That's so observant Shen. I love it all!

I have not heard ofnanoblocks but it sounds good! I have quite a few favourites: Crime Junkie is number one, always. Moms and Murder Counterclock Murder With My Husband (there's a definite theme...) But one that does not fit that genre is My Dad Wrote A ***** (I'm censoring the last word because I feel like I'm just scraping by guidelines with the previous podcasts I mentioned haha) This one always makes me laugh!

Belated Happy Birthday my friend!

@Shen Friebe I feel like writers always have weird search histories haha

@Shen Friebe Maybe I'll share my Spidey poem soon!

This is probably not a surprise to anybody but Taylor Swift. She's released a couple of poems (at least one off the top of my head) in the booklets of extended versions of her albums but I think it would be amazing to read a collection of her poetry. I think Bruce Springsteen would also pen an excellent collection. Two very different vibes but they're incredible lyricists.

Ooh. I love this question. Um. I googled facts about spiders. That was pretty weird.

I love cats but my cat, Pickle, is super annoying at times lol.The second one down was me at work today lol.

Italy. I don't even speak Italian or know anything about it. It just looks so beautiful!

Everything Is TrueWe live in the same country, the same town. We met in Waterstones when you picked up my bestselling novel and I said you had good taste. You bought me the book of poetry I’d picked up and asked me out. We went to Costa where you drank hazelnut coffee, your favourite, and I drank hot chocolate, my favourite. You laughed at all my jokes and enjoyed my poetry and didn’t look at another woman while we were there. We fell in love in Costa and I knew it was love because I am capable of loving. We moved in together a month later, bought a big white house in the good part of town with a huge garden with the greenest grass and flowers that bloomed all year round. You said the garden is perfect for a dog and we bought a husky puppy because you love huskies and I got two guinea pigs because you’re not allergic. You said being with you suited me, that we suited each other. In the evenings, you play video games and I read, leaning against your warm body. We dance in the kitchen to Taylor Swift but only her happy songs because we’re happy, happier than we’ve ever been. I wear your shirts and hoodies because they’re so soft and remind me of you. You propose with a book of poetry, not a ring, and you’re excited to call me you’re wife. You’re not in love with someone else. I still believe everything you say and I trust you. Did I tell you everything is true? Do you still believe me? You still believe I trust you?

30th April 2022 Welp. Today's the day. Prompt: Write a poem about a conversation/interaction with your neighbour. Word Bank: File Ask Weird Restaurant Laugh Openers: Where do… I should’ve… I haven’t…

The Shortest Summer It was the last summer I rode my bike, maybe 2003, the summer of blue skies, ice creams so cold they cured my sunburn and, dear god, the summer holidays lasted for ten years when our neighbour stopped leaving her house. I wish I could tell you her name, what she looked like, the colour of her eyes, her accent, if she was left handed. I’ll call her Mrs Smith because, really, why not? and Mrs Smith stopped answering the phone, would leave the door unanswered as if the handle itself wouldn’t let her go if she touched it, as if the house contained the only air on Earth and she would surely die outside where the outside is so very big and she promised she was fine and she was eating though she stopped feeding the birds in the garden. I swear, the birds gave up on her, stopped nesting in her tree, the tree that stopped blooming though I don’t think trees really bloom. It was the summer I realised I didn’t have any friends, not really, not ever, not friends to call when my home burned down, not friends to call to talk me off a ledge, the summer I realised butterflies shouldn’t survive inside you, that other people at school answered the teacher without feeling sick. And it wasn’t summer at all, not ever, not Mrs Smith who was sent home from work, holding her uniform to her chest, rocking in a chair that wasn’t built to be rocked. Her oldest daughter found her crying, crying, crying… It was never summer, never Mrs Smith. I think it must have been winter 2006 maybe when Mum broke down and I learned to walk on eggshells and I learned it’s not normal to walk on eggshells and I haven’t stopped walking on eggshells since. And it was summer, the shortest summer, when I started crying, crying, crying… and promised I was fine.

29th April 2022 The end is in sight! Prompt: Imagine your heart is a museum. Take the reader on a journey through the museum. Word Bank: Explain Rushing Favourite Soup Look Openers: I’m taking… You’re making… Now follow…

A Haiku on a Bad Day It's cooler today. I needed my favourite sweatshirt. I miss the sunshine.

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