My pain in the butt thing for this whole week - and the week before and a few days to go yet - is my right eye deciding it hates my hard contact lens. For some reason, unlike other hard contact lens wearers, my eyes hate lenses with bevelled edges. When I got a new pair at the end of last year, I put them aside and continued with the old pair because they were uncomfortable. Then my other half broke my right one while trying to pick it up for me when I\'d dropped it. For a while I managed to school my eye to tolerate the lens, but now the wheels have come off. It\'s scratchy all the time and my eye waters, but it feels as if the tear film is failing to form under the lens properly so that it\'s as if my eye is simultaneously weepy and dry at the same time!
Iv\'e been back to the optometrist and new lenses have been ordered - with NO bevelled edges, I trust - as the optometrist couldn\'t say for sure whether the right lens has a bevelled edge or not - so I\'m hoping for resolution soon. Meanwhile, it\'s hard to see with the lens in - a pain for driving as my eyes become intensely photosensitive - and I\'m spending time off like now, with the lens out - so seeing at all is a struggle.
And before you ask - no- I can\'t wear glasses. I had my eyes lasered many moons ago and was struck by the Nurse Curse. I was a scrub nurse for Excimer Laser Eye Surgery (LASIK) at the time. I knew the risks and benefits better than anyone. But, when my eyes were lasered, I ended up with keratoconus and astigmatism so bad that glasses can\'t correct it at all. I can only wear hard contact lenses which help to flatten my corneas. 

I would weave words wistfully with windingVines that verify veracities and view vistas worth Finding, freely flying,  far-flung,  fear-free and fineBeyond  basic borders binding bodies below.

 Garden Collection Grass Did you know     that         silver silky hairs             march the length                   of a blade of grass         pacing out the paths             of the parallel                    veins?   If every blade of grass      were a miniature spearwhat a war the world      would wage against us!    Autumn willow    wind-whispering         willow wands               weeping with winterness crying leaves. Autumn Leaves Rustling, rusty, rashlyswirling, swaying, swiftlygliding, glowing, gladlyfainting, falling, frayedlycrunching, crushing, crisplycrazy-colouredAutumn leaves. Marigold Merry, gold   marigold       merrily           growing goldLiving gold   dying gold      captivating         sun-goldBudding gold   growing old      marigolden         merry gold.  Moss mossgreenmosssoftmossmoistminiature   grassgreen      fieldforfaeriefair         forfaeriefun.

This is specially for Jerry (SpaceMonkey)
 The Day of Delfaras The cry went forth across the land:  Delfaras in despair!The mighty RM Guild had come to wreak it's vengeance there. And all the people wailed and fled before that cruel tide.But Skorg stood firm, the mighty Orc, and forth he bid us ride. We rode that day from near and far, o'er desert, hill and vale.And Skorg declared the battle terms for honor to prevail. The air was filled with rasp of steel as weapons were made readyAnd incantations round us laid to keep intention steady. The moment had arrived at last, a time of reckoningWith fearsome clash of sword and shield, with arrow's deadly zing. But RM held us off at first, and oh, my heart did quailSkorg held us firm, and spurning fear, he bid us all prevail. The battle raged and we gained ground against the enemy, And hope had dawned within my heart; Delfaras would be free. Yet even as that hope had dawned, too quickly was it quenchedAs RM spurned the honor terms and victory from us wrenched. The force unleashed from RM Guild was more than we could standBut still we fought with strength and zeal against that evil hand. We did not win the final push, but damage dealt to allWho stood against us. Soon, my friend, yea, soon we'll see them fall. Hail to the mighty DOA, a Guild with honor brightWho hold the world of Chantra dear and win the greater fight.

