I stood on the rise today
Knowing that Someone stood with me
For He had been waiting so long
For me to return
Knowing that at the appointed time I would come
And on that day I was drawn
And in one moment we met
I could not stop
For in another moment in time
Many years ago
I had been given to Him
The first fruits
And in the giving He claimed me for His own
In this place I was named
By name He called me
Down the years
The corridors of time
But time for me is running out
And soon I will be drawn once again
This time by horses
To my final resting place
And on that day too
He will be waiting for me
On the rise
For He sees me coming from afar off
Knowing my time is almost nigh
Arms stretched out to greet me
Speaking my name
And I who can no longer walk
Will run to Him
I who can no longer see
Will behold His face
And in that last embrace I will know
I am “Home at last.”


Sitting as the sun died and night came
I smelled and tasted the air that spoke of times past
And once again I could see,
Feel the movement of the big swing
In the night air
Reaching to the stars in the black sky
Laughing in exhilaration
As only a child can
If I could catch a star
And hold it forever
Here, in this place where now I sat
The past lived again
Like then
I asked questions
“”Where is God?”
Seeing the vastness of the sky
I wondered
Was He beyond the stars?
Could I catch and hold Him too?
Could I even reach Him?
Small as I was then
I feel even smaller now
Blind, lame, sick,
And now I wonder just as then
“Can I catch and hold God?”
And even as I ask,
I feel once again a child’s wonderment
And know that the Kingdom of Heaven
Belongs to such as me,
And that it is not high up in the skues
Beyond my reach,
But indeed it is within me
Not dependent on time or space
But ever present
Ever a gift
Ever mine


In the twilight
Punctuated only
By the call of birds going home
Red sky
By clouds of rooks whirling, swirling
A lone duck rises, flies
Over the bridge

Deer calling out
From far in the distance
Starlings making patterns in skies
Suddenly the cries are silent
Night has swallowed them up
All are at rest

THE BEAUTIFUL LADY – a true but spooky tale

Yesterday, as some of you know, I went to visit my Uncle’s grave in the village in Lincolnshire, England, where I was born, and where my grandparents had a farm where I spent many happy hours as a child. I promised some of you that I would write more about the Beautiful Lady. So here goes:

The farm was a magical place, full of all sorts of nooks and crannies, and spooky rooms. It was a very very large, old building, probably built in medieval times. It was the most beautiful place I have ever known, full of love. A wondrous place for a child.

As you entered the farmhouse, you went, first, into the back kitchen, which consisted of just a huge old sink with running water drawn from the old pump that was next to the farmhouse. It had its own well. My grandfather used to have to pump the water by hand, but in time, the pump was electrified, which made life much easier. My grandmother just placed a wooden table in the kitchen to put pots on after they had been washed in the huge, deep sink, served only by cold water. She would have to heat and carry hot water from the boiler beside the huge fire in what was called the kitchen proper, to the sink, in order to wash the pots.

Having gone through the back kitchen, you then passed the bottom of the first staircase, on your left, and what was called the front door, on your right, which was hardly ever opened, and found yourself in the kitchen proper. A huge room, where all the cooking and baking was done. It had a massive range, with a boiler on one side of the fireplace for boiling large amounts of water, and an oven on the other side. My grandmother was an amazing cook. Going off the kitchen was a huge pantry, where all the food was stored, usually complete with mouse!

“We’ve got a mouse,” was the oft heard cry.

So, mouse traps were continually set in the pantry. It had a mouse proof cage made of strong wire, to keep the food safe. Often, at night, sitting by the fire, we would hear the mouse trap go off.

The next room was what was called The Middle Room, where we sometimes sat for a special treat. It had a huge fireplace in it too, and a nice sofa and chairs, and a massive posh dining table and chairs. The chief attraction there, for me particularly, was the piano, which I loved to bash hell out of!

Next comes the eerie bit. Good for Halloween! Going off that room was what we called The Far Room, but also, through another door was a spooky corridor, leading to the wash house, where all the laundry was done. Of course, there was a posher, which was used to get the clothes clean, and another boiler to boil water in with a fire, and a mangle. There was also a tin bath, which I was always scared to go in for fear of one of my Uncles, or my grandfather coming by whilst I was sitting there in the altogether!

