• Bodhisattvacharyavatara
    • Introduction
    • Chapter 1
    • Chapter 2
    • Chapter 3
    • Chapter 4
    • Chapter 5
    • Chapter 6
    • Chapter 7
    • Chapter 8
    • Chapter 9
    • Chapter 10
  • collected works
    • 25th August 1981 – count Up
    • askance From Hell
    • Batman
    • The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford
    • Bob 1995-2012
    • Edward Hopper: Poems at an Exhibition
    • David Bowie Movements in Suite Major
    • Eglinton Hill
    • FLOORBOARDS
    • Granada
    • in and out / the Avebury stones / can’t seem to get / a signal …
    • Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters]
    • Miller’s Batman
    • mum
    • nan
    • Portsmouth – Southsea
    • Spring Warwick breezes / over Bacharach fieldwork and boroughs with / the occasional shift and chirp of David / in the pastel-long morning of the sixties
    • through the crash
  • index
    • #A-E see!
    • F–K, wha’ th’
    • L-P 33 1/3 rpm
    • Q-T pie
    • U-Z together forever
  • me
  • others
    • William Carlos Williams
  • poemics
  • poeviews
  • teaching matters
  • wormholes

mlewisredford

~ may the Supreme and Precious Jewel Bodhichitta take birth where it has not yet done so …

mlewisredford

Tag Archives: tired

the sitting room

15 Tuesday Aug 2017

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

2014, 5*, anxiety, being, carpet, evening, green, home, looking, pattern, remembering, sitting room, sweet, taste, texture, tired, velvet, windows

                the sitting room

                                in the early evening –
                                                tired and sprangled – I
                notice the pattern of the carpet
                                soothing as a deep mint-green boiled
                                                sweet

                                                that I
                                might have looked through
                                                for quite a while
                before holding it in my cheek as I shuffled about
                                swallowing occasionally
                                                in remembrance and velvet texture

                                                and after so much anxiety
                                of effect and agent
                far outside the windows of the room, it was
                                                                good to be
                                                                back home

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

anxiety wormhole: too much in arrival
being wormhole: work
carpet wormhole: languidly close the portal
evening wormhole: lesson from watching two crane flies work the evening / skating across the panes flying and pushing legs grappling / the glass crossing repulsive over themselves and clinging akimbo / for a rest until lifeless just to get their stickly bodies through to the light
green wormhole: where else
looking wormhole: just
sitting room wormhole: Michael Redford: triptych
texture wormhole: written relief to / creeping anaesthesia / through palimpsest / and crankled page
windows wormhole: dream I // dream II

 

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such such potential

04 Tuesday Jul 2017

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

2013, 5*, branches, breeze, brick, corridors, doors, future, labyrinth, mist, oesophagus, openness, potential, realisation, shadow, time, tired, walls

                tired

means that even the branches that reach bold into a future
only cast shadow on a brickwall
that all the doors of all the corridors stand open wide and reveal
the misty labyrinth
gusty and oesophageal
                                as they forever are and will be –

                                such such potential

                                              only as long as it is unrealised

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

branches & breeze wormhole: do I
doors wormhole: that comicbookshop … // … in dreams
mist & shadow wormhole: landscape of cloud over London / with differing depths of grey
openness wormhole: the goldilocks stance
realisation wormhole: the // orange rose
time wormhole: walk from Castleton to Hope
walls wormhole: too greedy

 

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Day Out

29 Wednesday Mar 2017

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

2013, 4*, attention, bench, Carol, London, looking, seeing, tired, travelling

 

                                              Day Out

                                tired
                from travelling and not seeing what we
                                              travelled to see

                                shared
                benches and hands as we make our way
                                              about and return
                                              bellies full from
                                              sandwiches and
                                              l   o   o   k  i  n  g

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

attention wormhole: breathing
bench & Carol wormhole: the bench
London & looking wormhole: time travel
seeing wormhole: six paramitas
travelling wormhole: south horizon

 

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may the supreme and precious jewel bodhichitta … // … take birth where it has not yet done so … // … where it has taken birth may it not decrease … // … but may it increase infinitely

09 Thursday Feb 2017

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

2013, 8*, being, Bodhichitta, breathing, circular poem, colour, difficulty, distraction, doing, eyes, identity, jewel, letting go, life, lost, meditation, prayer, putting out, seeing, self, singing, sitting, stone, talking to myself, tired, voices, Woodbrooke

