The Wilderness / Silence

As a constraint and an adventure I thought it would be a good idea to revisit the poems that I wrote for the "A Poem A Day In April" challenge and respond to each one .  I will take an idea, phrase, word or picture from these poems and create a new perspective. I am looking forward to finding different ways to inspire fresh creativity. I will always leave the original poem on the same page of my blog so you can see if you can work out what I might have been thinking.

So, the first.....     6th Dec

The Wilderness

Busy, loud,  lives distract,

Hide empty spaces,

Where silence batters senses.

Alone,

In that wilderness,

That desert,

Fearful ,

Off balance,

You meet the now.

And the one I wrote in April:

Day 1:  1st April, 1st poem.
My first poem for the challenge " A Poem a Day in April."

 Being Holy Week these few lines formed themselves:

              Silence

Life -dark -red

drips from

gaping wounds,

drips from

Skin-slashed and torn.

Bent ,

unable to keep upright

Yet with peace,

Peace  beyond knowing

He is silent

Looking forward to getting on with the next one.

Grams

A little grandmother story that bubbled up with all this great grandmother stuff going on in my life:


Grams                                                                      

Eleanor kicked off her shoes, threw her handbag on the table and breathed a sigh of relief, before filling the kettle and falling exhausted into the chair.

Two hours later she woke to the ringing of the doorbell. Stretching, she rose, slowly making her way down the hallway.

“Grams, you ok? What’s that on your cheek?” she asked pointing to the red mark, whilst lifting the baby out of the pram.

“Fine dear.  Patients with problems, that’s all... and how’s my little Patrick today?” She forced a smile and tickled the baby under his chin. She loved the baby but was still a little resentful that it meant she was now a great grandmother.  And , although her friends said, “surely she was too young,” she was still rather sad.

Rachel made tea as Patrick sat quietly on Eleanor’s lap.

“You know, you really should retire.” She broached the subject directly as previous, more subtle attempts had proved ineffective. “ You’ve been at that hospital for how long? More than thirty years Grams, and you’re often forgetful now, you know you are and with getting weaker too, we’re all worried you’ll have an accident before long.

“ I’ve a good few years left  yet,”  Eleanor darted irritably, proving her capability by bouncing Patrick up and down.  “You all think I’m old and doddery. You can all...mind your own business.” She spoke forcefully hoping to put an end to it.

“That’s not true, Grams, but... you could be enjoying yourself,” Rachel persisted bravely “ and it’s not as if you need the money or anything.”

Rachel was right, she didn’t need the money, but her job gave her more than money. She wasn’t ready to face retirement yet.

Eleanor ignored her granddaughter, and changed the subject; they poured more tea and finished off six cream cakes

between them.

When Rachel had gone, she went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror, surprised and upset as usual  by the image that stared wistfully  back at her. A widow now for the last five years, the idea of walking sticks, colostomy bags, falls, dementia and being dependent on her family haunted her thoughts. She picked up her jar of face cream, scooped out a generous amount, and smeared it over the wrinkles, gently rubbing the future further away.

Woman Caught In Adultery

  I wrote this poem last year and have performed it a few times getting great feedback:

   

Woman Caught in Adultery

They drag me through rugged streets,

Men’s hands grip my arms,

Large fingers press into flesh –pale ,  bare

Their words wild, aggressive, accusing,  

Echo, in the chamber of my brain

While he is free,

I am going to die, Yet, I fear not the dying,

But the pain, how will I bear the pain.

Terror travels with blood through my veins

And he is free,

They throw me down, in the dirt, In front of a man,

My nose forced into the rough ground.

My Foetal shape makes no attempt to rise

The raging rogues  roar, ”she has to die , it is the law”

They get ready, reach for large stones,

 But he is free.

While the one man  sits  still,

Ponders, writes in the dust

Then,  lifts his head,

“ Let the one who is without sin cast the first stone”

His words fall like seeds into my aching heart.

Silence,

One by one rocks thud into the earth. The mob, heads bent, Leave.

Left alone with Him,- I dare to raise myself up

His eyes encounter mine, His look warm , accepting,

He Knows me, all there is.

And me, I know that I,

I am free.

A poem a day in April

I have just signed up for the first time for the NaPoWriMo poem a day in April.
I hope that it's going to motivate me to actually write every day and then post on my blog.
I am a bit apprehensive about whether or not I'll manage to get the 30 poems written, but I'm going to have a go.
So, everyone, watch this space for the next few weeks.

Grams Ramblings: Leah - a little story

Grams Ramblings: Leah - a little story: Something I wrote a while ago: For Leah .                                                                                             ...

Leah - a little story

Something I wrote a while ago:

For Leah.                                                                                                     

February was particularly cold that year. We’d arrived in the middle of term and I stood at the school gate with the other mums edging uncomfortably towards the group. We’d left family and friends behind and hubby was working long hours to pay the mortgage.