But…..off this corridor on the right, was a staircase. As a child, I never knew where it went. Only the very bottom of it was visible, as it soon turned so you could not see to the top of it. This was the corridor that my grandmother would take me down, each night, to go to the outside wooden lav, before going to bed. A lav with no running water or flush, but that my grandfather had to empty at various intervals and bury the contents. We would go there each night, carrying a torch, because for most of my childhood the farm had no electric, and it was lit by oil lamps hanging from the ceiling, or that you carried with you as you walked around. But going down this spooky corridor my grandmother carried a torch. We always used to run past the bottom of that staircase, because we had no idea who might be there. Our imaginations always ran wild. But it was that sort of house. Often the nights were wild, and Wuthering Heights comes to mind as I am writing this. Going to bed at night would be done by the light of a candle, which we carried upstairs with us. In many of the bedroom, the trees would be knocking on the windows. Often there was a howling gale.

But I digress again, as usual!

My Uncle, when a little boy, slept in a small bedroom off the main big bedroom. A huge horse chestnut tree constantly tapped on the window as if pleading for entry. THIS was where he saw the Beautiful Lady, all dressed in pink. She appeared at his bedside each night. He told my grandmother of this, and, rather than telling him not to be so stupid, she just allowed him to have his fancy. In time, he stopped talking about the Beautiful Lady.

In recent years my husband and I started doing research on this amazing farmhouse. We discovered that it used to be the Grange of a monastery. Inside the farmhouse would have orrigi nally been a Chapel. Lay brothers would have farmed the land.

Now of course you can guess where my imagination was and still is, going! Who WAS that Beautiful Lady? WAS it the Virgin Mary? Well, She was not ALWAYS dressed in blue, but HAS also been depicted dressed in pink.

My family is not Catholic, so my Uncle would not even have heard of the Virgin Mary, so he could not have conjured that up. But now, I am intrigued, and as I go to my Uncle’s grave, I talk to him, about the secret that was buried with him, and pray, too, that I can see the Beautiful Lady. Who KNOWS what might happen?


My soul
Sweet Lady
I feel You now
Coming close to me
Long ago I was told
Of Your gentleness and grace
Oh how long I have sought Your face
Now at last You have come close to me
Oh sweet Lady the earth waits for us


Come to me my Love
Let me see you with eyes blinded by love
Let me put my hands onto Your wounds
Caress Your Body
With my broken body
Bruised by the world’s cruelty
And incomprehension
Let the rivers of blood and water flow
For we are already one
Our hearts beat as one
Our cries rise to heaven as one
In the abandonment of love
Pure sacrifice
Ecstatic in union
In Love You came
And with blind eyes I saw You


Yesterday I had a wonderful experience. You might actually call it mystical.

Lately, my life has been deteriorating badly. I am fighting a daily battle with pain and sickness. I can sit up for a very short period of time, but I have to try and cram as much as possible into that time, because pretty soon I have to lie down again. This has all happened rather quickly and unexpectedly. It means that I don’t get done all that I want to do here on WordPress. I manage to write my poems by dictating them into my iPad. But I am still trying to get used to the technology! I always WAS dumb with that. I resisted computers for SO long, and yet now, my iPad is my salvation. It is my only way of keeping in touch with people and the world.

Anyway, to continue! I do try to go out each afternoon for a drive. It all depends upon how bad or good I am feeling. I try to push on through the pain, because lying here day after day saps my strength and my spirit, and my world gets darker and darker.

Yesterday I was determined to go and visit my Uncle. Actually, he is dead! But I wanted to sit outside the very small cemetery where he is buried – in my home village. I was unable to go to his funeral five years ago because I was in the middle of my cancer ordeal. But, I have been thinking about death a lot, lately, with my own health deteriorating, and losing many friends to cancer. So, I was desperate to at least go and sit outside the cemetery to say “Hi” to my Uncle. He was a great Uncle when I was a kid. I remember him making someb amazing wooden stilts for me! And taking me with him in his car to see the station master at the local village station. We would go into the station box, and I would be shown all the controls. Amazing!

As we rolled up outside the cemetery gates, it was incredible. I can sometimes see shadows, and dark shapes, and I CAN see sunlight, the sky, and sunsets. But as we parked up, the most glorious sight thrilled my heart. The gates were closed, but they are not solid gates, so you can see through them. Trees line the path in a haphazard kind of way. It is all quite natural, and nothing is in lines. The sun had just come out, and it felt quite ethereal. I am no good at describing scenes, but all I can say is that it felt like I was looking at heaven beyond that gate.