                             difficulty comes
                        unfitting perfectly to
                          each situation

may the supreme and precious jewel bodhichitta …

                                                                                    t
                                                                                          i
                                                          a big fat ball                  r
                                         all I see is                       with odd       e
                                    or above it                              spicy bits       d
                                        round it                              fills up
                                        I can’t see                       my being
                                                        closes my eyes

… take birth where it has not yet done so …

                                 the fuzz and static
      drowned out by                                 and the tiny shiny
        before being                                      coloured stones
of determination                                          mixed in and
         sing a voice                                       mostly lost which
             surface and                                 sometimes
                                      work to the

                                                                        is not me
                                                                        is not the self
                                                                        standing sitting or sleeping
                                                            and always always breathing

… where it has taken birth may it not decrease …

                                                                        I can’t put out
                                                            I miss the point or miss the opportunity
                                                                        every time I venture
                                                or hold back

                                                                        I have loads to offer
                                                            but no receptacle
                                                            far better to sit
                                                improve my aim

… but may it increase infinitely

                                                                                    I get so much more
                                                                                    done by just being
                                                                                    without knowing it
                                                                                    without knowing –
                                                                                    even – about it

                                                                                    I think I’ll just
                                                                                    offer my being
                                                                                    from now on
                                                                                    and not try to
                                                                                    do anything to be

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

being & doing & life wormhole: ‘never look up’?
Bodhichitta & eyes & seeing wormhole: so pleased to see you again
breathing & sitting & talking to myself wormhole: breathing out
circular poem wormhole: everwhile
distraction & meditation wormhole: within
identity & stone wormhole: Open – All – Ours
letting go wormhole: comfy
voices wormhole: what wounds have you got?

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well,

16 Saturday Apr 2016

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

'scape, 2013, coffee shop, evening, Lewes, music, notebook, people, sitting, streetlight, tired, toddler, voices, writing

                                     well,

                           I am sitting in the coffee shop
                           I have the notebook out
                           the evening is coming down
                           all the lights are brightening up
                           and as the people take
                           their shopping home
                           I think I can pick out
                           ‘Waterloo Sunset’ through
                           the cries of an overtired
                           toddler

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

coffee shop & music wormhole: tabla
evening wormhole: early evening
Lewes wormhole: library windows
people wormhole: the sounds of 1969 // [would have] seemed that way – poewieview #13
sitting wormhole: and that’s where I are
streetlight wormhole: like ink – poewieview #23
voices wormhole: dream career // groggy
writing wormhole: dash

 

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new year’s eve 2014; train up to London to / walk the bridges across the Thames, and / listen to the voices say it is, and was, like, / but get back home before the fireworks / obliterate it all in the emptying twilight

01 Thursday Jan 2015

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

2014, 8*, anxiety, architecture, being, bench, birch, blue, Bob Hoskins, bridge, buddleia, buildings, Carol, change, crane, dark, doing, education, emptiness, experience, faces, field, fireworks, frost, glass, glasses, green, grey, Have, horizontal, houses, hyperbole, identity, impermanence, journey, life, lifetimes, light, listening, London, love, mouth, not knowing, openness, orange, others, passing, pastel, phone, pink, poetry, pointlessness, politics, red, scaffolding, silver, sky, speech, St. Paul's, station, staying, study, sun, table, talking to myself, Thames, thinking, thought, time, tired, train, travelling, trees, twilight, Uckfield-London line, voices, walking, white, windows, work

                                   new year’s eve 2014; train up to London to
                                   walk the bridges across the Thames, and
                                   listen to the voices say it is, and was, like,
                                   but get back home before the fireworks
                                   obliterate it all in the emptying twilight

                                   look out for the throwing up of hands and
                                   the want-only doing it anyway without thought
                                   or fibre thinking you deserve the better after
                                   all the point and anxiety of thinking; rather
                                   stay with the pastel openness of not knowing

                                   what to do; “it’s like they’re doing this to wind
                                   me up” all the mouth-open listening and loud
                                   hyperbole of their being, all app’d and down-
                                   loaded they, obbviously haven’t finished studying
                                   or whatever it is they’ve been bought into

