Monday, 25 May 2015

How can you not like Rain?

Hello There

Kate here.

Thanks to everyone who as taken the time to click on the follow button, or had a quick glance at my blog. I am on 'Twitter': katemcclelland7 and on 'Pinterest': Kate McClelland (not really got the hang of that yet, so bear with me :0)

I have added a poem of mine today called 'How can you not like rain?. It's about my love of rain (yes, rain). It's a bit lengthy, but stay with it - I may make a Pluviophile out of you yet,

Stay safe
Kate x

How can you not like Rain?


Okay, I admit it, I’m a Pluviophile.

I love thunderstorms, heavy rainfall, showers and rainbows

The way it can be raining on one side of the road

Yet sunny on the other

As if the world were split in two, down that one street

To me, rain equals a peaceful mind.

I sleep better, think better and feel better when it rains.

I love the different sounds, the smells, the sights

The feel of rain on my skin.

The roar of the thunder, daring all comers to challenge it

The flashes of lightening across the coastal skyline

Filling the air with an electricity you can taste and feel

The wildness of the wind as it whips through your hair

Pulls at your clothes, making you stand against it

Forcing yourself forward, battling the elements

Making you feel alive

The smell of the ozone after a thunderstorm

Or the freshness of the air after heavy rain

The waft of perfume rising up from summer flowers

After a shower has stopped and the sun comes out

Releasing the beautiful aroma of the blossoms

Permeating the unseen steam rising to the sky

Making a technicolour world

The wet sheen that covers the foliage,

The leaves sparkling as they bend in the wind

The droplets snaking their way down the trees, bushes and ivy

Down and down to the ground water

To start their cycle from rain to stream to vapour to cloud to rain again

The shiny slate-topped houses and rain spattered windows

As they glint in the sun just as the downpour stops

The feeling of raindrops on your hat

Or the noise of it drumming on your umbrella

Running down your raincoat

Soaking your jeans and ruining your suede shoes

Watching children splish-splash in big puddles

Wearing their bright coloured wellingtons

Looking like little ‘Paddington Bears’ (©)

In their big plastic-covered hats and coats

Squealing with delight at the sounds and actions of the water.

Enjoying the feeling of ‘being naughty’,

Eyes sparkling with mischief

As they cheekily kick the water towards their already sodden parent,

A pigeon trying to enjoy a quick bath

Chased off by a lolloping Labrador

A duck, with ducklings in  flotilla procession behind her,

Sails across the pond

Wondering what all the fuss is about

Making for the shelter of an overhanging willow

As they’re quite wet enough thank you

A shaggy dog, lapping up the puddles and gambolling across wet grass

Then shaking off the excess water so violently,

That everyone within a few feet

Gets covered in the muddy splatter

Gutters and drainpipes roaring

With the force of the collected rain

That flushes out the sewers and water systems

Gives us water to drink, feeds the plants we eat

And the floral bouquets we love to look at

Making everything clean and new

Bright and shiny

Cool and crisp

It can wear down mountains to grains of sand

Dig deep into Mother Earth to create canyons and valleys

Can sweep away whole areas with its destructive force

Yet, it can make something as beautiful and fragile as a rainbow

Spanning the sky with its psychedelic colours

A marvel of light - shining through a prism of water droplets

Hanging in the air for all to marvel

Or make a delicate spider web twinkle

Like a diamond necklace when the light catches it

How can you not like rain?

Wednesday, 20 May 2015

Alpine Dreams

Hello There

Kate here :0)

Hope you're having a great day.
Had a wonderfully vivid dream last night.

I was somewhere that felt 'Alpine', do you know what I mean?
I was staying in a large wooden house. All the woodwork was greyed with age and the edges sculptured into fantastic curves and little Viking dragons. (not as magnificent and grand as the hall in the 'Lord of the Rings' film, but you get the drift)

The wooden furniture was also carved and ancient, like it had been formed by the forest itself. Little animals and birds carved into every surface it seemed.

