Hi, I'm Margaret, a creative, artistic type in my third age of life. I love writing, particularly poetry, singing, reading, dabbling with art, fashion, visiting country houses and beautiful gardens, theatre, anything and everything which inspires my creativity. I like meeting new people and trying new hobbies and experiences. As a real Francophile I enjoy getting to France as and when I can. Cat lover
I am delighted to announce that I have a brand new book due out on December 5th 2021, published by Steve Cawte at the wonderful Impspired Magazine Press.
Please watch this space for further announcements re launch and pre-order dates, reviews and podcasts.
Immersed in Blue – the Iona Journals 2012- 2021
This book is part journal, part memoir, part travelogue, illustrated with beautiful colour photographs, comprising material written on retreat on the mystical Inner Hebridean Isle of Iona over the course of nine years. The writing is presented as a series of Haibun, a fusion of poetry and prose with a nod to the traditional Japanese prosimetric form but here updated to give a more contemporary, westernised feel.
Book blurb
In 2012 a miracle occurred. While searching for a painting holiday the author chanced upon a creative writing retreat on the Inner Hebridean Isle of Iona. This mystical, magical place has since become what she describe as her heart-home, a place where she feels totally at ease, happy in her skin. She has returned year on year, each time producing a course project written as a Haibun (a mix of poetry and prose), which seeks to capture the myriad faces of the island and explore its numinous beauty. In this collection extracts from her journals 2012-2021 have been selected with the intention of sharing the many sights and sounds, riches of flora, fauna and landscape that she has been privileged to experience.
Here is a mock up of the book cover, still to be completed. Special thanks go to my friend Moira Brimacombe for permission to use one of her beautiful photographs for this. It is exquisite.
Signed Author Copies of both paperbacks are available from myself via PayPal: PayPal.Me/MargaretRoyall
Fording The Stream price £6.50 ( to include p&p)
The Road To Cleethorpes Pier £ 10.50 ( to include p&p
PLEASE EMAIL ME TO ASK ABOUT PAYING BY BACS OR CHEQUE OR FOR POSTAGE OUTSIDE THE UK
email: margaretroyall@icloud.com
My New Collection! Details below
Above: New collection ‘Where Flora Sings’ is released 28th November. Pre-orders now being taken.
please go to PayPal.Me/Margaret Royall, order as friend/family and give your address. Price £12.50 inc p&p. Please email me if you have questions: margaretroyall@icloud.com
Delighted to have featured as guest poet/author on several blogs lately? A couple of weeks ago I was invited to ‘Patricia’s Pen’ to talk about my recently published memoir of childhood. Here is a link to read about The Road To Cleethorpes Pier
A second guest slot featured on poet Damien B Donnelly’s blog in a section about the Hedgehog Poetry Press writers ( known fondly as Hoglets, from the poetry club’s title #CultOfTheSpinyHog.) Here I answered 11 questions about my writing life and my publications. Here is the link to that:
Please support my official launch organised by Lindum Books, Lincoln. It will be a Meet The Author Chat and reading of poems from the memoir.Should be a fun hour!
My memoir cover was exclusively designed by my artist/publisher Lorna at Crumps Barn Studio. She has sensitively reflected the style in which the book was written – in the form of a Japanese Haibun ( a fusion of prose, poetry, photos, travelogue, artwork etc) bu illustrating Japanese motifs in her design , I.e the great wave, kimono fabric patterns etc. I think she deserves recognition, if you agree please vote.
Cover of the Month The Road to Cleethorpes Pier: a beautiful portrait of an English seaside childhood Hey Everyone, I’m excited to tell you that my book has been nominated for the “Cover of the Month” contest on AllAuthor.com. This will help me a lot if I could see some votes coming in, so please remember to vote my book. Vote Now » Thanks, Margaret Royall
Here is the full wraparound, so you can see the details more clearly.
Currently I am fascinated by doorways and have been pursuing the idea of doorways to a post Covid future. Which bits of lockdown would we keep as improvements to our lives!p? What might we change? I have completed the first draft of a pamphlet of 13 poems on these ideas, mostly in sonnet or haiku form but not exclusively. I thought that my followers might want to take a look.
Here is the first draft of Doorways To The Future
DOORWAYS TO THE FUTURE
Taking a look at how things might be beyond Covid-19
How will our world look? How will we feel?
Once Covid steps down
from being our chief concern
New doors will open
What will we find there?
New ways of living our lives,
Changing our future?
There will be choices
to make. Stay as we were, or
forge a new pathway…
A greener future,
A kinder society,
Love to all people
What will you choose then?
Will you campaign for what
you feel strongly about?
Pause, take a fresh look
at all possibilities,
Make up your own mind!
DOORWAY TO KINDNESS,
‘Love Thy Neighbour,’ Charity Work, Community Initiatives
Each day she walks to work past his old house
Through smeary window panes she often sees
An old man in his bed, still as a mouse,
His features masked by overhanging trees.
Clearly he’s sick and desperate lying there
Alone in bed, no relatives around.
She pauses, waves to him to show her care –
He could be dead and waiting to be found?