                                   college to do these days; their time’ll come;
                                   frost covers the passing fields and trees, equally;
                                   “t’b’fair-r-rr, I’m not gen–you–in–lee concerned;
                                   I think, if you always stay in the same en–vie–
                                   rhon–meant …” gaze-mouth open … “I think,

                                   you need to have new ex–peer–re:–NCs
                                   nyoopeople nyooplaces” stopping waiting
                                   starting ten-ta-tively slow gliding, while another
                                   train shifts approaching the same station priority
                                   passes for a long time; then on another train,

                                   “it’s like we’re on another train”; frost thawing
                                   equally on the waste grounds between lines,
                                   green and horizontals return, except for the
                                   bare silver birch; so they no longer store parcels
                                   at London stations look how much they’ve

                                   brightly opened them up no more dingy offices
                                   and partitions where people lived their long
                                   and working life; on the stepped bench by the
                                   river across from the Poetry Library somewhere
                                   in the Southbank Centre I struggle with the

                                   vacuous way things have to change but forget
                                   the dark silt accumulated in unused yards
                                   where not even the buddleia grow, as St. Paul’s
                                   becomes dwarfed by glass and leaning building;
                                   all the sun across the riverside architecture –

                                   depth from finial cupola and scaffolding except
                                   the red cranes up into the grey-blue-blue-grey
                                   sky concrete counter-weight and lifting-hods
                                   catching light despite orange lights clean atop each
                                   arm and elbow; crowds walking the bridge under

                                   suspension ties leaning towards the last pillar; tired
                                   now we travel home under neon light on exasperated
                                   faces with no expression past turning houses and
                                   raised embankments, a passenger stands suddenly
                                   to leave, “oh, he’s dropped a tooth” quips Carol out

                                   loud, “I’m joking; it was a mint imperial” rolled
                                   under the table, look, the man with pink-frame
                                   glasses chuckles into his phone like Bob Hoskins,
                                   love him; “this is coach number five of twelve”
                                   we need to make sure we are travelling in the

                                   correct part of the train otherwise we cannot alight;
                                   “please mind the gap”; I cannot retain things that
                                   have passed (I can’t help it: “that are past”) no matter
                                   how much they may chime with the time in
                                   retrospect, during the last leg of “whatever” journey

                                   home looking for more to add to the poem greedy
                                   through the darkening windows, ah, but it’s too late
                                   now, the arc has already formed the spine, all the
                                   particulars falling in fitted pattern like feathers giving
                                   the illusion of lift and flight amid pervasive dissolution

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

anxiety & identity & time wormhole: re lax // me
architecture & bench & buddleia & glasses wormhole: Plumstead – Woolwich 121114
being & doing & houses & openness & sky & sun & windows wormhole: lobby
birch wormhole: Eridge Station
blue & glass & green wormhole: the silent night of the Batman
bridge & trees wormhole: Kirby’s landscapes
buildings & Have & speech wormhole: great underbelly to the rooftops
Carol & pink & politics wormhole: Luisenplatz
change wormhole: the Last Day of Morecambe Illuminations
crane & grey & light & London & mouth & red & walking wormhole: Plumstead – Woolwich – Plumstead 290508 – / the breath of London
education wormhole: poessay IX – … just saying, is all II
emptiness & pontlessness wormhole: never there
faces wormhole: – sigh! –
field wormhole: tag cloud poem VII – form new freedom:
life & others wormhole: career came to naught …
lifetimes wormhole: transition
listening wormhole: there are patient listeners
love & poetry wormhole: sometimes
orange wormhole: Christmas
passing & travelling wormhole: dawn
silver wormhole: across the room / through the patio doors / through the conservatory windows / at the bottom of the garden / the still bifurcated trunk of / the oak / before the let-grown hair and fringes / of the fir tree / blown every lifetime in a while by the winter sun // actually
study wormhole: letters to Mum I – a walk / and talk
talking to myself wormhole: yet another sprain / of ‘Jingle Bells’ straining / to propagate yet another / tired Christmas spirit – … / ‘sanner clawsis coming t’ taunn – yeah’ in a / coffee shop with condensation / running off the snowflake transfers / and the iphone at the next table / talking how 50 means 900 a month – not worth / the drive (left his scarf behind – / collateral) … about my age
Thames wormhole: 1967
thinking wormhole: thinking wide enough
thought wormhole: breathe it all / in
train wormhole: is she / looking at me?
twilight wormhole: dream / 301197 // home
Uckfield-London line wormhole: Hever
voices wormhole: ‘green post …’
white wormhole: letters to Mum V – carrying on in duty and love
work wormhole: corroboration

