Saturday, 10 April 2021

For any wife who's lost her husband...

 A wife lost her husband

Others lost their dad

Children lost a grandfather

They are all very sad

 

Each struggle with their mourning

What’s the right thing they should do?

There’s protocol to follow

Covid restrictions too

 

With fortitude and grace

And a firm “stiff upper lip”

Masks affixed in place

Only a silent tear let slip

 

But underneath the surface?

What emotions are unbidden?

Does private grief bubble up?

Past secrets stay hidden?

 

Who can tell how you would feel,

in this painful situation?

Grief is deeply personal

Not “news” broadcast to the nation

 

Everyone mourns differently

Some with tears, but then there’s laughter

Memories tumble quickly

No new ones from here after

 

A wife lost her husband

Others lost their dad

Children lost a grandfather

They are all very sad

 

Having lost a husband, a dad, a grandfather, an uncle, a friend I may have some inkling to how the royal family feels at this time. But no one really knows and few of us would ever have to face the public scrutiny they are subjected to.

But this poem isn’t just about their loss but it's written for any wife, child or grandchild at this time whose grief seems overshadowed by world events. 

We all try to do the “right” thing when actually there are no definitive answers in grief, laugh or cry, shout and scream, whatever helps you though each day.

You are not alone – God Bless!

Friday, 9 April 2021

A time to dance and a time to put your feet up!

This story has been inspired by proper face to face conversations this week about the ending of lockdown and some writing I started at our latest writing group zoom meeting.


Tamsin had spent the latest lockdown learning a new unusual word every day. She had been determined not to waste any more time after spending lockdowns 6 and 7 moping over Craig, the love of her life, who had left her in the middle of lockdown 5 for his Pilates teacher, Daniel “The Downward Dog”. I am certain she would have been happier if the blonde-haired god was actually a goddess called Danielle.

Anyway, here we were enjoying our first night out for ages and she was explaining her word of the day for uncontrollable dancing.

“Tarantism!”

“Dancing like a spider on roller skates?” I retorted; I like to think I was the comical friend but all too frequently am left laughing loudest at my own jokes.

“Don’t be so daft – that’s tarantula.” Tamsin said with a straight face. I really need to find friends who think I’m funny.

Perhaps it’s just been too long since we’ve been in each other’s space, face to face without a screen. Had we lost the art of reading facial expressions? Had we spent too long focusing on our own faces staring back at us, checking our extra-long hair wasn’t too much out of place, worrying about the spot erupting on our forehead and not really paying attention to the people we were talking to.

The club was loud and the air stifling, a breeding ground for bacteria but since we’d all had the cocktail of prescribed inoculations, and were entitled to two free shots at the bar each we should survive this latest round of social interaction.

I managed to keep moving my feet to the rhythm but looking at us all there was very little of the uncontrolled “tarantism” going on, each of us appeared to sway in unison, our dancing resembling Zumba moves we’d learned online, ingrained muscle memory movement, single, single, double, grapevine.

Was it six of seven years now that we had spent living in and out of lockdown? A night out like this was such a novelty I was determined to enjoy it but I was also exhausted, looking round I wasn’t the only one. Age was not on our side anymore, the eighties soundtrack was still appealing, by far the best decade for music in living memory. We were the lucky ones who could remember the nightclubs of our youth but a night in with Netflix and a mug of cocoa was rather appealing.

The seventeenth series of Bridgeton started tomorrow; would I have enough energy to binge watch it? People complained the scripts were flimsier than the sets but it was still compelling viewing, even if due to social distancing laws the main characters were now played by holograms, at least the A.I. robots of season 14 were a dim memory – a dream sequence thought up by the evil genius Duke Binary that was best forgotten. We had all got quite good at wiping out the low spots, a useful survival technique.

Tamsin tugged at my arm, the shock of physical touch made me recoil and she looked apologetic, “I think I’ve just spotted Craig, can we go?”

