If you go down to the woods today – #Bluebells #poetry #video pic.twitter.com/kq9vFPaOJP

Oh to be in England
Now that April’s there…..

So begins the famous poem Home Thoughts, From Abroad  by Robert Browning, written in 1845 when he was feeling homesick in Italy. It is a lovely poem and I have always taken pleasure from poems of Nature. One of the few “arty” things I learned at school was the poem “Daffodils” by William WordsworthIn later life as a wannabee poet I discovered the words of John Clare and wept with frustration at my dullness. These days what poetry I have I secrete in my novels like a pinch of mono-sodium glutamate among the stir fried bean sprouts of new love. (Guess what I’ve been cooking for dinner?)

It was a release to get away from the office and go to the Bluebell woods at Mottisfont in Hampshire. I took my camera and tried to capture the crushing fragility of such beauty. All I could think of was the poem by Oscar Sparrow entitled simply “Bluebells”So much of our longing as humans comes down to a need to hold on and endure. Humble flowers with their immense beauty and perfume fade before our eyes and we cannot hold them any more than we can hold ourselves on the shingle shores of Time. And yet in poetry we can pass on a few moments that in the act itself of sharing, flower over and over as seeds, roll over and over as waves, kiss over and over as innocent lovers: as if no bloom before had offered such beauty or no lips before had ever known the joy of the kiss.

These were my feelings when I first read Oscar Sparrow’s poem. Putting away all the bawdy splash and dash of selling the stuff and beating the drum which is a novelist’s/publisher’s life, I was in those woods – trying to hold back Time, trying to breathe in the blue. 

Emma thinx: Memory is your portrait. Select your poses to paint you

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A Rose By Any Other Thorn – #Valentine’s Day Snags pic.twitter.com/plGWt0rbd0

It is Friday the thirteenth. Although my life is an obstacle course of superstition, this occasion has never brought me any bad luck. Happily this morning I saw two magpies out of the window at first light. In the semi gloom I did put my knickers on back to front and resisted the urge to adjust the mistake. I’m just so pleased I don’t wear a thong. So, I’m safe. It is well known in supernatural circles that the defiant power of reversed knickers always trumps the hand of doom. 

Far more important is the date tomorrow – 14th February. I guess it’s potentially the best or worst day of the year. You love him. He loves you. He loves you not. He loves you but doesn’t know the date. He loves you but he’s a creepy stalker with dog breath and a socially plausible excuse! She sends you a card out of capricious vanity….dear me – just remember what happened when Bathsheba sent Mr Boldwood a teasing card in Thomas Hardy’s novel “Far From The Madding Crowd”. Yes – it’s an interpersonal swine-field. 


Like most things spontaneous and romantic- they can be improved with good management. For the past two weeks I’ve been indicating to my man that there may be a package arriving that he is not to open because it may contain items he should not see yet. I’ve been casually talking about the Valentine’s merchandising in Walmart as I complain about regular items being moved. 


“Do you know they’ve moved the unwashed organic potatoes so that they can sell more cards with gaudy quilted hearts!” I say casually. He nods. He gets it. He loves it when I talk dirty.


But, it’s a wonderful festival of sentiment. It can be over the top and under the bottom but that’s how love is. Check out my Valentine poem. It’s an indulgent fest of vulgar velvet but that’s the way I love my man.

Emma Thinx: You are not my heart. You are its beat.










Shelter. A Poem By Oscar Sparrow

                                          Shelter


A ledge A gap A hole
A chance A crack A slot

A have or not 

A home.

A nest A den A box
A street A cell A plot

A have or not

A home.


My partner Oscar Sparrow (the poet) no longer blogs or slogs the internet trail. His pencil still has lead and so I’m delighted to air a small poem about the social issue of housing. He just wanted to put the idea of HOME out there. (He didn’t want me to explain that the capital A is used to create the idea roofs or tepees).

Give me shelter and I will be your morning song

The concept of home is so central to our human sense of self and security. Governments mouth empty phrases about young folk, values, the future and self esteem. Yet, a home is beyond most youngsters trying to set out. It is a market where our leaders cannot tread and the haves squeeze rent-juice out of the have-nots so that they can never ever ever have what the landlords (and our millionaire leaders) have…..A home.