 

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breathe it all / in

29 Monday Sep 2014

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

2013, 5*, being, breathing, connection, identity, life, living, reflection, settling, thought, tired, values

 

 

 

                                no thought today
                                nothing is joined up
                                nothing ever was

                                I just thought it was
                                thought it should be
                                the way I valued it

                                          to be
                                          so tired

                                from not connecting
                                from finding no reflection
                                to recognise myself

                                to be and so sure that
                                all these thoughts were
                                coming from a someone

                                          some
                                          where

                                                                                       it will
                                          never
be so

                                it will never be
                                so and the import
                                ance of all this

                                is to live and
                                breathe it all
                                in

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

being & identity wormhole: extrapolates
breathing & life & living wormhole: letters to Mum V – carrying on in duty and love
reflection wormhole: there
settling wormhole: reversing the polarity
thought wormhole: connections
values wormhole: the sounds the difficulty and the long long strands of liquorice

 

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letters to mum II – family // like a grate

17 Thursday Jul 2014

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

1998, 2014, 5*, cancer, chemo, family, Genesta Road, God, identity, illness, Jehovah's Witnesses, letter, letting go, life, love, Mum, Nan, photograph, reading, relationship, ship, Thames, time, tired, typewriter, university, words, work

 

Mum was diagnosed with cancer in the early summer of 1998, she died the following March 1999; I couldn’t get up to London to see her regularly so I started a correspondence; sixteen years later I realise that our correspondence didn’t just stop with her death, the same as our life together didn’t: our life together was always the response between the words and events …

 

 

                                                              290798

                Dear Mum,

                it was good to read from you
                in this new write of relationship
                although the tiredness in your word
                was obvious when it came:

                so you might expect a remission
                for weeks or years or not, which
                certainly sharpens a life, and with no
                dependents to consider anymore

                preparing ready for the time
                more-clear-now to come, the better
                to put your life into its order,
                is it God calling you now?

                I know you have your congregation
                around you (even if it is too much at times)
                how families ebb and go in peoples’ lives
                only sometimes built around the tree

                we four were close for a while forming the
                parts of each others’ lives; it took a long time to
                emerge, even after university, even after
                Nan died, even as my own family grew,

                I was still with us in Genesta Road; and yet
                there you are, all through the chemo, I see
                you adjust your life talking of ‘excess
                baggage’ – I was happy to take possession

                of the photographs: of you working at the
                office seeing those goods in and out, those
                huge ships like family, with their chapter
                and verse, those endless invoices in triplicate

                smell of typewriter ribbon, the bad air-conditioning
                the silly young office workers testing up their futures
                your giggly exchanges with them, all part of that endless work
                up and down the River through endless years like a grate

                take care, much love,

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

part of the ongoing life and page of … Mum
death & family & love & Mum & Nan & reading wormhole: letters to Mum I – a walk / and talk
Genesta Road wormhole: still there?
identity wormhole: ‘n’
letting go wormhole: I will eventually drift tectonic
life & time wormhole: tag cloud poem VI – anyone’s eyes
Thames wormhole: still there // above the / Dallin Road / allotments / looking high over the river and the city
university wormhole: … thank you
words wormhole: words
work wormhole: the chiropodist

 

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may the supreme and precious jewel bodhichitta … // … take birth where it has not yet done so … // … where it has taken birth may it not decrease … // … but may it increase infinitely

18 Friday Apr 2014

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

2013, 8*, being, Bodhichitta, breathing, circular poem, colour, difficulty, distraction, doing, eyes, identity, jewel, letting go, life, lost, meditation, prayer, putting out, seeing, self, singing, sitting, stone, talking to myself, tired, voices, Woodbrooke

                             difficulty comes
                        unfitting perfectly to
                          each situation

may the supreme and precious jewel bodhichitta …

                                                                                    t
                                                                                          i
                                                          a big fat ball                  r
                                         all I see is                       with odd       e
                                    or above it                              spicy bits       d
                                        round it                              fills up
                                        I can’t see                       my being
                                                        closes my eyes

