March 13, 2015

 

 

…and you the one

who kept me strong,

when days were endless,

nights were long.

 

When I, not sure

of life or death,

or near to taking

my last breath.

 

Knowing you were by me

eased my pain.

You were the one

who kept me sane.

 

My life in limbo,

like a ticking clock,

and all the while,

you were my rock.

 

I knew I had to

make it through;

to share with you

those skies of blue.

 

So much more living,

I prayed there’d be,

even when recovery,

really got to me.

 

I dreamt we’d travel.

I had a master plan.

I said to God,

‘don’t let me kick the can.’

 

‘I need her with me

in the promised land,

but I’d prefer on earth

to hold her hand,

 

a good while longer,

if it be your will:

This gift of life,

my one hope to fulfill’.

 

             —–

 

Now each moment cherished

by the simplest things;

walks by the river,

as the song bird sings.

 

And I thank you sweetheart

from the bottom of my heart.

I’m yours forever,

until the oceans part.

 

There’s one more thing,

and this you must hear.

‘I’ll love you always,

my darling dear.

 

 

 

March 8, 2015

 

 

The Mirror Ball

whipped up a frenzy.

Such vivid colours;

outfits to envy.

 

Like nectar flowed

the pink champagne,

and squeals of laughter,

as ‘selfies’ reign.

 

And professional snappers

also capture the mood,

with their expert eyes

on the action, glued.

 

Such kindness shown

to keep hope alive,

as generous hands,

into pockets dive.

 

Another huge success,

how blessed to be,

part of the force.

What fun, what glee.

 

A ‘must’ in our calendar:

an event to treasure.

This worthwhile cause

gives so much pleasure.

 

 

 

 

 

T’is dawn again,

and birds loudly coo

across the rooftops

near where Lowry drew,

 

when chimney smoke

turned the air to fog

and central heating;

no more than a log.

 

And coal dug up

by miners, many;

their hourly rate

less than a penny.

 

When Jack, in clogs,

strode up our street,

with flat cap on his head;

the look complete.

 

Hard days ahead meant,

‘clocking on’ at seven;

twelve hours of darkness,

hardly heaven.

 

Then back again down’t street,

our Jack would come,

stopping off to get his

well earned rum,

 

or some days maybe,

a gill of beer,

if funds were low and

payday wasn’t near.

 

and a lifetime later, pigeons coo,

perhaps thanking God,

that now the skies are blue,

and foggy days are far between, and few.

 

 

March 5, 2015

 

 

And clouds grew lighter,

and slowly parted,

as if to say ‘we’re feeling

open hearted’,

 

‘and in magnanimous mood;

understanding of the need,

for skies of blue

on which you feed’.

 

The winter, long,

with short, cold days,

not helped by skies

of muted greys,

 

or black horizons

where claps of thunder,

followed electric sparks,

that made one wonder,

 

about what really

lies above,

the protective heavens

of hate and love.

 

And just how fickle

could become the mood,

when faced with darkness,

that made one brood.

 

And teasing, only,

for a while;

a glimpse of blue,

brought forth a smile,

 

when cast off were,

ones heavy coats,

as thoughts appeared,

of trips on boats,

 

and long and lazy

sunny hours ahead;

days at the beach,

warm sand to tread.

 

When a multitude

of budding trees,

would turn the landscape,

to bright green,

 

and winter’s bark,

and deadened leaves,

gone from the ground;

new life achieved.

 

Such happiness,

when the soul sings,

as returning birds

again take wing,

 

back to our land;

their second home,

though in truth, one knows not,

what other shores they comb?

 

But we can live with that,

when the bright sun shines;

our suspicious nature,

only on, a storm cloud dines.

 

Oh joy of joy,

the ever switching seasons,

the rebirth, the medicine,

for all good reasons.

 

The clouds, our boss;

our mood enhancers:

When questions asked,

they have the answers.

 

so one must not be fooled,

by summer skies of blue,

for in hibernation, clouds,

stir up a brew.

 

They will return and

catch one out, at will.

For they have the power;

a good mood to kill. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

and music lulled

the sorrowed soul,

that spun, unchecked

out of control,

 

when modest tasks

too hard to master;

the mind in meltdown

heading towards disaster.

 

Until, at last

words to a tune,

lifted the spirit;

so high the moon.

 

On hearing Meatloaf’s

‘Bat out of hell’

a new day dawned.

All would be well.

 

 

 

I heard you were dying,

and started to cry.

I put pen to paper,

but the ink, it ran dry.

 

No words could I find,

that suited the bill.

Then a blot on the page,

from the tip of my quill,

 

appeared as I hovered;

my hand shaking above,

the final letter to you,

unwritten with love.

 

Then I came to my senses,

and words started to flow.

I remembered the people

we both used to know,

 

and the schooldays we spent,

all came flooding back;

Like when we played netball,

and you were goal attack.

 

I thought you the smartest

achiever in school,

whilst us lot were clowns

who acted the fool.

 

I then abandoned the letter;

don’t ask me why?

I suddenly felt the urge,

to say a personal goodbye.

 

So I raced to your bed

in haste, I do swear;

only to find a new patient,

now lying there!

 

Forgive me, dear friend,

for it wasn’t to be:

The last time I didn’t see you,

will stay long with me!

 

 

 

 

 

Everyone needs

a touchstone,

when their confidence

takes a dip.

 

A talisman

to good fortune,

to help climb

over a blip.

 

Everyone needs

a sounding board;

a ‘bounce-back’

cushioned buffer,

 

for damage

limitation,

when in isolation

they suffer.

 

Everyone needs

a good luck charm,

in whatever form

it appears,

 

to energise

and rejuvenate,

enabling smiles,

to replace old fears.

 

 

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