Kite floating in the lake at the Golden Temple, Amritsar, India

The last couple of days I have slept terribly and had exceptionally vivid dreams. I’m clearly anxious about lots of things and so to get this in check (and to let poor Matthew sleep a bit better) I need to dip back into my meditation. By this I mean I need to commit to it, properly this time. It was a great help in the past and I need to ensure my mental health stays as positive as possible.

I’ve meditated 3 times since yesterday. Two out of the three times I listened to Shiva chanting and both times it inspired me to write. Today I gave in to the earning to write and came up with these two little pieces. I learned that mediation is for you, and you alone, and it can only be what you make of it.

Hope you enjoy:

Planted like a tree
my roots begging to dig deeper
my leaves crying to catch sunlight and rain
my buds aching to bloom

to colour the world

Colour Catcher
Kaleidoscopic colours
beneath my blinds
awakening the artist

letting in the rainbow.

Whetting my lips
with spiced jewels
tasting the calm

it echoes throughout me.

© LE Purse

31st October 2014

Dream Land Antics


This rainy, windy and dark autumn evening I scribbled down some silliness. I was inspired by two things, firstly, my rather active night’s sleep last night (if you know me well enough, you know I dream loudly and expressively) and secondly by SFox’s blog. He wrote a wonderful poem the other day which I really enjoyed and realised I wanted to change it up and inject a little bit of fun into my poetry every now and then.

So here goes, fair world, read on and enjoy:

The unfortunate effects of a dancing sleeper

Up and down
and round and round the rabbit hole we must go,
come Shrews and Voles,
Cats and Moles,
for there’s a party to behold.

Where party clocks and holy socks will dance
all night long
to jazz, to house, and to trance
until the bell rings, ding dong.

Cups of tea and stale fruit scones
shall be slurped and scoffed right down
until the time does come
to a eat a candied dental floss crown.

Nor witch nor mammal can see the difference in,
the wild cream tarts with legs or the fire’s whose flames ne’er win.

This party may seem like a huge joke
but believe me when I say
these are my nightly dreamscape folk
with whom I drink and pray.

I flail,
I fling,
I dance around a golden ring –

- only to find when morning cometh
that my boyfriend’s noggin resembles K2’s summit.

© LE Purse

15th October 2014

Image from here, thank you!

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In recent months I’ve been struggling again with my anxiety. Which has resulted in me becoming defensive, expecting my loved ones to be psychic to my every needs and ultimately, selfish. I’m not talking about the kind of selfish where you take time for yourself, but the kind that when you think back on it it makes you cringe a little.

After having a surprising chat with my big brother, I knew I had to make some changes. In my daily life I’m running, trying out yoga, reading and writing more, and cooking. I’m doing the things that make me happy and keep me balanced. It’s helping me to be able to reach out to friends and support my loved ones. I feel ready for it. Strengthened, almost.

Anyway, this is what this teeny poem is about. Hope you enjoy:

My Web
my web’s widening again;
being stretched from birch to palm
raindrops collecting on each carefully crafted strand
this time with reinforced steel strength.

© LE Purse

13th October 2014

Spirit Dancers

Yesterday I wandered slowly back with heavy bags of shopping across a field, past a woody copse and through the back of a grave yard. The sun was slowly slipping away and my music playing. As I walked towards the copse I thought I saw shadows dancing amongst the willows. I have no idea whether it was my overactive imagination or whether some spirits were showing themselves, but it made me glow from the inside out at the thought of dancing with not a care in the world, allowing your body to become one with everything around you. It may sound terribly “hippy”, but there is nothing like losing your inhibitions and dancing so freely. Anyway, this is where this little ditty sprang from:

Spirit Dancers
In the fading sunlight they danced
Their bodies moving like Salome’s silken scarves,
willowy limbs
luxuriating in the wind
In amongst the thorns and autumn leaves
heads thrown back
they flowed with the breeze
Shadows of music unheard
flames of hair unseen
as the embers of their souls
danced in the fading sun.

© LE Purse

9th/10th October 2014

Turkish Riots

This guy was inspired by the news of the riots and curfews in Turkey over the last couple of days, and the people it affects in an everyday way. Hope it makes some sense and that you enjoy it:


Goodnight blessings come a little earlier tonight;
A pat on the head,
a kiss on the cheek
as bedtime prayers
reach My God’s ears.

There’s a trill in the air,
carried on every particle of the breeze,
murmurs of water and tears flood the kitchen below.

The particles stay close,
embalming the night in a new haze
as a warm hand brushes hair back off his forehead
and holds its breath.

© LE Purse

8th October 2014




All images copyright of The Times




I’m sure nearly every single one of us has been unemployed at some point and have experienced the ups and downs of the process. After only, luckily, a couple of months I’ve not signed a contract, but I have been offered a position working for a children’s charity. I couldn’t be happier because it is the job I have been envisioning myself in for a very long time and the type of job I hoped to get when I gave up the chance to teach in the West Bank.

I think my hard work has paid off after taking hours to complete applications, trawling job sites for days on end, and the nerves of an interview…it is pretty exhausting! Anyway, this is a lighthearted poem based on all of that:

the job search train
this train has taken me
round and round the garden
and over the hills and dar away,
sock dancing in the kitchen
and celebrating with the cat.
stones dropping on toes
and money landing in the bank,
carrots dangled
then eaten by the farmer;
whips cracked but not hard enough.

© LE Purse

10th September 2014



I don’t think I need to explain this one in too much detail. There’s been a tragic story in the media in the last few weeks and today it reached it’s awful climax. Sadly, this was inspired by that and the plight of a young girl’s family. I hope you can appreciate, but pray you haven’t experienced, my latest poem:

A purple whitewash
is plastered across her face
watermarks burned into her cheeks
with fists clenched tightly
around barbed wire bag straps,
blood trickling.
Snoopy, his ears strewn across the duvet
lies where he was left,
a constant upward eye smile.
The smell of burnt toast,
soured milk,
and bleach,
mingle with the tea stains,
dirt ring around the bath,
and droplets of red wine.
A purple whitewash
is plastered across his face
watermarks burned into his cheeks
with fists clenched tightly
around barbed wire bag straps,
blood trickling.

© LE Purse

1st October 2014

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