Starting Over

You have to keep the pages turning and turning

To find the right words and sentences

To piece together your story

It is not linear -

Beginning, middle and end

And there are both streams and oceans along the way 

Sometimes you sink, sometimes you swim 

But always you must keep trying

To feel better, good, safely moored

One day I would like to sit next to the waves

A cold lemonade in my hand 

A rainbow beach towel under me

And the sun shining above 

Smiling at the knowledge that 

I have chosen the best words I could have written for myself.

Passing The Music On

I am not sure I can hear the people sing

But there is a nub of music in my soul

Skipping through my thoughts

And dreams

Sometimes I even sing in my sleep 

Wake myself up with a smile 

And a wave of resilience

Voice bold and strong 

Perhaps to make people sing

You have to have the spirit of song

Within your soul

The bright kernels of light 

Bubbling to the surface 

Ready to pass on through moist lips 

Gentle and ready as a morning kiss

I have my favourite songs

Battle anthems and soothing lullabies 

They have seen me through deep waters

Added light in the darkness

Now I like the gift of sitting silently with myself

Hearing the birds sing and rain splashing on the street outside 

For now, the world has passed the music onto me

And for that I am grateful. 

 

Bittersweet

I lie in bed watching the stars bubble

Like lemonade 

And the moon shine 

Big and bold

Like a glass of milk

I think of gathering candy in autumn

Filling my basket with warm exchanges 

Sometimes I remember my dreams

Sometimes not

They flash by in watercolour

Soft gentle colours even when they are scary 

A bittersweet promise of what’s ahead 

Not the story behind it all

In the morning I will eat honey on hot buttered toast 

And listen to the birds sing their morning chorus

They are tiny too but seem to chime their way through their shyness

I am glad there are no more doctors

And white-washed walls 

My bed is safe now 

And, most miraculously, so am I

That equation is sweet more than bitter 

One to savour on the tongue and smile.

For Shay's Word Garden 

Art

Out of the window is my pink and white tree

I have watched it grow and blossom

And shed its flowers as the seasons turn

I like to hear the birds calling from it as the sun rises

There was a time when I did not look up or out

Lost in words or trying to find a picture to suit me

For a while that was in black and white 

Light and happiness hurt

Now I enjoy having more days

Like a ticking clock 

They move with a rhythm and a pattern

One which I have drawn up myself 

Broad blue brush strokes

And tiny black etchings on white paper

It is still difficult, looking in mirrors

But perhaps I don’t have to

Only when I’m ready 

Like the leaves maturing 

Time is a canvas - one we can leave blank

Or one we can fill with pleasure 

Life is like a jigsaw puzzle, tiny little pieces

Making up a whole

I smile inside wandering at my pink and white tree.

Pretty

Above in the ocean-blue sky 

Are big, fat juicy clouds

Full of apple-sized raindrops and waiting rainbows

Ready to burst and sprinkle hope upon the world 

When all is confused outside 

We can always draw from within 

And outside when we choose to open our eyes

Perhaps it will be wearing a yellow T-shirt

Or a new pair of shoes 

Eating a hot buttered crumpet 

Or taking a sip of tea 

It is true that the walls are falling

And the rubble dusting our feet

And many things are out of our reach 

But this is the way of the world

And has always been

Always war and hurt and fighting 

But our spirit is to survive every assault 

To make the best of what we have 

And that is my intention, to look into her blue eyes

To make myself pretty for her, and me.

Still Life

I remember walking barefoot

In the field in front of the tabernacle 

The cattails shone like spangles 

And the sun levitated in the aura of trees

I sang to myself, self-soothing 

I liked those little pilgrimages 

A holiday from the darkening thoughts 

Now I dream of the despair of being moved to a pink room 

It is like being knocked over the head with a mallet

The vision so vivd and the feelings so strong

The orderlies look at me charmingly 

As they remove my books and chairs 

Nobodies I say to myself as I dream -

They flock together like sheep 

I will smuggle in some blue and black 

Should it happen when I wake up 

For now I will linger in my half world 

Dreaming of mansions and peacocks 

Instead of a blur, the vision will be strong 

My own personal still-life. 

For Shay's Word Garden 

Comfort Food

I am very glad my belly is no longer empty

Those were the early days

Now I am in charge of choosing my food

For a while I chose salt and sugar

The powder making me want

To chew and chew and chew

So unsettled 

Now I choose red shiny apples

And smooth skinned mushrooms

Eaten raw with tomatoes now and again

Of course I still love tea and cake 

But time is ticking on 

And high tea will not go on forever 

I do not like warm food 

Or crunchy 

Or spicy food

I like softness on my tongue

Like a kiss in a drought 

And there is always water

And sweet apple juice

With pale green clouds

Gathering in the cup 

I like laying my own table

Choosing the times and laying the plate

Just as I want to 

Perhaps there is not comfort in the food

But how much you have control over it. 

My Grief

'You were born upon the day my mother was buried

My grief, my grief, my grief'- Sinead O'Connor

My grief is like a bitter apple

Sour and tart

I wish it could taste like strawberries

Perhaps in time it will 

It is difficult to understand 

How I can mourn something I never had

But a loss is a loss none the less

A black nothingness 

Where love should still remain 

Should I cry or silently feel relieved 

Will the hurt end

Will I finally become my own woman 

Will I even miss you

But grief can turn to love, perhaps

A new start, a fresh beginning 

Everything is energy

And energy shifts and moves forward 

Always alive and bright 

My grief will be short and sweet 

A taste of sweet flesh

A kiss upon my lips. 

Absinthe Dreams

Electricity passes through me

Like absinthe

I am sick of playing dollies

In the doll’s house

All costumes and fleeting dreams

I would rather catch rainwater

On my tongue

Let it dissolve and pass through me

It bounces like a jazz rhythm 

Fast as tiny feet playing jump rope

I will always keep her safe

Warm and cosy under my wings

Like a fallen angel

And a missing girl

Liquorice coats my mouth

Lets the words slip out

Thick and rich

I feel strong as a lily

Guarding a grave

As if a tornado passes

I would still stand still 

And so I smile

Broad as Cheshire Cat

I am more real than a dream

Stronger with each drink

That doesn’t reach my belly

But rises like barbed wire inside

Ready to keep the monsters out

And keep my being safe within. 

For Shay's Word Garden 

Slice of Life

Perhaps living is like slicing a cake

Sometimes sweet 

Or bitter like dark chocolate 

But always filling

There are more ingredients along the way

The pleasure of seeing 

The toppings 

The soft sponge underneath

Maybe vanilla - our favourite 

And hundreds and thousands

Which crackle on our tongue

Little bursts of life

We are learning how to eat well

To walk and see the sky 

It feels enough - for now

One slice of life consumed

Another waiting ahead 

It’s all about appetite control

What is good for us

And what is bad

At least our teeth are no longer fraying 

Or polluted by things that should not be consumed 

For that we are thankful

It has taken a lot of energy

Sometimes we cannot take a breath 

We feel so stuck

Other times things flow more easily

We hope for sweet and colourful slices

To light us on the path.