My husband took a photograph of the scene, and if I knew how to post photos I would post it here. We called the photo “Heaven’s Gate” and I truly felt that I had seen into heaven that afternoon. A welcome change from the daily grind of my life as it is now.

I sometimes wonder how I came to be like this. I was an outdoor kind of person, doing much walking, cycling, climbing mountains, and swimming thirty lengths a day. I LOVED dancing. The wilder the better! It is hard to believe that I have been reduced to what I am now. Some days I find it very depressing, and I can become quite black. Some days I cry. Some days I feel too sick even to cry. But yesterday I was in heaven. Or so it seemed.

Today it is sunny again, and this afternoon I hope to be able to rise above the pain and go and say “Hi” to my Uncle again.

Another day I will tell you about the Beautiful Lady that he saw as a child, at the farm where he lived, and where I too spent a lot of my childhood.

Have a good day everyone.

Lorraine xoxo


Sitting under the rowan tree
I know this place is hallowed
I hear feet walking,
Bells tolling,
Souls weeping
People chattering
I hear steps that are light
Steps that are heavy
Steps that are gay
Steps laden with sorrow,
I sit in the dark
I sit in the light
With the sun, the moon, the stars,
In the rain
In the heat
In the wind
My soul aching, laughing, singing, sighing, striving,
With those who have gone before,
And somehow all is sacred,
All is held in the seamless robe of time become eternity,
And I know
Without a doubt
That this place is hallowed
I sit on hallowed ground


I watch them swooping, soaring, diving,
Dancing in the air in pure joy
And I hear their song from the trees
Their wings unclipped
Their voices not silenced
Free to sing as they will
Whatever their song
I sang to you a song
and you silenced me
Clipped my wings
No longer could I soar with the birds
But in the darkness of the prison you put me in
My song rises
In the night I sing as I will
That love is nothing to do with fear


The madman came and put his axe to the tree
Hell bent on cutting out its sacred core
Demons gathered to watch the killing spree

The sap rose then on seeing the madman’s glee
The tree stood tall ready to go to war
The madman came and put his axe to the tree

Red berries glistened in its sturdy lee
Mesmerised the madman watched blood pour
Demons gathered to watch the killing spree

The madman believed that he was truly free
In spewing evil opening hell’s door
The madman came and put his axe to the tree

Holy innocence cried to One in Three
Blood and water cleansed the madman’s gore
The madman came and put his axe to the tree
Demons gathered to watch the killing spree


Take my hand and hear the birdsong,
Smell with me the forest pine,
Feel with me the dew of the morning.

Hear the beat of the bird’s wings flying,
Raise your face up to the moonshine,
Take my hand and hear the birdsong.

Hear the fountain burbling, gurgling,
Taste the taste of wine so fine,
Feel with me the dew of the morning.

Feel the trunk of the old tree leaning,
Touch its bark from ancient time,
Take my hand and hear the birdsong.

Though without sight the world is teeming,
Unable to walk pure joy is mine
Take my hand and hear the birdsong,
Feel with me the dew of the morning.


The world is in motion
Nothing still
As the Dance goes on
Forming patterns like the crystals of a snowflake
Painting pictures
Creating stories
Is there really a time for everything
Or is everything in its time?
And is there a difference?
Soon, time will be no more
The Dance will end
As eternity calls
The picture will be complete
But how will the story end?
As eternity calls
A new book will be opened
A book called “The Book of Life”
And in this book
A day will be like a thousand years
And a thousand years like a day
And here, there will be no endings
Or even beginnings
For time will be no more
In a life that is eternal