Big cushions and rag throws covered the chairs and huge couch in the living area and there was a big open log fire on my right, so big you could stand up inside it.
I felt as if I belonged there.

I walked outside and the view took my breath away!
A little beaten earth path wound down a gentle slope to a weathered gate at the beginning of the village road.

To the left, other houses in the same style, leading around a bend - It became obvious to me that this was a small village of some sort. Seems like this house was the last one before open countryside.

To the right, some moss covered foothills leading to three searing mountains.
They were so close, it felt like they were leaning down to meet us.

They were very pointy, (like jagged wizard's hats) The middle one was covered in a vivid lavender blue and the two either side were covered in an emerald green coloured moss from top to foot.

Little yellow flowers, which looked like individual primroses close up, dotted the lush green slopes towards the mountains and all the way back to the house and it's garden.

It was as if the mountains had given permission for the village to be there and had let it grown on the edge of the foothills - like an off shoot of them somehow. Separate, but part of the mountains themselves.

I waved to the few people walking past and stepped outside the house, walked towards the gate.
I felt a total peace and serenity just fill up my insides to the top of my head with a warm, glowing feeling that I can't really explain.
As it did so, I thought 'this is where I want to live'.

Then - Nononono!!! I jolted awake!! Nooo!!! I tried to hold back the disappointment.
I tried to go back to sleep to catch a remnant of the dream, but the more I tried the quicker it faded - then it was gone.
Gone like a wisp of early morning mist when the hot sun picks it out for death.

A feeling of complete loss overcame me - which was very strange as I knew full well it was a dream. But I felt like I'd just lost something precious!
I sorely missed a place that in all probability, didn't exist and was really upset to think it was lost and I didn't know how to find it again.

It was so vivid, so real, so peaceful and beautiful, waking up was like seeing a beautiful Venetian glass vase smash on the floor - sadness at it's destruction and  irreplaceability.

So I shall be browsing through  'Alpine' villages on the internet - you never know, I might find my little village in the foothills of three mountains again.
Stranger things have happened!

Wish me luck

Kate x
© Kate McClelland 2015

Tuesday, 19 May 2015


Hello There
Kate here

Hope you are having a great day

Wanted to say thanks to all of the people who have read my poetry/short story blog. Much appreciated. Also thanks to all the people who clicked the 'follow' button, or followed me back - again, much appreciated.

Thought I would post one of my poems today.
It's called 'Nightmares' it's about nightmares I had as a child.
I had a vivid imagination and sometimes I scared myself half to death with scary thoughts when it was dark.
Have you experienced this? Can you share a nightmare you have had with me?


The withered old crone
All in raggedy black, cackling
Sits on top of my window seat
A grimacing monochrome harlequin
Pulling at my bed clothes
A disembodied hand at my feet
Claws its way to my pillow
A wraith all in white
Hides against an inky shadow
They seem to move together
A stilted ‘Danse Macabre’
A scratching sound under my bed
Clawing at the bedstead
The flame orange eyes
Of an owl pierce through
The night window, looking for prey
A half glimpse of a tar-black imp
In the dark corner of the room
Nightmares ride against me
Through the black long hours of dark
Like the ebony horse of Fear himself
Until I’m wrung through with sweat
And wracked with the pain of constant fright
Wishing for the dawn
To be saved by the golden daylight
Fearing that nothing will save me
But hoping, still hoping
It will all go away at the lance-like
Piercing golden flame of day

© Kate McClelland 2015

Tuesday, 12 May 2015


Thanks so much to everyone who has pressed the 'follow' button or had a quick read of my blog - very much appreciated.