Every morning for five long weeks my eighteen month old daughter, Anna and I turned away from the gates and trudged home to a cold, empty house.  With long, black hours in front of us we baked, did jigsaw puzzles, painted pictures and read stories trying to occupy ourselves until three o’clock, when we could fetch her big sister.

It’s not that I was being snubbed. I just didn’t feel that I fitted in. People nodded, said hello, then hurried away to their busy lives as the wind blew sharp icicles around them.  Every day my head hung lower and the lonely ogre in the pit of my stomach grew as my confidence ebbed away. Anna worried, too, as some days the book I read to her would be wet with my tears. And when even my voice seemed to have turned against me, I snuggled on the sofa with her, mind numb , children’s TV washing over us.

Then one morning, you, my dear friend now for more than ten years, spoke words of kindness. Words that enriched, strengthened and consoled me, planting a flame of hope in that bitter winter and bringing my vulnerable self back to life.

Seemingly so ordinary, everyday and simple and maybe they were, but in the place that I was in, they had such force. They said to me, you’re important. You’re likable. I want to spend time with you. You are interesting and I value you.  You’re ok.

Those eight words, full of grace and magnanimity, your gift to me, were:

“Like to come back to mine for a coffee?”

Now, I felt belonged , was  accepted.

I’ve never told you how timely and precious that Kind act was, so I’m singing your praises now. Thank you, Leah, for your powerful gift to me. A gift that, when unwrapped, took on its own momentum, bringing, health, friendship, warmth and love.   A present that you had no idea you were giving, yet it altered my life.

What a joy to have met you on my way. Your inspiration stays with me and I hope I use the wondrous talent of speech wisely and in a generous way as you did and still do. It is a gift.

A song????

Enjoying the Dance                                    

Embracing, Gliding likes swans on a lake,

We took to the floor, a couple to make.

Quick stepping through galaxies, up with the stars,

Fox trotting on Saturn, Jupiter and Mars.

And they said we could never be

Happy together, you and me.

But we’re still here, proving them wrong,

Enjoying the dance and singing our song,

Enjoying the dance and singing our song.

At times we twirled and danced too fast,

 Feet hardly touching the floor, such a blast.

Our feet would be bleeding our body’s sore,

But we carried on across the dance floor.

And they said we could never be

Happy together, you and me.

But we’re still here proving them wrong,

Enjoying the dance and singing our song,

Enjoying the dance and singing our song.

Our dance has slowed but we still glide,

Gently moving, side by side,

Our adventure will come to an end one day,

But we’ll move on, we know the way.

Chorus

Palm Sunday . Were you there???

This is a personal reflection about being there at the events of The Passion.


Today at Holy Mass we heard about the Passion of the Lord, those last days that he was on earth from his jubilant entry into Jerusalem to his  crucifixion and death.
IAs I went over it again in my mind I found that I am, at different times,  all the people portrayed in the narrative:
One of the disciples going off to the village to find and prepare the room. What must they have talked about as they did what Jesus had told them. They would have joyfully been getting ready for the big feast and talking about how well Jesus was being received by the people.  They would not have realised what was about to be set in motion.
That still happens today. Jesus asks us to do something and we thing we know what the outcome will be, the best result , so to speak and we are full of joy following , being a disciple.
And then, at the last supper, with Jesus being so serious, which wouldn't necessarily have alerted them as it was a solemn celebration in the Jewish calendar.  But as I sit at table with Jesus and the apostles I feel that love that he has for me and know that these are very special moments. Often during Holy Mass I reflect on this love and my response to it.
I find myself, also, being Judas. Isn't it true that we can't understand what he did , this person who spent so much time with Jesus, betrays him. But he is all of us, well me anyway. Don't I find myself giving him up into the hands of the enemies of today, betraying love itself, my heart cold and far away from the fire of the Holy Spirit. What joy when I realise this and turn back again to my Jesus, ready to be like Peter, that faithful Apostle.
But wait a minute , Peter denied Jesus three times as he had been told he would.  But he came back and became the strength for the others. He had been afraid, I know the feeling. I too , out of fear, deny my love for Jesus. I just hope that as I come back again I get the courage that Peter eventually showed and persevere till the end.
Often I am sleepy like the  disciples were in the Garden of Gethsemeni when Jesus went to pray. Yes, sometimes it's difficult to keep my eyes open to the truth , impossible to pray and I spend a lot of time "sleeping". I need to wake up spiritually and accompany Jesus in his prayer to the Father, especially during this Holy Week.
I even identify myself as Pilate , washing my hands of the responsibility of know Jesus. But not for a long time and hopefully , never again.
Who I would like to identify with is Simon of Cyrene who helped, albeit reluctantly, Jesus to carry the cross. I am often reluctant too but like Simon, when I do take it up the cross is a joy . I just have to remember that to keep me taking it and carrying it along these pathways of our world.
Like Joseph of Aramathea and the women who went to the tomb, I would like to think I would care for the body of my Jesus in a loving and attentive way, generously giving time and means to do so. In my life firstly I think of Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament who waits for us to come and spend some time with him. How much care do I take of this. And do I visit him often, being generous in giving my time . Also, it brings to mind that we are called to see Jesus in all who we meet. Am I loving and caring for others and their needs. And do I , hopefully, sometimes I do, go out of my way to look after those in need .
Am I just many personalities and do I have a problem or are we all capable of being all of these characters and more besides.
My resolution is to love more...more... more.... more... And hopefully not give up.