… take birth where it has not yet done so …

                                 the fuzz and static
      drowned out by                                 and the tiny shiny
        before being                                      coloured stones
of determination                                          mixed in and
         sing a voice                                       mostly lost which
             surface and                                 sometimes
                                      work to the

                                                                        is not me
                                                                        is not the self
                                                                        standing sitting or sleeping
                                                            and always always breathing

… where it has taken birth may it not decrease …

                                                                        I can’t put out
                                                            I miss the point or miss the opportunity
                                                                        every time I venture
                                                or hold back

                                                                        I have loads to offer
                                                            but no receptacle
                                                            far better to sit
                                                improve my aim

… but may it increase infinitely

                                                                                    I get so much more
                                                                                    done by just being
                                                                                    without knowing it
                                                                                    without knowing –
                                                                                    even – about it

                                                                                    I think I’ll just
                                                                                    offer my being
                                                                                    from now on
                                                                                    and not try to
                                                                                    do anything to be

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

being & breathing & doing wormhole: doing
circular poem wormhole: the Avengers
distraction wormhole: open window
eyes & identity wormhole: vagued
letting go & talking to myself wormhole: multifarious: the Dark Knight Returns (1986)
life wormhole: my life is not your market
meditation wormhole: only
seeing wormhole: heavy load
sitting wormhole: gazing at the night / as my eyes passed the jagged hole / my head disappeared
stone wormhole: quest in brown
voices wormhole: still there // above the / Dallin Road / allotments / looking high over the river and the city

 

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tired

15 Saturday Feb 2014

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

'scape, 2012, 4*, being, coffee shop, doors, passing, rain, settling, sleep, sound, tired, traffic, windows, writing

 

 

 

                           because I am tired
                           from a restless night

                           I sit in the coffee shop
                           and watch the traffic

                           filter in starts and fits through
                           the mini roundabout outside

                           under the dripping rain
                           which ‘dings’ in and out

                           the door occasionally and
                           unrhythmically so much that

                           I cannot find the proper
                           end to this poem

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

being & settling & sound & windows wormhole: practising
coffee shop wormhole: t w e n t y f i r s t c e n t u r y l i f e
doors wormhole: across the room / through the patio doors / through the conservatory windows / at the bottom of the garden / the still bifurcated trunk of / the oak / before the let-grown hair and fringes / of the fir tree / blown every lifetime in a while by the winter sun // actually
passing wormhole: through the window
rain wormhole: … still waving!
sleep wormhole: update
writing wormhole: as they wish

 

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… Mark; remember …

"... the impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful; it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe to find ashes." ~ Annie Dillard

pages coagulating like yogurt

  • Bodhisattvacharyavatara
    • Chapter 1
    • Chapter 10
    • Chapter 2
    • Chapter 3
    • Chapter 4
    • Chapter 5
    • Chapter 6
    • Chapter 7
    • Chapter 8
    • Chapter 9
    • Introduction
  • collected works
    • 25th August 1981 – count Up
    • askance From Hell
    • Batman
    • Bob 1995-2012
    • David Bowie Movements in Suite Major
    • Edward Hopper: Poems at an Exhibition
    • Eglinton Hill
    • FLOORBOARDS
    • Granada
    • in and out / the Avebury stones / can’t seem to get / a signal …
    • Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters]
    • Miller’s Batman
    • mum
    • nan
    • Portsmouth – Southsea
    • Spring Warwick breezes / over Bacharach fieldwork and boroughs with / the occasional shift and chirp of David / in the pastel-long morning of the sixties
    • The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford
    • through the crash
  • index
    • #A-E see!
    • F–K, wha’ th’
    • L-P 33 1/3 rpm
    • Q-T pie
    • U-Z together forever
  • me
  • others
  • poemics
  • poeviews
  • teaching matters
  • William Carlos Williams
  • wormholes

recent leaks …

  • “…and may the great elements…”
  • paisley // implicitly
  • this pocketed being
  • the inevitable tock // when we close our eyes
  • time
  • the simple prayer // the tattered poem // the bitter lament
  • taking birth
  • mirror
  • long / road
  • ‘in my car I pass…’

Uncanny Tops

  • me
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  • YOUNG WOMAN AT A WINDOW by William Carlos Williams
  • 'in my car I pass...'
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  • meanwhile
  • 'hello old friend ...'
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tag skyline

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