What is government for? I’m sure some would say it was to clear the path for the operation of profit making markets and then stand back. Perhaps this is the rule of Nature – the rapacious predators at the top of the food chain pull down and gorge on the flesh of the prey species, inevitably those who are weaker.

 Yet – even indifferent Nature allows a blown seed to find some fissure. Young pigeons cling to a girder above a street near my local bakery. Callous Nature shrugs yet still applauds a homemaker. Maybe Nature is also indifferent to markets…….Maybe there is a bigger home truth and pitiless capitalism is not the ultimate super-symmetry of the sub atomic universe? Could such a heresy be true? Is the stone face of greed not the portrait of perfect beauty?  Do we deny our young people something that is fundamental to our conscious existence? Tell me – who is not worthy of an affordable home? Who? Who?And why? Why?


Emma Thinx: Home is where the start is.  




My Valentine Poem To The One I Love

My favourite things…


I need to break away from the Shannon’s Law nerves and think a little about Valentine’s day. I know, I know – all the shops are hyped up in full sales target hue and cry. Its lace in your face and blooms down your bloomers all the way to the tills. For all that, it is a festival of love and passion. Someone singles you out from the billions of the world. 


For some, they don’t. When this has been my fate I’ve always kinda smiled at my freedom and all the possibilities ahead. In lonely times there really is a chance to know love by its longing and absence. A writer has to know the power of tears uncried. A lonely love builds and builds towards that someone who is there ahead. 

I’ll be quite honest with you and tell you that the little poem I wrote for Valentine’s day a few years ago was just for me in a lonely time. I know it’s OTT and has all that commercial splurge. All the same that is the world we walk through. I wasn’t trying to be posh. I was trying to express the love I had inside myself to give or that someone had in their heart for me. Hey – they turned up!

There’s a link to YouTube and you can print out the words  if you like them. 
Emma x

Emma Thinx: Without your special love, everyone else has one. When you have it, all those others have nothing.

Persons From Porlock

The erudite literati out there will of course know the history of poor Coleridge’s writing of Kubla Khan. The great poet was in full (opiate?) creative flow when a visitor from Porlock knocked on his door causing the most disastrous poeticus interruptus of all time. Even so, a wonderful poem was conceived and Porlock went on to host a famous literary festival. The only thing it had lacked in the past was the attendance of a full bodied Romantic Passionista such as modest little me.

Candy and Paul awaiting the person from Porlockl
Of course, I was supposed to go with Oscar – but he couldn’t get the day off work. And guess who the folks actually wanted to see? It’s not that I don’t do poetry – I still do (ish) and did ( ooh – you could have taken your pick of my iambic at one time). No one did as it happens! That’s why I’m not on BBC Radio Foreplay. 

Buy my books. OK BUY MY BOOKS!!!
Happily I met up with a couple of fantastic poets, Candy Bright and Paul Tobin who starred in the “Freeze Frame” anthology. I had read their stuff and done the sound editing on the audio track. These guys are the real deal. As a young young writer I went to poetry readings and longed to be that kind of writer. Poets push off from the shore, not knowing where they’re off to; prepared over and over again to drown in waves and cross currents. Their work is their cry above the storm or the landscape of the calm horizon where only ideas or desires cast shadows. Poetry is the true form and I still love it. I guess they don’t look at their Amazon ratings or admire their limousines too much either.

I also met a fellow novelist – Jackie Gingell, author of “Ee Aye Addyeo” (The Farmer Wants a Wife). We had a comradely chat which left me smiling.

With driving rain and wind, the village hall was no Xanadu, so many thanks to the man from Porlock and partners, who fought the elements and treated themselves to some poetry.

And finally just to note that this is my three hundredth blog. I know there are tattooed old sweats out there who have done several thousands. My feeling is that the blogger sands have shifted since I started. At the outset it was absolutely de rigueur for writers to have one. There were gurus writing blogs telling other gurus how to blog up their guru power. A quick google has just confirmed my suspicion that many pets now write blogs. A look at the stats reveals that at least one spaniel has twice my readership. I dare not check out the cats cos they can be far wittier than me. 

Hey ho – blog on. 

Emma Thinx: Big ideas stand tall. Their shadows are the light. 