Over the noise I nodded my consent and gave her a warm smile hoping to communicate compassion rather that pure joy at finding an escape route. With quarantine and other restrictions, it would be months before we were allowed back, the one night out every ninety days rule once seemed draconian but eighty-nine nights of bliss lay ahead of me.

 

   

Saturday, 3 April 2021

the day between

Easter Saturday is a funny old day, it sits somewhere between the grief of Good Friday and the joy of an Easter resurrection. 

For those of us who love to read it the loss felt when you finish a great novel that has moved you before you pick up another to immerse yourself in.

For those who have lost a loved one it's the chasm between death and the funeral, which brings some kind of closure, although actually it just releases you some new unexplored territory.

Life is always changing with beginnings and endings all around us but it's being stuck somewhere in the middle that is often the most testing place to be.

Waiting is always the worst, waiting for a train to arrive on a cold station platform, waiting for a letter to bring anticipated test results, waiting for spring flowers to bloom again.

There's a hopefulness in what's to come and yet it is in the darkness of waiting that everything is happening behind the scenes beyond our gaze. We often can't change the outcome, it's out of our hands and in God's.

Ask for more patience and God will give you some thing to wait for or a reason to take life that bit slower.

So here we are once again waiting in the day between and life is going on around us as so many people can't sit still, don't want to face the challenges of pausing because it is hard to rest and leave things at the foot of the cross.


it’s Saturday -

Hooray!

A day to run,

have fun.

A rest,

the best.

Not time to stop,

shop ‘til you drop.

Kick a ball

“The ref’s a fool!”

Or language, that’s more colourful!

It’s party time

pour some more wine

“oh, just one more…”

Before

you go

 

How can people carry on

while my heart breaks?

 

Another crack appears

with each laugh I hear

and tears

gush like rivers

ever flowing

never slowing.

All my dreams

it seems

lie crushed

beneath a stone.

Now I’m alone

I pause

I wait

too late?

A curtain rent

a life all spent

poured out

no doubt

Found on Facebook

left

bereft

lost

at such a cost.

Heavy nails

surely don’t fail…

 

Sunday, 21 March 2021

Census Done

Today is both World Poetry Day and Census Day.

I hate ticking boxes, I'd rather write an essay telling you who I am*, and why I've not had paid employment for a long time, but there is no option for that! 

(*I am a princess, a brain and a basket case - to misquote The Breakfast Club, the other two don't apply)

I've written it all before on my blog. And I've shared much of my personal history on Facebook should you need it, for your algorithms and such like. 

So instead I've written a poem on my ponderings... at least on a particular box, the one particular definition that sometimes/often/rarely makes me the person I am today... maybe!

There is so much the census doesn't tell you and it reminds you of things in black and white that are really shades of grey.

But at least it is done for another ten years...


Census done.

2 without you now.

Each snapshot a decade apart

Single three times

(just a child)

married once

(and a mother too!)

widowed twice, at least on paper.

Yet only 53!

That doesn't sound so old.

Or maybe it does

to millennials

who see me as someone

old enough to be their mum.

Not a grandma though.

Will I ever have that title

to add to my collection?

What will the records show?

What boxes will I tick

in the next decade?

Will I remain

widowed,

one - 

census done!


Saturday, 6 March 2021

Help! I think I’m turning into an introvert!

 I am most definitely a people person. I love meeting new people and I’m usually full of questions wanting to know their stories, what makes them tick. My brain likes to make connections and I am genuinely interested.

I guess that makes me an extrovert!

I thrive on social interaction.

But the longer lockdown goes on the happier I feel being cocooned in my own little world on my own with a good book – I think I’ve already read 8 this year and it is only the beginning of March; I usually only manage a couple a month.

Am I becoming an introvert?

Or is there more going on?

I still love meeting people, talking to people, in fact I’ve joined a local book swapping group on Facebook and am currently messaging someone I don’t know in person arranging collection of a book I’m giving away. Unfortunately, she lives in the next village and it’s just a little too far to walk to for a drop off.

And that’s the issue I suppose, I’m having to make excuses to go out anywhere. It’s been drummed into us that we need to stay at home, save the NHS, not make unnecessary journeys.