A really different blog for me today.
If you have read this far ...
Thanks so much and God Bless.
XXXXXXXXX

Am I Being Clear - poem for slam

A poem I wrote tongue in cheek when my grandson came to live with us for a year.
I have performed it many times, receiving knowing nods and chuckles and huge applause.
Hope you like it:

Am I Being Clear


Am I being clear?
Things have changed around here,
Life was more peaceful, less stressful,
The three of us, Pottering about, Knew where we were.
Then you came to stay!
Didn’t realise I was so controlling,
But, three eggs for breakfast (with bacon, saved for the carbonara),
And after a large bowl of porridge and along with four slices of toast!
The budget doesn’t run to it!
Am I being clear?
Then we were told that when we were out,
The two of you , made dinner,
Used all the chicken breasts, and had a whole pizza,
Without a second thought - Too much at one time,
Am I being clear?
And the washing machine – it goes on at night-we save on the l‘ectric ,
And can you not be in the shower for more than twenty minutes?
Am I being clear?
And the towels and the toothpaste and the music…..
But heh, it’s lovely that you're here...

Great Grandmother

21st May 2017

The Miles Now Separate 

More than two years have gone by since this posting
There is another great grandchild, a brother for little Rose,
nearly ten months old already.
 The family have moved away and we rarely get to see them.
We miss them so much it hurts.
 But that's the way it goes.






23rd March 2015

Becoming Great


The day had come, more planned than she would have liked. But the medical experts, not happy with some of the measurements, did not want her to go past her "due" date. So Grandad took them, with their bags, packed many weeks before, to the hospital early that Monday morning.

I made myself a drink , sat down, took up my phone and text them to say that I was here if they needed me and waited. It felt a bit odd but we are the only family they have near so it seemed the right thing to do.
For the whole of that day I went around fidgety, in a bit of a daze, wondering what was happening to them, half doing jobs, picking up books already started, and putting the kettle on numerous times. So whenever my grandson contacted me it put my mind at rest. And, to be fair to him, he did keep me informed. I won't go into the details of the process , just to say that it was induction. Some of you will know what that means and those that don't are not ready to understand it yet.

On that first night, although I was a little unsettled, I was peaceful. I knew I would be told if anything had happened, but I didn't expect much to be happening yet. And my lovely grandson did let me know. She went into labour in the early hours of the next day. I went about life as normal, going to my creative writing group and speaking as if this was just another " ordinary" day. But just below the surface it seemed to be anything but normal as my emotions were having a little party of their own, giving me quite a rocky journey. It was a long day and I couldn't concentrate on anything.
Every time a text came I would rush to see how things were going. The last text came about 5.30 pm, they might try .... and then nothing.
Nothing...
such a long passage of nothing.
Nothing until the phone rang at 1.45am the next morning .
I knew during those hours that things must have hotted up and I found it impossible to sleep, so when that phone call came I was relieved. The baby, a girl, was healthy and arrived about 12.30 am on the morning of the 18th of March.
I was relieved,elated,and then excited. I had just been made a great grandma. So many thoughts. Five generations now in my family with my own parents still very hale and hearty. Does that happen to many people? How many Great, Great Grandparents are there? Are we unique - probably not.

I imagined the generations of our family moving forward and growing and felt a certain pride in that. In fact, I thought I had already understood quite profoundly the depth of family but this has brought a further layer to it that I had not expected, making me feel closer than ever to my own children and so grateful for them all. I feel like a mother lioness, or great grandmother lioness, gathering all the cubs about her. It's hard to put into words this enormous change that has happened to us.

Back to mum and baby:
I thought about how awake you feel after having the baby as the adrenaline courses round your body, even if you've had very little sleep. I wanted to go immediately to the hospital to see them ,bring some chocolates for the new mum who would be breastfeeding. I remember enjoying many chocolates, sweets and biscuits in the middle of the night while breastfeeding my own. However,common sense prevailed, I turned over in bed and tried to go back to sleep while thinking how this is going to change the lives of the new mother and father forever. We're never prepared for that are we??

Phone calls came one after another the next morning as family wanted to find out what was happening. Some made plans to travel to Kent as soon as they could. Two aunties to the new little princess arranged to come that day. One from Oxford, the other from London after college.


I'll keep you posted with the unfolding of this story.