid of the dark?”

That is the question I ask first years on their first night at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Oh what fun it is to hear them squeal in fear as they run away from dear old me. No surprise at all because you see I am one of the ghosts that you could say haunt the halls of Hogwarts. I am mostly harmless and besides that, the whole school grounds have wards, spells and such that prevent malevolent beings from reeking just that malevolence. Dumbledore done did a right proper job at fixing them rest is soul. He too is here, not haunting corridors like us but in a painting in the headmaster’s office together with the rest of the past headmasters and mistresses of Hogwarts. When you go in there you can feel the weight of their disapproving eyes starring deep into your soul, judging you; it is downright creepy mind you. They don’t talk much, matter of fact, they don’t talk at all only sleep but it’s rumoured they counsel the current headmaster, but between you and me I think the new head is a bit batty, who wouldn’t be, everyone at Hogwarts is.

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You are a brave one aint ya? You haven’t run away like the rest of your little first year friends. Oh how great it must feel to be so curious as to seem brave, I could tell you stories that would make you never want to sleep again. Funny though I don’t remember what sleeping feels like. Ghosts don’t sleep. I have been a ghost for so long I don’t remember being alive but I am sure I was as curious as you, I guess that is why I am a ghost now. I dare say I have been a ghost longer than Moaning Myrtle, crying in one of them bathrooms up there somewhere; but Nearly Headless Nick he been dead much longer, head hanging all precarious like.

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Which house are you in? Your eyes are rather shifty and far too close together and you hold yourself with a certain, erm serpentine regard you must be in house Slytherin. I didn’t have a lot of smarts but I had heart, I was in House Hufflepuff. The boy who lived well he is certainly not a boy any longer, he is a man now, wife and three kids. I must say I always hoped that he would end up with that Hermione girl, but well Ginny Weasely, he could have done far worse, couldn’t he? Imagine if he had been charmed by Romilda Vane’s love portion. You wouldn’t know anything about portions would you?  Thats second year students classes. You haven’t even started class yet, have ya? Just you wait till you meet Mr Longbottom in Herbology Class

mandrakeOne never forgets their first Portions Class especially if you accidentally bite off a piece of baby mandrake root and swallow it, while trying to get it to stop screaming.They scream ever so loudly like tiny constipated babies; they are really bothersome little buggers and off to the sick ward I was rushed. Do you know who I met there? Of course you wouldn’t know, there is no one to tell ya, good thing I’m here ain’t it?

When I was sick as a dog….., ever seen a sick dog? Not a pretty sight I tell ya. This one time during the Care of Magical Creatures Class they made us take turns taking care of a sick dog that had been poisoned by Thorn. Thorn is a pure blood Elient. That just means he is a dragon of some royal line and once upon a time they could shapeshift into peoples like you and me, well mostly you since I am dearly departed.

Not so dearly departed as You-Know-Who must not be named. I met him once, before he was all evil bent on world domination and the like. He was house Slytherin, just like you. Eyes just like yours and curiosity, just like yours, you see here I am going with this? Evil walks and talks just like the next regular bloke until they start calling themselves Death Eaters. But when I met him he was just a little older than I was, we shared a room in the infirmary wing, when I was sick in hospital on account of the mandrake root.

We talked, he was still named Tom Riddle then and his name could be spoken. Tom had a fascination with the purity of one’s bloodlines, and immortality he didn’t want to die but then who does? He had a very morbid liking to that dragon, he probably fed it and although no one could prove it, all the owls that went missing, I can bet you the Quidditch World Cup Snitch that him and Thorn happened. You know why we was in hospital together, he didn’t do anything as silly as bite a screaming mandrake he was far too clever to make a mistake like that, instead he had drank the blood of the Elient, he didn’t tell anyone else though, only me so that I could witness.

The thing about Elient dragons is they do not die unless you kill them, they are infernal or is it eternal I forget, same difference though, nobody wants everlasting nightmares. He drank its blood and he fed it his which made it a part of him. Do you understand? They think they got rid of all them Horcruxes right?  But no one knew the very first one he did with no help from nobody, almost by instinct and I was witness to it. He said to me do you want to see something cool, I said yes, and out we went to the forbidden forest, we passed by Hagrid’s cabin while he slept like a rock, a giant hairy rock that snores.

