Wound

Wound

You are like a festering wound to me,
Weeping while waiting to be washed..
With every touch - more pain, more memory-
Hands healing , yet  hurting too...
Sad sores,
Red , raw...
You are gone but the gash remains,
Leave till later,
Later...
Time will do it's work now,
Come back later,
When all is scabbed over,
And care with cream
And comfort...
Just saying...

Elusive

Elusive

Looking back at this poem it strikes me that :

We cannot mold a new heart of our own.
Without help,
The Love and Peace and Kindness,
Needed for a new heart may be as,
Elusive as,
"romance" or the "prime of life"
That we all waited for or,
Struggled towards...

So, let us work today,
With Power and
Love and,
Self Control.

We only have today...
Yesterday is gone,
Tomorrow may never come for us,
All we have is now.
Now to love .
Now to love,
To love more.
The only thing that is important is
To love...




Day 16:  16th April, 16th poem

 Brokenhearted

I will take my  heart - broken,
Broken in jagged pieces,
Pieces that cut me away.
I will take my broken heart,
Melt and mix with,
Forgiveness and mercy
Add a little salt
Of the Spirit .
Till bitterness and hatred
Is no more.
With courage,
I'll mold a new heart,
A new heart -  full of
Love and kindness
And peace.
And peace...

Early Risers

Something I found when trying to sort through my "stuff". The first a short piece about washing day
And then a bit of flash fiction - story in exactly 100 words. Hope you enjoy them...

Early Risers

5.0 a.m.- rise 

Fill copper  - Six buckets of water
 light fire under wash tub,

Add soap shavings- Sunlight Carbolic,

Breathe in fresh, clean scent,
Throw in a  bit of soda to prevent scum.

It's Monday - washing - the entire day.

New to me, being  used to the modern machine.

But mother-in-law's routine.

Whites in first - boil,

Open windows for steam to escape.

Next coloureds; 

Lastly work clothes - the grubbiest.

Wooden tub for hand scrubbing,

Washboard for more soiled items.

All laundry rinsed  - fed through rollers of mangle.

When all is finished,

A tired satisfaction...

No time for anything else.

Even dinner is cold meat from yesterday,

With bubble and squeak from Sunday leftovers.

Ironing

Keeping everything normal Sheila starts ironing. It is Tuesday, after all. She'd kept up the regimental routine her mother-in-law had instilled in her all those years ago. Each day had its particular job - Monday, washing day, Tuesday, Ironing, - a useful distraction on this significant day.
Automaton like, she picks up his shirt, the one she bought him last Christmas. She knew then that she would be here today. The iron sweeps backwards and forwards. Smiling, she plans how she will go to the the greenhouse later and dispose of his  body and his  mug containing the evidence.

Day 15 Jug

Trying to respond to my poem White Sails I think how I love seeing the sailing boats in the Bay. It's one of those experiences that I look forward to when the weather gets a bit better and I miss them being there if the sun is shining and the water is glittering.
Unable to get some words together about this I will talk about a similar thing, a loss, a grief that is hard to get over.

Jug

You were that  good friend to me,
Turning up on special occasions,
Accompanied by your companions
Who, like you, round, shapely
Elegant .
You will be missed.
From the back of the cupboard,
Carefully, we brought you
To the table,
A table laden with delicacies
For invited guests.
You, ready to pour your contents
Into waiting china cups
Layed out on  linen table cloths
Saved for feasts.

Now,  now you are shattered
in tiny pieces
You will be missed
Sad, so sad,
you hold me
By a thread of longing
Jug, my Jug, no longer here
Sad, so sad, your beauty lost
You will be missed
You will be missed


I have to say I have a thing about jugs







What shall I  write about today?

Day 15: 15th April, 15th poem.

Yesterday, we went for a walk in the sun along the coast near our home.

White Sails

The sea a shimmering sheet of glitter,
Sails - white, pointing  skywards,
Formed like swallows returning
Home after the winter.
Watch-Children -
Throwing stones,
Ice creams dripping,
Screaming with delight as
they paddle in freezing water.
Watch -Couples- young,
Embraced  in happy dreams,
Caressed by warm rays..
Breathe in  North Sea health
And- Fish and chips.
Glorious summers day
In April

Do You Know - Day 14

A response to the poem from April - Since You Left.

Do you know

Do you know that I think of you, remembering you
Talking to one sister, while carrying another,
Sharing secrets together and hopes for the future
Your voices leaving soft far away birdlike song
Drifting through my hours.

Do you know that I think of you, remembering you
Helping your mum with the dinner
Chatting on
What is the best way to make yorkshire pudding,
Ask Grams.

Do you know that I think of you, remembering you
Walking in the park,
Helping a smaller one throw
Bread for the ducks
Laughing when the bread
Lands at your feet

Do you know that I think of you, remembering you
Taking me proudly up to your room
To show me the dress you made for the ball
Your smile enfolding me
Into your dream
Do you know that I think of you,
Do you know  ...



Day 14: 14th April, 14th poem

Not being able to create a philosophical thought today I will just ponder on the quiet after the busy dance of the last week, which has been enormously enjoyable, albeit a little tiring.