Soft rays fall gently as I remember
Days in Your Presence
When my heart was full
And birdsong filled the air
The warmth of summer’s breeze
Danced on my skin
Until the whole of my body danced too
Hearing the cries of Your love
In the calling of the birds
“Come my sweet one come,
Follow Me wither I go,
Across the sky
Onto the sea
Soaring above the mountains
Follow, follow,
Let Me hear your sweet voice sing
As we become One with the Universe
I love you, I love you,”
And I believed
And followed
Emptied myself of all but You
Together we danced the Dance of Love
Ate at a Banquet fit for Kings and Queens
Bathed in the gently flowing water
Drank from the water that gushed from the rock
But now the soft rays turn to darkness
The wind blows cold
No longer do I hear Your voice
Calling, calling,
I am alone,
No longer can my feet dance
No longer do we twist and twirl together
In the Dance of Life
For now I live in darkness
Unable even to tie my own belt
In a place where I did not want to go
And in this place
I cry out Your Name
“Come to me, Come to me”
But there is no answer
“Where are You? Where are You?” I cry
The wind blows the sound of my voice back at me
I look up
See a Cross in the sky
And in that moment
Know that You are with me


Beside the ocean may I walk with you
Reminisce on all that we’ve been through
Dark nights and fear that took away our rest
With pain and deepest anguish were we blessed
Yet this became our greatest treasure too

One day we saw the storm clouds start to brew
And tears fell heavy with the morning dew
We knew this was to be our greatest test
Beside the ocean

But now we see in shades of deepest hue
With eyes and hearts washed by our tears anew
Despite it all we know we have the best
In fire tested honed at heaven’s bequest
We hold grief’s hand from which our new joys grew
Beside the ocean


A woman cries,
Hunched low,
In rhythmic sway,
Cradles the child
Who danced
In celebration fields
Of gold.

Soft days
In gentle sand
Lapped body’s shore,
While sunny stories
In darkening crook
Of summer’s arm.
A woman moans
Her last goodbye
To childhood’s startled innocence
Then slowly turns,
In ever widening circling dance
To greet
New sunlight’s
Golden dawn


At the end of the lane she rode on by
The sun was shining high in the sky
Her ghostly figure drew me on
I could not get close, the lane was long
I did not ask the question why

She disappeared I tell no lie
In sadness I let out a sigh
What was it that was oh so wrong
At the end of the lane

It felt so eerie I thought I’d die
In that moment I let out a cry
I smelled just then a scent so strong
Then vultures in the air did throng
I knew I had to say goodbye
At the end of the lane


Last year in the summer, I was drawn back to my childhood home. It is a village in Lincolnshire, England. My grandparents had a farm out in the countryside beyond the village, but my grandmother often used to take me into the village with her, to take food and various other things to people who needed them. We would walk together, I just a very little girl, down the long road into the village. Often it was very hot, and as we were walking up the hill, back to the farm, I felt that I would faint from the heat.

I was born in that village, but my parents left there when I was about two years old. We then moved around England a lot – every three to six months. However, I regularly returned to my grandparents’ farm to stay for a while. They were the happiest days of my life. The farm and the village became my only real “home.” My only security. Though much of my life was with my parents, traipsing around the country, which I hated, and which made me a very insecure person for a while.

After having cancer, from which I almost died, and being left blind and wheelchair bound, I was drawn back to that childhood place. It was as if I was trying to reclaim myself again. Cancer changes you. I did not know who I was any more, now being blind and wheelchair bound, and totally dependent upon others for even the smallest thing. Adjusting was hard. It still is, as my health continues to deteriorate, and I was SHOCKED to the core when some people, notably clergy, told me only the other week that I needed to go into a HOME! I am not elderly. My husband and I just about manage. My home is HERE, where I am now, with my husband. We both sank into the most horrible fear, thinking that the issue could be forced. However, we have discovered how to make it so that this cannot happen. I am naturally a very lively, confident and outgoing person, with LOTS of interests and a brain that never stops! So to go into a Home would KILL me. Plus, I have my beloved dog, a beautiful rough (Lassie type) collie called Hope. She is only three years old, and I love her, and she loves me.

But I have digressed.

I went back to my childhood home in the summer of 2017 to try and find myself again. I sat for hours, in the car, outside the village church where I was baptised. There, as I sat, I had many experiences. I went through all the emotions under the sun. I cried a lot, and I laughed a lot.

I longed to go back there to live, and to re-acquaint myself with the place, and get to know people whose names I knew but had never met. So then began a quest to find somewhere to live, there. So far we have been unsuccessful, and my health is deteriorating badly again, so I don’t know if we ever will get to live there. I needed to reclaim my happiness again. To stop being a Wanderer. To become rooted in a place where I had been truly happy.

My cancer had left me a very different person. In many ways a much much stronger one, but also so very very vulnerable. My emotions go all over the place at times, as may be evident in my poetry.