Yes I am polite in real life - sickening isn't it?. I am the one on the bus/train who says 'No, no, honestly, I don't mind that you fell asleep on my shoulder spilling your saliva down my jacket, that's fine really, don't give it a second thought' Hahaha but ON second thoughts - is that polite or passive-aggressive? I don't know but I'm sure it would take a £150+ per hour psychiatrist to find out and who has that kind of money/time/inclination? :0) Kate

Friday, 8 May 2015

Scrawny Sushi Eater

Hello There

Kate here

Don't know why, but last week I had Kate Bush songs playing in my head and this week, It's been Peter Gabriel songs, namely, 'Red Rain', 'In Your Eyes' and 'Don't Give Up' as if they're on a loop. Not that I mind - the lyrics of 'In Your Eyes' - The light, the heat, I am complete...' just wonderful.

I've added another one of my ink scratching's about someone on a bus journey.
Hope you like it
Speak to you soon
Kate xx

Scrawny Sushi Eater


The bus stopped suddenly, jerking forward as the air brakes kicked in, lurching my stomach forward and snapping my head back slightly. The doors opened and a blast of freezing cold air rushed in and around my ankles and kneecaps, reminding me how cold it was that evening.

I shifted slightly in my seat, pulling my gloves on tighter and my collar up as high as it would go.

A young couple got on the bus, the man moaning at the bus driver that they had been waiting over 20 minutes and asking him what had happened to the bus that hadn’t turned up fifteen minutes earlier. The driver advised him he didn’t know as he had been driving this bus for the last hour.

The guy just stared at him, his jaw set firmly in place, grinding his teeth for a couple of seconds - weighing up whether it was worth starting an argument over. But in the end he just shrugged and decided it was too cold for that.

He nudged his girlfriend in the arm and gesticulated with some agitation, for her to move down the bus. He muttered that the driver was ‘a fuck-wit’. His girlfriend rolled her eyes as they passed my seat and went to sit at the back of the bus where the big heaters were situated, all the time, having an animated whispered argument about whether the driver really was a ‘fuck-wit or not.

Creeping onto the bus, practically invisible behind this scene, was what looked like a small bundle of clothes with legs and one of those ‘Peruvian’ woolly hats with bobbles on the end of the chinstraps popping out of the top of the bundle where I assumed the head would be.

It walked towards were I was sitting and as it walked, the hat got pulled off and shoved in a pocket.

She was what we used to call a ‘slip of a girl’. I guessed she was all of five feet three inches standing on tip toes.

You could tell she looked a lot older than she actually was. Her face was gaunt and pallid. No makeup to cover the small patches of dried skin around her nostrils. Her eyes were a muddy brown, no light or sparkle to be seen. Older looking, but still with the fluid movements of a younger person.

Her straggly, dyed black hair flopped out of the top of a chunky hair bobble which held her scraped back ponytail tightly, as if to stop it from making a desperate escape for freedom and crawling away into a dark hiding place.

Scrawny and pinch-faced, her voluminous parka coat was wrapped around her like a blanket.

If it ever fitted her, it was another life time ago.

Grey shapeless leggings listlessly hung from her skinny pipe-cleaner legs, fitting where they touched. From her feet, dangled a pair of bedraggled well-worn grey and white trainers. They looked as if they were on their last legs - or should I say last feet. Battered and unkempt, sadly matching their owner.

She clutched a plastic carrier bag close to her right hip as she sat down, scrunching herself up like a discarded chip wrapper on the seat opposite me on the bus.

Placing the plastic bag down on the vacant seat next to her, she first peered in as if not knowing what she would find there. Then, on deciding it looked safe enough to put her hand in, she proceeded to empty the contents, one by one, on to the vacant seat.

Out came an assortment of items - a small vacuum sealed pack of sushi - marked across the front with a big orange ‘reduced’ sticker - a small can of fizzy energy drink, (I don’t know how people can drink that stuff – It smells like a chemical factory) a small packet of loose tobacco and cigarette papers (colloquially known as ‘skins’ - I think) and a packet of mint ‘TicTacs’ made up the rest of the contents.

The plastic bag she lets fall to the floor of the bus without a second’s hesitation or care.