Today’s the day she takes a chance to post
A greeting through the door, to wish him well.
It plops down echoing in the hall, where ghosts
may find and keep it, read it, who can tell?
Next day, surprise, he waits there like a child
with nurse and wheelchair, just to see her smile.
2. DOORWAY TO HONESTY
Telling it like it is, Avoiding the Blame Game
We know we should report with honesty
the things which happen causing malcontent
The easy option’s lying, being free
with truth, believing that it’s kindly meant.
But such behaviour stores up trouble ahead
The truth will out at some point, causing rage.
When lying we don’t sleep easy in our bed,
We should all speak as one from the same page.
The latest ruse is ‘gaslighting’ I’m told,
A cunning plan, a sensory assault,
Disguising truths with schemes and lies so bold
We start to think that we’re the ones at fault.
The liars must dig a hole to hide their guilt
But truthful men can keep the house they’ve built.
3. DOORWAY TO WORLD PEACE
Arbitration, Campaigning, Promoting Pacifism
Dark skies pervade a land in deep distress
Perhaps the clouds are mourning a lost love?
A sombre mood prevails, a deep darkness
The birds of peace have flown, no turtle dove
Now nests within the city’s ravaged walls
Where once so many cooed and raised their young;
The atmosphere has changed, the landscape’s soul
Is etched with grief, the victory unsung
Of heroes, warriors who have fought the cause
Now slain and buried deep within the earth.
Their quest was futile, tyranny and wars
Prevail, sweet peace is gone, we await the birth
Of justice, when the dead shall once more rise
In hope, as victory flares light up the skies
4. DOORWAY TO HUMILITY
Accepting help, Swallowing pride, Apologising
We fail to notice how our little lives
(Apportioned masterfully), run their course.
We may pretend that we are in control,
But in effect man’s choices have a source
Beyond him, which is only part revealed;
A tantalising glimpse of what might be
His future, if he follows surely on,
Towing the line and waiting, just to see
What hopes may reach fruition given time,
Ambitions realised, avenues explored,
Imagining that he has willed it so,
Whereas in truth his plans have been ignored.
A hidden compass is our willing guide
Success comes when its message is applied
5. DOORWAY TO RESPECTING BOUNDARIES
‘Me too’ issues, Personal Space, Respecting Free Will
Do not paint my portrait,
for I have a changing face
that alters with age
Do not declaim me in verse,
for I am a fledgling poet
not defined by genre
Do not photograph me,
for I am a free spirit
not confined to time and space
Do not dance my dance,
for I am a swirling ribbon
unrestricted by routine
Do not sing my song,
for I may have a new one
not yet composed
Do not aspire to know me,
for I grow in wisdom and change….
Allow me to be ME!
6. DOORWAY TO NEW OPPORTUNITIES
‘Gather ye rosebuds….’ ‘Strike while the iron’s hot’
Gently she carries us, floating downstream
Rhythmic, hypnotic, tempering the mind
Gliding in measured flow, wrapped in a dream
Past fields, trees and banks where reeds intertwine
Coot, moorhen and mallard paddle alongside
And dab chicks dive under the boat for shade
The pumping house chimney commands the sky,
Behemoth of bygones, whose pomp never fades
We squeeze under bridges, scars etched on walls
from past times when horses pulled boats along,
Then drift to the aqueduct, briefly pause,
Observing the wild life’s enchanting song…
What pleasure is ours as the world ripples past
Come then, ‘carpe diem’ – such bliss will not last!
7. DOORWAY TO COMPASSION
Supporting refugees, the homeless, the displaced, the marginalised…..
Now thirty two he’s found love, has a wife
And life has turned out better than he thought.
He learned the language quickly, though self-taught,
Did not react to bullies, get into fights
Though it was tough for him in a strange land
In early childhood, he learned to forgive,
to turn the other cheek, tried hard to live
the best he could, without a parent’s hand.
The hardship he had suffered made him strong –
To combat loneliness he’d read and write,
Became a big sensation overnight
With pithy stories, poems made into songs
Yet as a man he still missed kith and kin
And wept remembering the child within
8.DOORWAY TO A GREENER FUTURE
Caring for the Environment, our Planet, Fighting Climate Change
Maybe they feel rejected? Suffer separation anxiety?
I imagine them holding parties in the wardrobe
when their owners are out at work,
getting high on moth balls, swinging naked on coat hangers,
shoes shamelessly tapping out the Charleston in their racks.
Those Jimmy Choos, what an incredible Oxfam find!
Too small for my feet….. but I love them anyway.
I like to coax them out of their box and stroke them
as you stroke a cat, hold them to my ear and
hear them purr. I stare into their lacquered reflection
and see my face ….. a lopsided moon, squidgy,
out of focus like a fairground hall of mirrors…..
Was she an arrogant rich bitch, their first owner?
Or a regular nine-to-five shopgirl who won the lottery?
What stories those shoes could tell if only they had
the power of speech. I could listen all day!
10. DOORWAY TO PHILANTHROPY
Investing wealth and resources for the benefit of all, Enabling Projects
Wise woman or white witch?
