Fingers adorned
The lonely green grass verge
With violets and campions
So bright
Glorious were those summer days
Shining with love and life
Now in the dark
I shine

Scenes come
Into my mind
From wondrous childhood days
I knew
But always there was the shining
Nature taught me to love
In the darkness
And light

( Ladies Fingers are beautiful small flowers that used to grow wild in our grass verges in the countryside. Due to various things, they no longer grow, but they are a wonderful childhood memory)


Not been posting much but here is a poem that is relevant for now. I see my cancer Specialust next Friday.

Crunch, beneath my feet,
Splinters ,
Red and gold and brown,
Rich colours sharp as glass,
Now crushed with jagged points
Daggers drawing blood.
“Give me the Spring” I pleaded,
“Just the Spring,
And then do what you will.”
I knew the score,
Although I tried to hide,
Denied the truth I knew inside.
There were no signs that I could see,
Nor pain to waken fear,
Until the day that red appeared,
The blood of autumn’s death.
I’d had my Spring,
My summer too,
Now autumn brought me winter’s death,
Red, fading into white, and blue.


There comes a time for dismantling. For tearing down altars. For walking through the fiery furnace of our desolation knowing that we can stand proud. There comes a time for disengaging from the charade of life. For ceasing to join in the rotten apple of play acting. For stepping aside from the deceptions, the masks, the untruths. There comes a time for standing in the TRUTH. But what IS truth? The truth is whatever sets you free. That which does not hold you down in bonds. Break the bonds. Find your own truth. Set yourself free, then walk in the fiery furnace of your,p loss and desolation, and know that you will not be burnt.


A woman’s scream
Pierces the air of the Holy Place,
Like arrows, pointed, sharp,
Splintering the heavy stillness,
Fragments of her life lay all around,
Shattering the silence,
She sits in disarray,
Shame fills her very soul,
The unforgivable has been done,
You don’t scream in Church.
But what of the sin that was done to her?
Which sin was greater?
Silent she has been for far too long,
Swathed in shame and guilt,
Paralysed by fear.
But now, the life within her stirs,
Her bonds are loosed,
She fights for air,
And finds her voice.
Her scream is sacred


The view
From where we are,
On the ground, pushed so hard,
Oppressed, crushed unable to breathe,
Is down
Or up
And maybe blinded by our tears
We see nothing but mud,
Then suddenly,

High up,
We cannot see
The tiniest flowers
But in our smallness, crouched down low,
The best view greets those on the ground,
Unseen by those high up,
Gems in the mud,
Pure gold