Since You Left


House lonely - silence loud.
The shower - constant hum of running water,
Now stands quiet
The baby -early morning cries - a call to live.
Teenage girls spraying perfume- feint hints still  in air,
Talking - echoes of their laughter
Timeless ghosts embedded in walls.
Toddler - wandering, following,
Constant questions.
Table bursting , bubbling with chatter.
Singing boys and girls at kitchen sink- never ending dishes to clean.
Every room, every space  full,
Fridge tightly packed.
Empty now - all vast , all hollow.
Lonely house-loud silence

Day 13 - First Steps.

16/01/16

In response to the poem of the baptism of baby Rose, who is now nine and a half months and has just started walking... Her Grams  continues to fall when she gets her pen out to write anything at all... But I do still attempt the walk through the minefield of possibilities that occupy my thoughts . "I write because not to would drive me mad, but then the writing itself drives me nuts..." My wellbeing depends on it.

First Steps

Come on , come on...
You can do it...
Yes, one... two...
Yeah, see you can do it.
And again...
Come on then,
Come to dada..
One ... two... three... four...
Hey, look ... see...
You're walking...
Rose...
Walking by yourself...


Come on writer, you can do it , yes...
One ... two...








Day 13: 13th April, 13th poem. Brain rather tired but had to get something in for the challenge and so much material to play with.



Rose


Seventeen aunties and uncles 
Two sets of grandparents,
Two sets of great grandparents,
Two great aunts, and first cousins once removed- 
Two families united for baby Rose.
Small faces look up- silence
Water poured- eyes stare in wonder.
Stand drenched in April sun 
Blazing through pink blossom- 
Photos, smiles, blue sky.
Then-
Cake, coffee and cups of tea,
Children's games, 
Happy time together. 
The Baptism of Little Rose.

Poetry Tea Time

Poetry Tea Time


Today is my birthday. I am sixty two years young. Four years ago when a health scare brought the fact of my mortality a little near to the beating of my heart, I found that, actually death is nothing to be afraid of. Living, now that's another matter. To live well and enjoy the life we have is sometimes a struggle , but always a blessing.
I have more and more been trying to live in each moment, appreciating the beauty that is ever before me, whether it's in nature or in the lives of the many people that make up my wonderful family.

Today, I have had numerous messages from family and friends, a few presents to enjoy and the company of children, grandchildren and a great grandchild as well as a friend who popped round with some stuff not realising it was my birthday and happily joined the celebration.

My favourite moments were this evening when we had "Poetry Tea Time" at Grams's house. It was fabulous. The idea is :
We bring to the table , a teapot ( full of tea) , pretty cups , saucers and tea plates, lots of homemade cakes (the making of which had already given hours of pleasure), crisps and most important of all lots of poetry books. While we eat cake and drink tea we  take turns to read ( or if the child is too young to read, they might "tell") poems that we have selected ourselves. It is interesting how keen the children are to choose their own book and read poems they've chosen themselves.  I was so proud of them all. And you all know what I think of sharing  poetry together.
So much joy was had by all .
And at the end they all sang Happy Birthday to me.

Day 12 - Trust

Trust...???

Relationships are based on trust
Surely...
Can there be a connection
Unless...
A coming together
Bonding...
A future shared
Without...
Trust

Day 12:  12th April, 12th Poem.

Can't believe I'm keeping up with the challenge. This poem is a little reflection on life in our large family.
There were many times when we were in need and the right item just "turned up".  It was amazing , well , miraculous really.            


     Coats

The winter - cold - children growing fast                                                                       

Coats not fitting - money short - a silent prayer.

Next morning early - on the doorstep                                                            

A black bag -  future hope.                                          

With expectant gratitude, we crowd around the gift-                                            

Ah, shoes for the youngest - and - trousers for the boys                                           

And -  wait - yes, two coats for the girls                                                  

Just the right size - in favourite colours.                                              

It continues to surprise,                                                

Divine providence    

Day11 Who Are You

In response to the poem on the 11th April called "SELF"... 

Who Are You?

Who are you?

Wife ...
 For nearly forty four years,
Still learning about the other, but ultimately about yourself.
Changed with the years yet the same -
Something constructed, coiled into calm curves.

Who are you ?

Mother ...Ma, Mumma, Mum, Mumsy..  etc

Nine lives gifted to you, but not yours.
Loving them forever, yet letting them go -
Helping them negotiate the rough sea of
Continuous moments.
Hurt for them, by them and with them
Through all..

Who are you?

Grandmother...Grams, Grandma,  etc

The joy, the connection
You could not of dreamed.
Delight in new lives exploring, growing into,
Beautiful people.
Sill they manage to tug at your innards,
Melting your hardness
Moments savoured...

Who are you?

Great grandmother...Grams ( so far - love it)

Proud moments you treasure,
Honoured to be in the thoughts
Of the future.
What adventures you dream for them,
What hope you have for them
What joy they bring to you.
You are well blessed.

Who are you?

Daughter, sister, niece, cousin, aunt, great aunt, friend etc etc .
Wonderful ...

Day 11: 11th April, 11th Poem

A little something inspired by a visit to the Turner Gallery in Margate where they had an exhibition 

called   "Self".  

Sorry it's so late.