He pulled off thorn that hung on a leather thong around Thorn’s massive neck and used it scratch a symbol on my hand, the Deathly Hallows. After that everything pretty much gets foggy. I remember him though, whispering to me as I died I guess, that “on the first night of the red moon after the Deathly hallows have been mastered but never used, a boy too curious for his own good will wander into this part of the Hogwarts and he will be a descendant of the Tom Marvolo Riddle bloodline and he will awaken Thorn the Elient and bring back Lord Voldermort.” I was compelled to haunt these grounds and to witness until such a time came to pass.

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“That night is tonight and that boy is you, Lord Voldemort will return and you are going to summon……….All is not well.

The End

~B

My BlogBattle entry this week. A  fan fiction story, if you are not PotterHead enough to figure out based on Harry Potter novels, I wasam a great fan of JK Rawling.

Photo credits: harrypotter.wikia.com

Of A Blessed Woman

A Guest Post 

I Am Blessed Woman by Raquel

I am a blessed woman,
not because am good,
but because am loved by the perfect  one.
The one who brings out the best in me.
He loved me in my imperfections and brought out the best in me.
He sets a stage before me and made me the star of it.
His love is so electrifying.
It brings out that which He has deposited in me, it flows like rivers of living Waters.
I am blessed not because I have all the riches in the world,
but am loved by the one who owns it all.
All I need do is ask.
Am blessed because I have a lover Whose name move mountains,
Whose words create things.
He is majestic, so powerful, second to none.
Nothing compares to Him.
Who can make come to pass when He commanded it not.
The seas bow before Him,
the storms obey His command,
the dead rise at the mention of His name,
Oh how blessed am l.
It is a celestial blessing,
a bless compared to none.
I love you lover of my soul JESUS.
I am a blessed woman because you made me.

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A guest post by the blessed Raquel who featured on my last coffee chat Mused by a stranger. Funny story she says she is a little shy to share anything about herself to strangers but I say watch this space……..

~B

 

 

Of Coffee With A Musing Stranger

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If you were having coffee with me, I would smile and say hi thank you for joining me, would you prefer tea, coffee or plain boiled water. I would ask you if you had a favourite mug; its not weird at all right having a favourite mug?

What did you get up to this past week?

Lets see, some local celebrity couple had a bit of a meltdown, some say it was a publicity stunt, some say it was real. I wont even go into it because I think they got way too media attention maybe I should blog my own melt-down. Just that the internet never forgets nor sleep or eat or have coffee for that matter, and when a private moment goes viral… it goes so epic that everyone has their two cents to say about it.

Speaking about the internet our dear old Postal and Telecommunications Regulation Authority company; POTRAZ decided to set a floor price of making the internet 2 cents a megabyte to protect the telecoms industry. A move which would see our data prices going up and we already have expensive internet. Econet Wireless went and increased their data charges significantly and people took to the internet and social media to protest the high data costs.  Econet passed the buck to POTRAZ, in a loaded press statement hinting to the effect that the Regulator, the Ministry of IT and the government in general creating an uneven playing field and also trying to restrict low data use  of  the internet as it contributes to abuse of social media (but people have read in between the lines as The Government trying to limit freedom of speech on the internet, elections coming up next year…)and they have since reverted back to the old tariffs and POTRAZ has suspended its internet floor price (for now) and The Ministry has in return warned Econet not to dabble in politics and to stick to its core business mandate…

If you were having coffee with me I would tell you I have a dream that one day the internet will be as basic as the air we breathe, free. I would tell you I have new muse, a stranger and Guest Blogger  I met thanks to the internet. Hailing from Nigeria; Raquel 

Mused by a stranger ~ Words by Raquel
I have been mused, mused by a stranger.
Didn’t your mama tell you not to talk to strangers?
But the stranger talked to me first, and it would be rude to ignore.
I am being mused, mused by a stranger.
I did talk to the stranger, a stranger from a land strange to me.
Strange enough I did like talking to the stranger.
Me being mused by a stranger.
What will it be?
Will it be good, fantastic or interesting?
Or will it be bad, ugly sad and regretful
I got to take the chance, for this stranger has tickled my fancy
AM MUSED BY A STRANGER

Thank you Raquel in musing you I muse myself, you can catch more of Raquel in my next post

Thanks for visiting and have an awesome week ahead

~B

PS how much does your internet cost you?