She scoffed the sushi down as if someone was about to grab it from her. Greedily licking her fingers and palm, where the wasabi sauce had leaked out and trickled down her hands.

At that moment she realised she had no napkins or even a tissue. She gave out an exasperated ‘Urrgghh’ noise along with a few choice Anglo Saxon words, then shrugged and wiped her hands on the inside of her coat.

After this feline – like cleanse, she shoved the tobacco and skins in one pocket of the parka and the mints in another. Then she sat sipping the energy drink slowly – I assumed this was because she had eaten the sushi too fast and was worried about the sushi ‘reappearing’ if she drank too fast on top of it.

She allowed the empty packet from her meal to also fall to the floor alongside the plastic bag without a flicker of acknowledgement or any intention of picking it up again.

Shuffling herself across the seat to the condensation-covered window – (practically rolled herself up into a ball), she pulled a clunky looking mobile phone from her voluminous coat pocket and presses a ‘fast dial’ number.

She proceeded to negotiate in an animated manner an order for drugs as if she was ordering a pizza. Part way through the conversation, her voice changed to a wheedling whiney tone trying to persuade whoever was on the other end for a bit extra ‘on account’ and she will ‘sort something out’ for payment ‘You know me, I’m good for it’ she said a few times. Not caring in the slightest whether people could hear her or not, or what they would think. Totally caught up in the deal she was making, oblivious to anything outside of her phone.

She then leans forward in the seat and calls someone else, begging them to lend her some money ‘until next week’. Telling them she needed it for bills - a ‘red reminder’. She tells them that she will meet them now to collect it, but no, she can’t stay.

Deals made, she shoved her phone back into her pocket. Her hands reach up and pull her hair bobble to make her ’facelift’ ponytail even tighter than before. How the skin on her face didn’t split with the tension I don’t know.

She sits back in her seat again, wiping a hole in the window condensation with her sleeve.

She thrust her hands into back into her pockets, knees jiggling, oblivious to the rest of the passengers disapproving glances and ‘tuts’. Pressed her forehead against the window for a moment and then looked out into the foggy gloom, watching for her stop.

As I watched her from where I was sitting, amazed at the transformation from quiet dishevelled bundle of clothes to animated ‘druggy’ and back, she sniffed continuously and wriggled in the seat as if a family of fleas had taken up residence in her coat, occasionally darting up like a startled Meer cat, thinking she had missed her stop.

I wondered how she had arrived at this juncture in her life. What set of circumstances had occurred and what decisions were made along the way to get her to this point.

She seemed so wretched, but as hard as granite at the same time. A stark vulnerability coupled with a street wise cunning and maybe even a sly viciousness creeping into her personality.

All of a sudden she jumped to a standing position, yanked her phone from her pocket and leaving the detritus in a wake behind her - stumbled towards the front of the bus, talking urgently into her phone ‘I’m here, I’m here. Two minutes!’ she shouts. She hopped off the bus and sped off into the freezing dark passed the street lights illuminating the bus stop.

I couldn’t see where she had gone, so I faced forward again on the bus, shaking my head slowly at the thought of a life lost in that vicious repeat performance she seemed to have gotten herself into.

Continuously focused on obtaining the next ‘buzz trip to oblivion’ with no regard for self or others. Who knows what she would do when the money finally ran out for the next high - and how far she would be willing to fall down the rabbit hole of desperation and denigration before she would seek help.

Or would she just go on until the sharp, cold end of a filthy needle in some squalid damp squat somewhere finished her off?

Was she a forgotten soul, lost and alone? - Or was someone still out there wondering where she was? If she was safe? Wanting her to get in touch? Had she burnt all of her bridges on the way, flinging the lit matches behind her without a care as to the damage done? To march on into oblivion knowingly.     

The doors closed and the bus pulled away from the stop. I silently hoped she would find her way back from the void, sighed and then stopped thinking about her.

Isn’t that what we all do?  

© Kate McClelland 2015