http://slow.writerscafe.org/katherinevanessawhiteley The original writings of author Vanessa Whiteley en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776163613 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Images repeat through my mind like songs sung in old, dark beamed bars where toucans deck cream coloured stones. Here are lakes; misted mountains; glimmer of after rain; snatches of rainbows. Yet Ireland�s North seems a patchwork of Union Jacks http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/416949/            Between cloud bursts builders give my flat a face lift; scars filled in, that wall greyed with smog and dry rot is retouched to a white that mixes with the rain and drizzles down the walls to form.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/412072/  Walking past her old school she pauses to catch her breath and notices a little girl sitting on a large wooden box in the deepest corner of the ribbed-roof bicycle shed. The child is silent as she picks at a splinter fraying apart from the surrounding wood as if it does not.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/410744/    In those days Mods and Rockers were faded newspaper headlines 21st century teenage knife crime was unimaginable decades ahead. Native Americans were Indians, who still chased stage coaches across flickering screens, albeit, some sided with the good guys.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/410403/ Maybe black-hearted boys in love with death won't blow themselves and us to smithereens. Gillian Clarke poem marking Barack Obama's inauguration http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/410292/  In the midst of coral ballrooms, small fish line dance in flawless synchronisationas crabs dance the tangoin nippy sidestep, dramatic as Valentino,their softer selves concealed beneath the shell.  And up above, belles, tentacles unfolded, attuned to turning tides, je.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/269021/ My daughter shows her love for mewith breakfast in bed and a gift, a Zuni, fetish necklace.    My necklace consists of threaded beads and small, carved creatures, a fox, birds, fish.  The central  fetish is a turquoise bear - a piece of sky. I like to thi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/227510/ Anthony Frederick Sandy's Medea by 1868 http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/224312/    Springtime: nature stirs, yawning, rubs away the dust of winter sleep. April Showers sprinkle seedlings that stretch up breaking clay  toward Summer.  Morning rouses the flowers,   greedy fledglings chirrup for worms.  Pin.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/220653/ (after the painting by Holman Hunt - 1867) http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/219468/  among patchwork frosted fieldshorses and scattered sheep crop on brittle grass crinkled leaves hang from trees  thorns of yellow gorse are sharp as elfin arrows           smoky hills form an aerial perspective  whi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/203663/ Sometimes she stands in silence, motionless,      desolate in a dress of mournful black                               &nbsp.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/188151/  A toddler dressed in pink hat and scarf stands on rocks: her arms outthrust like an unwrapped doll. Her family clings, like limpets. Their voicesmerge with the sound of birdcall and the echoof undertow that pulls water backto the heart of the ocean. Surfers make for the waves. .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/172865/  Akin to a Bird-of-Paradise, swathes of blonde hair livid with blue plumes, he ambled past the local hospital, gay pride in every step. A lover of beauty and a scribbler of poems, she thought his flesh as delicate as the features of a Pre-Raphaelite. Their eyes met for a mom.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/167868/ There is a willow grows aslant the brook, That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;There with fantastic garlands did she come.  How insane lovers’ words spoken in romance when in those stolen moments on our own, I would drown in the beauty of his glance. My brother .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/163851/ I picked out four orangey yellow peppers, skins smooth to the touch and took them back to your place with the rest of the shopping. We spent the reminder of the day playing on site, reviewing the way words were woven into one another. I stayed to dinner, watched a video before I se.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/163337/ Miles from anywhere We are lost in primal woodlands.Squirrels scamper across pine-coned paths.Birds crowd our conversation.   Summer’s foundation being wiped away, we retread the same pathscrushing late autumn leaves beneath our heavy souls.   Glance all.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/162884/ Either, said the man in the scarlet suit, I can spend my time making presents  no one needs, not even, the little children:or I can make one giant gift to the world  and make war on the White House.Remembering the words of other bearded men, he prepared his hel.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/162869/ "Who killed C**k Robin?" "I," said the Sparrow, "With my bow and arrow, I killed C**k Robin." "Who saw him die?" "I," said the Fly, "With my little eye, I saw him die." http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/132390/  A young American soldiermisses her motherand her home in Mainewhere she skimmed stonesacross Sebago lake.It's where she skinned her kneesfalling from that old oakand had her first kissbeneath its weathered boughs.She knows she's bringingliberty and a better way of lif.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/127074/  Sammy, Samson Smallin platinum and golda small treasure on four furry feet,the eldest too dignifiedto run for sticks likeAngus McTavish small Cairn terrierintelligent, alertchasing after everythingonly to be bowled over byRob Roy McGregordopy West Highlandernot .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/118264/    Closing wings of blue morpho, coloured skies tinged angel white, flap, briefly, at end  of day before dark clouds conceal you.       http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/111181/  Like a leaf waiting to fall out of her season; she sighs - sees encircling buds burst forth, then drifts away on the breeze.      http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/110862/ (Raphael 1483 - 1520) http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/103904/ This poem is a companion piece to Garden for the Homeless http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/100914/   Waking,Sleeping Beautylifted a wrinkled handto her white hair.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/94203/  ‘Dear Goddess you who see clearly the secrets of a mother’s heart and the viciousness of brutal man, in everything I will follow you.  Everything changes, nothing remains the same’.  The speaker looks small and timid.  She holds a replica statue of A.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/93911/ Small birds flitter through her garden flowers. and even flutter through her kitchen door. Some rush in soaking from Spring showers to splash drench the new mopped kitchen floor. She tells their chicklets fairytales amid her paper, pens, and cages, writes Odes to Nightingales - -f.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/90536/      Come step back in time. You can purchase me,for a while. Reflect how it must have been. Once-upon-a-time, can be bought for just threepounds. Amble through my obscenely keen,open and shut, metal mouth. Help keep me infruitless sterility, a vacuum, ti.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/90400/ Web’s eyeclear cut  centreof omniscient nervesoutstretched, embracing - -  airwaiting.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/90009/ fairrge - gaelic for sea http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/89990/ In my cabin in the woodsthe door will always be open.People will come and go  chatting of poetry and art- thoughts as green and flourishingas the vegetables in my plotseen through the kitchen windowor the herbs on the sill.   The woods will not be wildand no.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/85220/ This is a companion piece to Stokes Croft http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/83156/ Breath-taking, bone-chilling windis a raging wild woman- hurling handfuls of foamacross these breakwater stones. She cannot contend with this sea'ssnarling, savage massof white, frothing energy.This Lucia di Lammermore of the waves cannot be controlled     .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/80257/