The art is in finding the right words that fit in the metre - there\'s no sacrificing involved because the end result is even better that way. It\'s no different with writing free verse. In fact, it\'s too damned easy to think you can get away with things in free verse. You can\'t. Word choice needs to be concise - or to pay attention to assonance, alliteration, onomatopoeia, juxtapostions, lengths of lines...there\'s soooo much! I think that\'s why I stopped writing free verse all those years. I just froze like a deer in the headlights when I realised jsut what was really involved. If you want your free verse to be better, practice writing things that obey rules of structure for a while and I guarantee you you will write better free verse too, in the end. There are no short cuts to good poetry.

White out walking in the bush last Tuesday, I was delighted to capture a photograph of this tiny bird. I hadn\'t seen one before and identified it when I got home.  - a Spotted Pardalote - not uncommon but  - you know - cities - people - there are fewer and fewer these days./monthly_2015_09/46-DSCF1225.JPG.4a0de53b9873bf7465b0e73faaf6c058.JPG\" class=\"ipsAttachLink ipsAttachLink_image\">

It\'s a gorgeous pic - but what about straightening the horizon?

just one teeny correction from an ex-South African - it\'s a Steenbok not a steinbok. \"Steen\" means \"stone\" stein has something to do with drink...?

Aware I hold the ocean in my heart,The wind in my hair.My feet remain firm on the rocks Or thrill to the caress of sand and grass.My arms are filled with flowers and forestsAnd my eyes contain the sky.The rising of the sun is in my waking,The gentle light of moon and stars in my sleep.I dream the turning of the seasons;Sing the song of life and death and life.

Thank you - the funny thing about this poem was that it was written in the intensely time pressured environment of a workshop on sonnets. i think I was the only person to emerge with a complete sonnet - and that was it - no rewriting or reworking required. Would be nice if that happened every time but most things need heaps of reworking. I confess I do drive my mother slightly crazy when I pull these things off at short notice like that (she\'s also a member of the same writer\'s group)

Moments For just one moment in the weary dayCome, lift your head, and breathe in deepThe fragrance of the earth – red clayThat 'neath the sun may seem to sleep,But harbours in her depth the seeds Of spring and for our kindness pleads. For one brief moment pause, and see the lightThat plays, unwitting, o'er the blades and tinesOf cutlery 'twixt rainbowed bubbles – brightWith childhood memories, where all that shinesIs treasure of the purest kindFrom little games of seek-and-find. Stay! Just a moment stay – and see the face:The lines of care, the furrowed brow of painThat pleads before you now to slow the pace;To take a little time and thereby gainThat fellowship of heart – a balmTo passing years, imparting calm. Seize for yourself a moment in this timeThat stretches spring-to-ancient-winter wideAnd let it fill with wonder and sublimeDelight to be alive. For heav'n may hideIn memories with joy retrievedAnd precious moments thus perceived.

What Dragons What dragons will arise with me today Unfurling restless wings within my breast,
And, eager for expression, seek to play
Between my words and deeds with dragon zest?
Perchance 'twill be Defender, red with rage
At some unkindly word or hurtful deed.
But then may come the silver-blue of Sage,
With haiku'd insight hiding wisdom's seed.
Or he of burnished bronze and green and gold -
The Nature Wyvern - may call me to find
A path by leafy, sunlit creek and hold
The lizards dear. They, too, are dragon-kind. 'Tween word and deed, with glinting scale and claw
The dragons rise, dispensing dragon-lore.

Tyranny Before the whistling, whetted edge of bladeDivides the silver thread of sense and soul,And life is left unfettered and un-wholeWith whispered urgings of the unheard shade;Before this dread and darkest hour of allThere is a thought that grows in strength of words,That finds a form in ink, like dark-winged birds Across a page that cringes at the fallOf pen-tip. Oh, that pen so wielded here!What power drips in ink on this bleak leaf,This strength to end the life of saint or thiefAnd keep the mobs immobilized in fear? Now, this I know: when faced with restless hordeThe lowly pen is mightier than the sword. 

Another excellent piece of work. Love the comparison. We suffer here in Australia - governrment hell-bent on being mini-America, doing everything you already proved doesn\'t work - talk about seeing that abscess in advance...

Ace - that is all