Of The Flame Keeper’s Tale

Of The Flame Keeper’s Tale

The night was dark. The night would have been dark still had the moon shone bright and stars long since dead just the dreams wished upon them twinkled. The night was dark and the only light was from the dying embers of a once great bonfire.

“Gather around.” The old man spoke “Gather around and let us witness the dying of the fire, gather around and I will tell you one last story” he spoke, in a voice above a whisper but less than a shout yet it carried past, over and through you, it surrounded you. You drew closer as you would to the warmth of a fire or someone about to tell you a secret or maybe both, someone by the fireside telling you a story most rare.

He idly reaches into his pockets, pulls out a snuff box, polished bone that reflects a dull red in the embers. He tips it gently into his palm, takes a pinch of the snuff to his nose and snorts it deeply, first in one nostril and then the other. He sneezes three times and flicks the remainder into the embers and they burst into flames with an orange and faint blue glow. He begun to speak, as he tapped at the glowing embers rekindling them to a crackling warm blaze.

“Fire the most primal need of man, from the time we stole from the Goods, it has been a basic representation of our basic desires, hunger and need. Feeding greedily on everything we give and still taking more until it consumes us leaving nothing but cold ash and darkness.

I remember the day The Thief of Fire returned. It was a day of great jubilation when he brought the First Flame to our village, we called it liberty, we called it many names and we proclaimed it the Eternal Flame. As for The Thief, well we made him Chief. Remember when we would sit by the fire on nights quite unlike this and he would recount tales of how he found fire and tamed it, how he outsmarted Gods and stole their fire. Each time he told the tale, it grew taller than the last until no one knew exactly what the truth had been; but it didn’t matter. He spoke with such conviction that he believed himself and we believed in him.

I have never seen a dragon but he saw it, a fearsome fire breathing God that can burn you to a crisp and then swallow you up in one gulp. Looking it in the eye instantly blinds you and its ferocious roar will make you go deaf, and he faced it and stole from it, fire for us. We didn’t ask him to but he did it anyway, and well there was nothing else we could do but say, you are welcome. We made him Chief and looked up to him with almost God like adoration.

His homestead became the Royal House, and in the middle of it that’s where we lit the Eternal Flame. We took turns tending to the fire to make sure it never went out, we cooked for him cleaned for him and he in turn bestowed upon his wisdom and amusing tales each night while we sat round the fire. Some older folks much older folks than myself mumbled something about tyrants but one by one they got silenced or disappeared, no one noticed or we chose not to.

Life was great. A large barn was built at the Chief’s homestead we called it the Reserve Barn and everyone would collect firewood and store it there, safe from the elements. When you wanted some fire for you own use you would go to the Barn and get some wood and have it lit at the Eternal Flame then take it back to your household. It was perfectly simple but when you were done you had to extinguish it to preserve firewood. We chopped trees down and put them in the Reserve Barn because that way, or so we thought, when the trees ran out we would have an endless supply of wood, as it was trees we getting harder to find you had to journey a bit further each day.

They say perhaps we angered the Gods by stealing their fire and they sanctioned us by stopped the rain from falling and scattered the herds we used to hunt into the plains and made the trees stop growing, and turned the landscape into a desert but that was alright we had our barns.

You have young eyes I have seen much more than you, there was a time this land didn’t look quite as bleak, the were mighty trees that grew tall as giants and little streams trickling around them and if you threw a spear into the bush you would startle game to hunt, but now, your young eyes see are yet to see and mine have seen enough to know what comes, I long for the peace of endless sleep.

