"Goodbye Mum" x

A friend commissioned me to pen a poem symbolising her devastating sorrow and distress at losing her beloved mother.  I had witnessed their closeness for several years and thought deeply about how my friend must be feeling at such a sad time in her life.  Metaphorically I put myself in her place and wrote as if she were my mother and it was my heart that was swollen with overwhelming sorrow.

I want to hold somebody`s hand, someone I knew so well

I want to feel her next to me, her closeness and her smell

I want to laugh and joke with her, to hear her voice once more

I want her to know I love her and need her even more.

I want to celebrate her life, enjoy each memory

Praise her for her strength in life, for taking care of me

For loving my three children, for giving life to me

I want to feel her warmth again, her endless energy.

I want to share her laughter the way we used to do

To joke and have more happy times – to whisper "I love you"

I want to tell my mother how proud I`ll always feel

That she gave us such memories and love that was so real.

I want to be my mother`s child – to hold her close to me

To kiss her cheek so tenderly, the way she did with me

I`m so proud to be her daughter – I hope she was of me

"Goodbye" Dear Mum – I Love You

with me you`ll always be.

Very Nearly Christmas!

Christmas round the corner

Money getting tight

Children wait with bated breath

Hopes high for their delight.

Parents counting pennies

Santa`s on his way

apparently with tons of toys

upon his festive sleigh.

Stores crammed full of ideas

tempting all to buy

things that no-one really wants

but we don`t question why.

For it is nearly Christmas

the time of love and joy

Christmas Pud and mistletoe

in abundance to enjoy.

So put away your worries

just paper over cracks

soon we`ll be full of happiness

and mostly on our backs.

Our smiles will reach a million hearts

each and every day

for it`s very nearly Christmas

Our treasured, special day.

The Rain

The day is done
Silently preparing my home for bedtime
I hear a sound so soft
it's barely audible.
Listening intently, I recognise the sound
of rain
as it falls softly from the night sky
onto my patio below.
It brings with it a sense of security and warmth
as I tiptoe from the room and climb the stairs to the sanctity of my bedroom.
Gazing through my bedroom window
I marvel at the transformation
the weather has made to the familiar view;
as the darkened picture takes on a look of saturated wetness.
The onyx road sparkles as the rain continues to fall
and bounces noisily onto the hard surface.
Leaves surrender and yield under the weight of the continuous onslaught of raindrops.
Puddles soon form
welcoming childen's tiny feet and eager birds
wanting to play.
But there are no children,
for they are tucked in their beds.
I think of those whose beds are made of concrete
Whose duvets are made of cardboard.
Whose homes are shop doorways.
The rain I find so comforting
is their tormentor
and it makes me sad
Life is so cruel.

Just Once!

Just once, let me feel important, intelligent,

interesting

Just once, let my words be heard, understood,

acknowledged

Just once, feel my passion, my conviction and solitude

in a world of unsettled hostilities

Just once, let me feel worthwhile, useful

and valued

where my thoughts are seen as wise,

knowledgeable and viable

Just once, accept my true being

without criticism or distain,

ridicule or insignificance

Just once, hear my pleas for positive reaction,

encouragement and merit

Just once, do not judge or mock me

trivialising my attempts and and endeavours

Just once, show support, consideration,

empathy and understanding

Just once,

 allow me to be me!

My New Friend

I have just returned home from a glorious thirty six hours with one of the most influential and inspiring people in my life.  As an unpublished writer, I have been constantly and regularly inspired by reading her novels.  Each novel has taken me and her characters on a journey of emotional turmoil, discovery and ingenious story-telling through her exceptional ability to transport the reader from their own lives into a world she has created, living amongst characters she has skillfully developed.  I have put pen to paper for many years, either by songwriting or by writing prose and poetry, but this lady was my main source of inspiration when I considered extending my repetoire by writing a book.  When I first joined Twitter I purposely put her name into the search bar and excitedly clicked the appropriate button to follow her.  Over a period of time we struck up a conversation and before long had become Twitter friends. 

I was soon to discover that not only was she an accomplished and successful novelist, she was also a delightful, amusing and warm Twitterist.  A small like-minded group of us soon became Twitter-close and with the help of tweets and emails formed genuine friendships that we hoped to augment beyond our computer screens.  We excitedly chatted about meeting up and visiting each other. 

When I stepped from the train at Bath Station, the sun shining impressively in the clear blue sky, it was with anticipation and excitement.  Her smile across the concourse was warm and inviting as I passed through the exit at the station.  We hugged and it was the most genuine hug I have experienced for a long long time. 

From that moment on, through the short journey along narrow winding lanes to her beautiful cottage which stood in a quaint English village, we chatted constantly.  She chatted, I listened; I chatted, and she listened.  We rarely stopped, such was our eagerness to discover and learn  about each other. Once inside her exquisitely decorated and adorned cottage, we comfortably wiled away the hours exchanging experiences in our lives.  I eagerly drank her words like an insatiable drunk, wanting more and more.  Her stories, some funny, some heartbreakingly awful, instilled in me a sense of awe and admiration for her ability to recount and impart incidents and anecdotes. She has a million stories to tell and tells them beautifully.

I will never forget the time I spent with her and feel honoured and privileged to have been given the opportunity to spend those few precious hours in the company of someone I hold in such high esteem.  The main thing I have brought home with me however is the genuine warmth and hospitality she generously gave me on my visit.  She is a best-selling novelist whose many books continue to be read and enjoyed the world over and she has made me extremely and unbelievably proud by calling me her friend.

Thank you ................LESLEY PEARSE...............I love you!

Networking for the under-twelves

Today I had to honour a promise I made to my eleven year old son; the promise of allowing him to have a Facebook account.  Facebook by its nature is a networking site and for several months Cain has been asking me if he could join.  Whilst he was still at primary/middle school, I used the excuse that he was too young and that none of his friends would be using it, so what was the point in him joining up as he would have nobody to speak to.  Things have now changed.  He is now in his third or fourth week at secondary school and the subject has obviously been discussed amongst his new pals. Damn.

So it was with great trepidation and reluctance that I sat at his computer in the dining room and logged into the chosen networking site.  With a little fibbery and adjustments to various stipulations, we finally logged into Facebook.  There was a point when it looked like I might have to receive all his messages on my iphone as they would not accept his email address.  After a little fiddling and fuddling, a new email address was created and I can now rest assured that I will not be receiving messages from Luke, Michael, Jamie and Adam along with the rest of the class at his new school. The mind boggles!

Restrictions in place, stern words of advice on appropriate behaviour given, my little man is now entering the world of networking.  Myself, his older brother and sisters have been added as friends so we will be watching every word that is written on his page. 

 God help anyone who steps out of line!

Autumn

Vibrant blue,

the sky holds such promise;

fluffly white clouds float aimlessly

making unknown shapes above our heads.

The sun may appear

but it`s strength has been sapped

by the summertime.

The wind from the North

with it`s icy fingers of bitterness

turns green to orange, red, yellow and then brown,

stripping leaves of their loveliness;

to be crunched underfoot.

Wildlife scurries and flurries

looking for warmth;
foraging and hoarding
for the imminent winter.
Bushes robbed of their berries
by chilling winds,
birds must fly south
for warmer climes,
for it is Autumn.