I’m not 100% sure if nicheing is even a word but that is what I think I should be doing. I’ve been reading lots of posts and articles about how you should have a niche and then focus all your writing, work, if you have anything to sell on that. There’s also lots of lists about the things you could niche or sell online. So I’ve been thinking about what I could niche about in my blog and here’s my list:
Month: October 2015
I’m so glad it’s half term. This first half of school term has been hard work especially as it is the first time I’ve ever had to do this. I’m sure by the end of the holiday, I’ll be glad that my daughter is back at school but for now, I’m so happy!
Hot Bikram Yoga
I prayer that my body is ready
For contortions in extreme heat
Both legs are firm and steady
Start from the top, down to the feet
‘Keep breathing’ is the mantra
The sweat has already begun
As the teacher begins her banter.
There’s nowhere now to run
What makes me come here?
Why did I drag my friend?
Are you ok? Is that a look of fear?
We fold our body into a bend,
It’ll be over soon, my dear
As we finally lie down at the end.
there in the cold.
He stands there guarding
the house, come snow
or hail. He stands there
with only his hat
keep him warm.
He stands there
facing the gale force
wind that blows his hat off.
He stands there in the freezing cold.
He stands there wondering what it must
be like to be warm. He stands there facing
an orange glowing window. He stands there
watching the kids play in the cosy room. He
stands there in the bitter cold. Awaiting his
imminent but cruel death. He stands there
until the sun comes out and gives him the
warmth he so craves. He stands there now
only half his size as the rain washes away his black beady eyes.
My grandmother’s cooking is definitely the best
It’s tasty and flavoursome with out being too spicy.
My mother in laws cooking is good too but not quite the same
It’s very spicy and very heavy and cooked in lots of oil.
I wish I could cook like my grandmother
I learnt from my grandmother so it should be the same
But it comes out a bit different.
The spices are a little raw and not cooked at the right heat and the chapattis are flat
The unami is missing, that magic touch.
My aunts cooking is good and almost like my grandmother’s
With a modern twist which should be so good
But it’s still not quite the same.
As I walk through our neighbourhood today, l feel happy to be alive.
The wind tries to pull my hair out of my bun as I bravely march on through the blustery wind
Armed with the pushchair and a baby wrapped up warm,
I take a deep breath and carry on.
The lull of the motorway traffic, just outside our neighbourhood sounds like the distant sea crashing against the shore
The screeching of sea gulls, tears down the calm blanket descending around us.
Safe in the knowledge that the fresh air outside is meant to be good for you, I carry on walking.
New houses are being built around us, a new community centre, nursery and gym
Promises of a bright new future in smaller houses and squashed up streets
Brings more people into the area, young couples who need to speed into work.
It safe, our neighbourhood, that’s for sure
As long as your home by ten, not more.
It’s not London you know, it’s not the city that never sleeps
But the pull of family, friends and a new community, keeps us here for now.
So many faces in my face,
Happy faces, angry faces, a face slightly too close.
Is he famous, famous he is!
A blank face, a sad face, a face now looking at me. Continue reading “Writing 201: Poetry – Day 6”
Ode To High Heeled Black Boots – Love, Sex and Poetry
By: Linda A. Long
In deep admiration
I pay homage to my
The ones that come
Up to my knee
And lead his beautiful eyes
Straight into my waiting prize
Heels like spikes
My stilettos tie
His thoughts around my hips
Like a chain link belt
Of unbridled passion
And unsavory intentions
Line the map
Of his desires to
Where I live in his heart
Starving, I’m starving
For his love and attention
My boots are
Like a magic wand
I wave over his waist
Until his restlessness
Pulls him into
The center of my world
My high heeled
Black boots glisten as they
Rest on his shoulders
As if a star lighting
Into my deepest caverns
To peace, love and happiness
My high heeled black boots
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An Ode to Holidays
How I love the sun always being switched on
The soft white sand melting into my feet and fingers
The complete stillness of the perfect paradise
How I love the crystal clear waters covering my feet, calf then knees
The exotic multi-coloured fish swimming too close to your toes
And the legs getting used to the cool water from the hot sun
How I love eating out and sleeping in
No cooking, no cleaning, and no guilt
No deadlines, no housework, no lists.
Massages at will and all-inclusive cocktails on the beach
No kids, no stress, no worries,
How I long for those carefree holidays!