I have watched firewood became such a precious commodity that people became that people killed for it or died protecting. Guards were posted at the Royal Barn and it was always locked so no one could get in. The Chief told us that because the wood was “depleted” that each one could only get a ration of a single half piece of wood each day because of the wood shortage. It was barely enough and some of the villagers did not understand how this was possible since they had been bringing in cartloads each day, where had the wood gone? How come the Chief and his Council Of Elders enjoyed lavish bonfires each night? The Chief said he was entitled to it since he had after all fought Gods for it. Some young overzealous clansmen tried to challenge him to return the Royal Flame to the Gods so they could go and try their luck in getting it back but he said they were possessed by demons bent on sowing seeds of discontent into their village and had them exiled or executed same thing because they were never heard of again.
I have watched over this flame ever since the first day it was brought here, I have kept its secrets and I have seen it consume everything leaving nothing but ash, and today I managed to take a look in the Royal Barn there is no more wood left. This is the last of it. Tonight we sit by this fire and tell stories but tomorrow night, if nothing gets resolved the darkness comes. Tonight we witness the dying of the fire, sit with me and let’s watch embers turn to ash.” The last words were almost a whisper, he spoke them as he prodded at the embers again rekindling into flames. The night would have been silent, had it not been for the crackling of the fire.

The End
~B
This a blogbattle entry Themed: A Tall Tale. This is a work of fiction any resemblance to characters and incidences real, implied or imaginary is purely coincidental.

 

Of Coffee with Cat

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If you were having coffee with me I would say congratulations for making it to the New Year, the festive season is now over and we return to our regular scheduled programming.

If you were having coffee with me I would ask you how your New Year’s resolutions are going, if any.

If you were having coffee with me I would introduce a Guest Blogger for my first ever Guest Post, and a step towards my Blogging Resolutions for 2017.

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Hello world meet Cat

Friendly Fire ~ A Poem by Cat

In the dark recesses of my mind
I sit
No stars are shining here
The lights have gone off
The fire down to embers
Will I still like a phoenix rise
From these ashes

My heart still beats
And feels
I don’t know how
With all that patching together
It’s broken
But still works somehow

I thought I was learning to laugh
But they said it’s all wrong
It comes across wrong
Doesn’t look like what they know
And so it isn’t love
They threw it at my feet

In the dark recesses of my mind
My tear ducts are constipated
Or the rivers behind my eyeballs
Have finally dried
Like the prayers that refuse to rise
From my chapped lips
How come I cannot pray

They said my eyes hide daggers
My smile a caricature
My words bring death
And the language of my body holds a threat
Even when my arms are uncrossed
There’s still a weapon in the folds of my clothes

Tonight confusion and pain lie with me
At least I’m not alone
Is that the way of it?
Even the layers of years of pain
Can’t keep the cold out

The bee stings hard
Yet it also makes honey so sweet
May this bitterness
Make me sweet
I guess this is a prayer
And maybe
Just maybe
A listening ear will hear.

Bio: Cat is finding it hard to roar right now and so a miaow is all she has. Darkness pays her a visit now and then. You can find more of her words at catkai and she welcomes exchange of said words.

Cat

Thank you for reading and do pay her a visit

~B

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Of Resolutions, Meetups and Guest Posts

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Compliments of the season….. Here’s to wishing you a great year ahead, every year we make promises and resolutions that this year, this year will be the year that I flourish I am serious this time, even more serious than the year before that, and the year before that….
What resolutions have you made and how far in achieving them have you gotten so far?

This year part of my blogging resolutions include to interact with more bloggers and hopefully drive a meet a blogger project so that some of you become not just a username, an avatar and a blog address but also a face, a voice and a real life body to complete the picture.

If you are interested in a meetup please contact me (this goes out especially to my fellow Zim Bloggers, don’t be strangers) … The internet is a lovely place we could even set up a Virtual Bloggers Blast Event, in the comfort of well, wherever you are hopefully comfortable, with your internet connection.

In the spirit of connecting more with bloggers I am now making it official: A call for Guest Posts from Guest Bloggers.

If you would like to be a Guest Blogger I can feature your Guest Post on my blog simply give me a shout and I’d be glad to accommodate you.

What would you write about you are wondering? Well, you can pretty much write whatever you want, a poem, a story, a previously published post of yours, anything really, as long as it doesn’t get me in trouble with any copyright infringement issues or arrested or killed by cute looking rabid bunnies or ninja clown assassins.
I will also include any referral links to your blog or website and or social media accounts.
Likewise I would love to do a guest post on yours if you would have me.

My fingers are crossed that you, yes you, reading this right, have something to say and that you would do me the honour of saying it on my blog. If I get enough responses I just might make Guest Blog Posts a regular appearance maybe once a month or even more.

All the best for 2017
~B

PS you don’t have to be a blogger or have a blog for your guest post to feature here, simply contact or email me and we will make a plan.