A Spring Clean.

clothes rack
Photo by Daian Gan on Pexels.com

My partner and I do not have a great deal of space in our flat, so when I decided to spend the long weekend clearing up I realised how many clothes I have. Now I do admit there are certain things I collect, that I keep because I am particularly fond of them and cannot let go of them. Like mementos from holidays, books and, as it turns out, clothes. I have clothes still that I wore when I was sixteen. I am now twenty-three. I can no longer eat the amounts of crap I did at sixteen because it becomes noticeable now (eek) I have clothes I brought because I liked them, and there was not my size available, but I thought I’ll buy a smaller size, and try to lose weight. I have had a massive head’s gone in the last few months in that why on earth am I buying clothes that do not fit, will never fit, and do not make me feel good? Why? I don’t know. I’m simply collecting clothes, for NO REASON. No wonder I have no space! Madness is truly doing the same thing over and getting the same result.

Do you know the best sites I can sell clothes on? Or have any other ideas of where I can get rid of some of my clothes?

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Poem. Sunshine Views.

sky sunny clouds cloudy
Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com

Sunshine Views

the scenic view
as i walk through
layers upon layers of small happenings

of joggers
a train speeding by
the sparkle of dew on grass
crooked rubbish sacks beside the bins

an empty park
with ghosts of children past

i rejoice in the days that begin when
winter ends

when i wake
and behind the curtains
the sunshine is waiting for me

the grey, miserable days can be forgotten
replaced by hope,
possibilities that don’t look so impossible

showered, and dressed
i walk,
out into the park
where the trees wave at me
and twigs snap underneath my feet

further into wooded areas
it is like i am alone, with a different kind of magic
the hum of the road is almost inaudible

it feels i could walk forever
releasing my worries

in curiosities of nature –
discarded eggs, feathers,
and a pair of mittens
dangling on a low hanging branch from the tree

in the event the person
who lost the pair may return for them

how separate we can become

lost from what we hold dear

relying on a stranger to take notice
and help us find our lost belongings again


The sun was out over the Bank Holiday weekend and, as it goes, suddenly everyone in the country appeared to be a lot happier. I actually wrote this poem a couple of months ago and just added a few details when I edited it a few days ago. I’m not happy with the ending of the poem, but it did leave me stumped. I imagine something will come to me eventually though.

Want more poetry? Try Here comes the Sun