During the enforced confinement I’ve decided I quite like my cosy little home; I don’t really need to leave so I’m retreating from the world only venturing out into cyber space for the odd zoom meeting. Does that satisfy my need for human interaction? Most days the answer is a resounding yes!

And it’s cold and dull outside so why bother?

Of course, I do go out, Friday’s market is a highlight of my week because I get to talk to so many people. I regularly chat to all the stall holders and try to buy from as many as I can.

Our church is open and although we don’t congregate for coffee as we used to do after a service, plenty of us gather near the door on leaving, often still with masks on, chatting for a bit, longer when the sun shines.

That will make a big difference, warmer weather and less restrictions will be a marvellous combination.


There is light at the end of the tunnel, infection rates are declining and more of my friends are getting vaccinated every week. Soon we will be able to emerge like butterflies.

I’m certain I won’t have forgotten my people skills but breaking out will still be tentative.

Some people are incredibly anxious about going out into the big wide world again and although I worry that I might be turning into an introvert just writing these thoughts down have made me realise I will inevitably blossom again in the milder weather.

Youngest son recently went back to uni so my life is obviously different with only me to consider. This is a time to be selfish, do what I want and if that is stay in, snuggle under a blanket and read a book or 2 or 3 or 4 so be it!

Life is full of ups and downs and there have been several valleys for me, particularly in the last three years. This will pass, I’ve been through much worse.

But I do pray for those who are really struggling and are fearful of what happens next. Hopefully thinking through my own muddled thoughts will help me develop more empathy and compassion.

Whether you are an introvert, extrovert or somewhere in between I think we are all going to need plenty of kindness in the coming months.




Thursday, 4 March 2021

A Trio of Triolet

 

Broken Down

You like to have an object you can mend

Screwdriver, hammer and a few choice words

Your refusal to talk drive me round the bend

You like to have an object you can mend

 

What I say you cannot comprehend

I feel as though my voice is barely heard

You like to have an object you can mend

Screwdriver, hammer and a few choice words

 


Mirror Wishes

We bought a mirror with a gilt-edged frame

How I wish I could climb inside

Reflections are identical – I almost look the same

We bought a mirror with a gilt-edged frame

 

To step into another world would be quite a game

Out here I’m found, in there I’d hide

We bought a mirror with a gilt-edged frame

How I wish I could climb inside

 

Fudge

A box of birthday fudge

Melts on my tongue – sugar sweet!

These extra pounds just won’t budge

A box of birthday fudge

 

Size me up – who are you to judge?

Well packaged with a bow so neat

A box of birthday fudge

Melts on my tongue – sugar sweet!

 

Thursday, 4 February 2021

A Rondel of Unrequited Fluff

 

The first Wednesday of each month is always the most creative as I click the zoom link for my writing group meeting.

It is such a joy to be able to join my writerly friends in these strange times.

Last night was no exception as we learnt all about Rondel poems, starting with one by Chaucer, Rondel of Merciless Beauty, read here by the mesmerising Jude Law…

 


We were encouraged to stick to Chaucer’s rhymes to make things easier, so of course I broke those rules immediately and didn’t! 

And we were told our love poem could be about anything, a beloved pet, a landscape or even smelly feet, “it’s just a bit of fluff” said PoetWoman who was leading the evening.

Well the word fluff stuck and I couldn’t get enough of the stuff, resulting in this little ditty….

I do hope it brightens your day 😊

 

A Rondel of Unrequited Fluff

 

You stretch and yawn and catch me unawares

There’s your belly button full of fluff

I reach my finger, but not far enough

 

I am bereft, can only stop and stare

My heart’s like jelly, made from wobbly stuff

You stretch and yawn and catch me unawares

There’s your belly button full of fluff

 

Upon my word you tempt me to despair

My life from this moment on will be tough

I dry my tears upon my silken cuff

You yawn and stretch and catch me unawares

There’s your belly button full of fluff

I reach my finger, but not far enough