Poetry at the Blogger Book Fair from @AriaGlazki #BBF

My guest for the Blogger Book Fair today brings some poetry to the party – welcome Aria Glazki.


Life Under Examination is the recently released poetry collection, by A.T. Glazki, which explores the full range of interpersonal relationships, with a blend of lighthearted satire and earnest, emotional expression. 

It is now available through AmazonSmashwords, or 
the author’s site





The preview poem below celebrates the power of creativity, in theme with the Blogger Book Fair! 

Otherworldly Remedy

Gargoyles, and witches, and pixies, and elves –
All are examples of our inventive selves.
The fey, the centaurs, the magic, the real –
It all shows who we are, how we feel.
From mountains to valleys, villages, and towns,
In every crevice enchantment abounds.
Amazing, are they not? The realms we can travel,
Without ever leaving our castle or hovel.
The rich, the poor, the hungry, or sated –
We all can share the worlds they’ve created.
Those brilliant people – you know who I mean:
The authors, the poets, the painters you’ve seen.
All of those worlds that pour out of their souls,
Aching to fill all the heartbreak, the holes
That others’ deeds or others’ thoughts
Had created – those blemished spots.
Let yourself travel, let yourself feel,
And let yourself question: what defines real?
The pixies, the elves, the gargoyles, the fey –
All do exist, in their own special way.
For what are our lives if they’re not filled with magic?
They’re pointless, and dull, and so very tragic.

Travel those worlds; let yourself live.
In worlds full of magic, you’ll forget and forgive.

by A.T. Glazki.


Author Bio: 


A.T. Glazki’s writing story starts with one of those cliché beginnings when an English teacher encouraged her to submit a class assignment for publication. That piece was printed, and let’s just say, she was hooked!  

Since then, A.T. has run a literary magazine, completed her Creative Writing degree, been published a few more times, and of course spent countless hours writing. 

After a brief hiatus, she was a 2012 NaNoWriMo winner, which re-inspired her to pursue writing as a career. 

 Learn more about A.T. Glazki and her writing through her blog or follow her on Twitter (@AriaGlazki)!

Aria has a giveaway for the Blogger Book Fair:






Aria was visiting from the Blogger Book Fair – I will be posting at her blog today and at other blogging locations between the 22nd-26th July (see links below)





22nd July    Caitlyn Nicholas http://www.caitlynnicholas.blogspot.com
                   Jamie Campbell http://jamiecampbell.com.au/blog/
23rd July     Emily Tippets http://www.emtippetts.com/search/label/Blog
                   Penelope Reece http://penelopereece.blogspot.co.uk/
24th July     Leslie R. Wright http://thebasementlevelfive.blogspot.co.uk/
25th July     Aria Glazki http://ariaglazki.blogspot.co.uk/ 
                   Barbara Billig http://www.thenuclearcatastrophe.blogspot.com/
26th July     Don Wooldridge http://www.donwooldridge.com

My Valentine Love Poem

A a writer of Romance, Valentine’s day is kinda like Christmas eve in Walmart and Santa’s place at the North Pole. I am a real sucker for Saint Valentine’s day. Well, yes I know all the teddy bears, hearts, flowers and chocolates are a commerce-fest crossed with an orgy of kitsch. 

Yet, among it all the festival has that wonderful power to give permission for anyone to go completely over the top in the knowledge that…..you just cannot go over the top. No rose is too red, no teddy bear is too big, no card has too much sentiment. 

It was in this frame of mind that I have written my Valentine’s love poem. I write of love because I have had much of it and of course, it not all hearts and flowers. But when it is – then it is the most wonderful and dizzying thing in this universe. I have said in a previous Emma Thinx – anyone who can talk sensibly of love is not in it. On Valentine’s day, the gloves are off and the wits are out. Why be sensible or bother with taste when you can let go and love?

Emma Thinx: If you can’t exaggerate your fantasy – it’s love.



Freeze Frame cover Reveal

I’ve been working. My dear mate Oscar has been editing and compiling a collection of poetry. I’ve actually done some work on the audio – but only because I’m so bloody nosy about how people sound. Recently I went back into poetry myself to do a couple of YouTube videos. You know, poetry is still a really cool medium. I would be the first to admit that the commercial bish bosh bash has weakened my ability to go into full poet mode.