Star-child of the universe, sapphire eyes,
just a soupçon of otherworldliness.
Her mission whispered on the breeze:
To purge the poverty of city slum children
To feed and clothe the refugee and the homeless.
She tiptoes through grief-mulched meadows,
down cobbled lanes echoing thudding boots
of war-weary soldiers, supports their widows.
She eases the birth of breeched calves,
Revives dying infants in mothers’ arms.
Tree bark and plant sap are smudged
with her sweet kundalini energy.
She is invisible to most humans,
yet indigo children hear her sweet singing …
On wolf moon nights they catch
her winged flight across planets and galaxies.
Angel of hope or Nature’s philanthropist?
Her identity an eternal mystery.
11. DOORWAY TO GRATITUDE
Being thankful for what we have, Showing Appreciation
A sharp wind licks the casement window panes
And cottage fires are lit against the chill,
Maple-tipped leaves chase swirling down the lanes,
The old gnarled apple tree, high on the hill,
Pregnant with harvest’s bounty, gently moans,
Dipping her laden boughs towards the earth,
Duetting with the wind she sighs and moans,
Awaiting bright fulfilment with the birth
Of juicy apples, dappled green and red,
Filling the orchard baskets, nectar-sweet,
Tempting the children eager to be fed
They plop down smiling at the workers’ feet.
The Harvest Angels sing from up above,
With gratitude for harvests gathered with love
.
12. DOORWAY TO CELEBRATION OF LIFE & DEATH
Accepting Joy and Sorrow, Good and Bad, Celebrating the natural cycles of life
The Belfast skies weep tears of deep distress
As grey clouds mourn the loss of their dear son*
A brittle dawn breaks through with marked tristesse
Heads down the locals brave the morning run
The turgid Lagan crawls through swirling mist
No birdsong yet is heard, no deep lament
The city waits with breath held for the tryst;
His Muse invokes a man whose words were blessed;
Son of a shipyard worker, poet fine
Who took brave stance against sectarian rule,
A polymath, possessed of brilliant mind
Artist, translator, words his daily tools.
Belfast today clings tightly to its own –
The city’s arms enfold him – he is home!
*James Ellis, actor, theatre director, poet from Belfast NI, best known for his TV role as policemen Bert Lynch in the 60s series “Z Cars”, as well as “Ballykissangel”, “One by One”
“Playing the Field” and other work on stage and screen.
I take part every Tuesday in a group of poetry lovers/writers on Twitter (@RoyallMargaret) where we tweet a poem under the above hashtag. It’s great fun and provides good exposure for your work.
Recently I have been combining poems with photos to offer on these occasions. Here are a few I have posted over the last few months.
Delighted to tell you all that my poetry has featured in 2 well-respected literary journals recently. They are IMPSPIRED and THE BLUE NIB. Impspired featured 3Poems and The Blue Nib featured 5 poems .
In May 2020 I was interviewed for the latter by Uk/Ireland poetry editor Tracy Gaughan.
I am delighted with the response I have received to the release of my memoir of childhood. There are 5 star reviews on Amazon, including the one below. Copies can be bought from Amazon as paperback or as ebook downloaded to Kindle
One of my poems ‘Washday Wednesdays’, speaks about how complicated doing the laundry was in the 1940s/50s without washing machines! My Nan came to help my Mum and they used equipment which is now displayed in museums. Below you can see a photo taken at an exhibition at Lincoln Castle showing zinc tub, dollyposher ( for beating dirt out of the clothes), a scrubbing board and a tin bath. In addition ( not shown) a huge mangle was needed to put the clothes through and sting out the water before pegging out on the line. Doing the weekly laundry was a very time-consuming activity.
WASHDAY WEDNESDAYS
On windy washdays mum was stressed. Wind chimes clanked and jangled in the fierce gale. Washing flapped wildly
on the clothes line –- a string of ghostly bodies on the hangman’s gallows, bloated corpses with distorted limbs.…
In the lull between gusts you might catch the crackle of sweet wrappers in forgotten pockets, loose buttons tapping out morse-code messages.
Across the lawn crumpled leaves, as lined as Nanny Buttle’s street-map face, went chasing ceaselessly back and forth.
The tight-lipped dolly pegs swung like pendulums with each new assault. Yet their resistance proved too much
for the wind’s frenzied onslaught. He would turn on the sulking clouds with their churlish attitude… . . .
Something had to give, Someone had to bend to his will before he blew himself out.
With a frown on her face, hair tied up factory-girl style in a neat turban, my mum pushed the damp clothes through the mangle, Wilfred Pickles would often be on the radio.
I knew it was best to make myself scarce, so I would creep off to my bedroom with a book, knowing I could read my Enid Blyton tales undisturbed.
I am delighted to tell you that reaction to my new memoir has been very positive. I am currently receiving great reviews from readers who have bought and read the book.
it is available on Amazon in paperback ( £8.99) and as e-book for Kindle (£4.29). Signed author copies can be ordered from me, Margaret Royall £10.50 (in UK) to include p&p. Please email me to order: Margaretroyall@icloud.com and pay via PayPal on the link
Margaret Royall 