I looked out of so many bus, train and car windows during my travelling years, getting all my inspiration for poetry and stories. There were sights, colours, smells and feelings that I'd never experienced before. Many of my poems will appear in blogs on here. They all told a story about where I was and what I was seeing - words flowed effortlessly out of me onto the page.
But after I'd hung up my skin-coloured money belt and settled a while, life started to become very 'normal', and poetry became harder to write.
Oh poetry, poetry, where have you gone?
You've abandoned me, deserted, moved on.
Two lines and it's finished,
my inspiration diminished,
words once flowing, have now flowed on along.