Listening to these guys I kinda zoned out of all the clatter. There’s Paul Tobin, a real deal poet who gets inside the fence and under the radar. He’s  – just so calm and persuasive. Jo Von Bargen – an American poet with a life soaked softness that is – well – beautiful. There’s a guy called Jeff Hansen who comes up with abstract stuff in a direct voice that offers ideas without any messing about. There’s Claude Nougat who speaks quite hauntingly about Rome in a captivating Scandiamerifrancitaliano  accent that must be unique to her and the world. There’s Oscar in his full Thespian/cockney truck driver/British posh. Finally, there’s Candy Bright who digs it out from the woman’s heart and certainly gets hold of mine. 

Today the cover of the collection Freeze Frame is revealed and I am proud of my very small part in this project. The cover was created by a young designer, Will,  who freelances for Gallo-Romano.  They tell me the e-book will be up on 21st December and the paper edition in January. It has its own Facebook page and if you feel so inclined you could follow the link and like it. 



Emma thinx:  Go undercover – hibernate with a book. 







A Romantic Love Poem From My Heart


OK, I went down to the water and jumped in. Well, not quite. I went down to the river and made a bit of a film. I had decided to write a poem after many years abstinence. Then, never content to do something simply, I shot some video, did an audio track, badgered some fabulous young innocents into being actors and musicians and splashed it up on You Tube. The footage is from my beautiful home town at Saint Savinien in France.

Now the reason for all of this is that I am writing a novel in which the heroine re-finds love after a long period of both sexual and emotional uncertainty. She looks back to first love as a way of recapturing a standard by which to measure her current feelings. In order to write this up as well as I can, I needed to get my own mind back to that place. As a young writer, I wrote many poems. I was a short story writer who enjoyed poetry by true poets. All the same, when it comes to love, nothing works like poetry. I believe this is because in times of emotional overload we cannot provide any objective view of our own state. Poetry scores by taking the love victim outside of themselves by talking to them about what is inside them. I think this makes sense. I am always in love at some level. I don’t think I could write Romance if this were not so.

Here it is then; my poem from the shoes of my heroine through the eyes of my own life. 


Emma thinx: Love gets better, but seldom stronger.





Post Card From Bournemouth UK

Dark drama at dawn as Phoebus warns of his impending absence 

October just sounds more like winter doesn’t it.  I always see it as an island month serving as a migration stop for birds and souls heading for the sun. Wiki tell me that there is an October Revolution Island and it is also the name of a 1952 novel by William March. Why has someone always done everything first? Why has someone always already said something that I wanted to say? Pre-emptive plagiarism is plundering my originality. Please don’t tell me someone has already said that! 

Now, I teased you with a sex toy in literature special. It’s coming but the research is taking a little longer than I imagined. I want to get it right. In the meantime I decided to use the last week end of summer to bask in the glory of the English sea-side.


Wedding photos on the sand. Just get me those shoes (and the figure)

As you know, I am a francophilly. I would still love to dance the can-can but for sure it would be the can’t can’t. England is the true land of the eccentric. We have everything from guys collecting the serial numbers on railway locomotives to people in their best clothes posing for wedding photos on the beach. Because I spend so much of my time in France I kinda see we Brits in a different objective way – ruthless creators of Empire queuing quietly for iPad 4s.

The day knew it was the last in the way that both you and I know we are the last that will be of the us-ness of us. 

 Sea birds balanced on the wind.
 People married on the sand.
 Guys in suits swigged beer from cans. 
 Christian surfers surfed, not sinned. 

Onward Christian surfers

Hey – I did a poem. Well let’s say the wonderful resort of Bournemouth wrote a poem. There is nothing on Earth like a British coastal resort town. And you know, I love you so so much for all my childhood castles, roundabouts and blue sky days. Thanks for having me back for your last stolen summer day. 

Hey – relax

And to round it off there’s a fabulous sculpture on the beach that says it all. And of course it’s all been said already. On Bournemouth sands I can connect nothing with everything. OK – you got me. T.S Elliot almost kinda said that.







Emma thinx:  Britannia Waives the Rules.