However, whilst I was sitting there, in the car, by the side of the church, i was under a rowan tree, which inspired me greatly. I wrote my third poetry book called “Under the Rowan Tree.” It is not available from anywhere, though some people have asked where they can get it. I sell it at Craft Fairs when I am well enough. But that is not why I am writing this piece. I am writing it to say that I still go back to sit there, under the rowan tree, and feel the different seasons. We are approaching winter now. And as I sit I re-live my memories, and try to make sense of things. I intend to post much more about this, and some of the poems that have come out of doing this.

So, that is just a little bit of an explanation of where I am at. Sometimes my poems etc are full of hope etc but sometimes they are very dark. Both are as true as each other.

Thankyou to all of my Followers and many others who just stop by, for reading my stuff. It means the world to me.

Lorraine x


On the horse’s back
I rode
Down lanes close to my old abode
It seemed like scenes from yesteryear
I felt the falling of a tear
Soon my grief flowed

As darkness fell the cock crowed
In my heart I bore a load
Here were those things that I held dear
On the horse’s back

High in the sky the moon glowed
In the byre the cattle lowed
Now there is no place for fear
The past is very very near
When so much joy was on me bestowed
On the horse’s back


The darkness flows into our mortal lives,
Unasked for, unexpected, sure it comes,
For the most part every one of us strives
To dispel that which now before us looms,
But as it beckons we must enter in,
Embracing it, not fighting its advent,
Fighting it will never help us to win
The fruits that grow within what has been sent,
Within the darkness gems are to be found,
And soon we will discover our true self,
To the things that hold us we will not be bound,
In letting go we find a greater wealth,
Only the darkness can deliver us
And make us free without incurring loss


I see the horses passing by
Just as they did in times of old
Within, my spirit starts to sigh
Turning soon into a cry
The question rises “Why oh why?”
Let me be taken into the fold
I see the horses passing by
Just as they did in times of old


Was harsh that year,
Ice covered all the ponds,
No birds could feed beneath the ice,
They died.
We thought that all was lost that year,
There wasn’t any hope………
A kingfisher

This bird
Survived despite
There being no fish to eat,
We wondered how it clung to life,
And sang.
And then
We saw it eating bread, it learnt
A new way of eating,
Hope lived again
That day


“Most people don’t have lives like yours.”

So said my academic Supervisor some years ago. I was not sure what he meant. And I have lost contact with him now. I remember at the time feeling kind of freaky, and as if in some way my life was not acceptable – not tidy. This came from someone whose life was very tidy. Someone up there in the higher echelons of society. Someone who had “made it.”

His comment made me think back over my life, and no , it was not tidy. I did not have the good fortune that he had had, and indeed, my life had been messy in places. None of this had been my own fault, but simply the wway life had treated me.

I find myself wondering what he would make of my life now. Certainly, it is beyond untidy. It is an upside down life. Nothing is as it should be. Blind, unable to walk, and with a disabled husband, desperately trying to survive. Mostly, I think we appear in society looking fairly tidy, but inside, we are not. We struggle. Not your regular life. But does that make our lives of any less value?

Sometimes I wonder about life and especially ours. It would be so easy to give in to feelings of uselessness and hopelessness. Recently we had the funeral of someone who had been a close friend of ours. We were told that he had taken tablets. He had felt unwanted. Yet he was the one who had brought me back to life again after my cancer, gradually easing me back into being able to be with people again after six months in bed, unable to get out. He was someone who did not have a tidy life either.

The world is full of people who do not have tidy lives. But does that make them any the less valuable?


Had a really rough week, so sorry I haven’t got aroynd to you all. Thanjs to everyone for still coming in and reading my stuff and comnenting. You will never know just how much I aloreciate it. You lot keep me going lol. I am in a LOT of pain right now, and just sitting to type and visit other people’s sites is a bit hard. But I will get there in the ebd. That’s a threat not a promise Ha! See ya alk soon. Xx


The days are growing shorter, darkness falls,
Wrapping its tendrils around my body,
As they tighten their grip a lone bird calls,
Piercing my heart with its stark melody,
Dead leaves crackle their life now is over,
The bird sings again its funereal song,
Like that of a dying, anguished lover,
Knowing the joy that was is now gone,
As the bird reaches its beak to the sky,
Stars start to twinkle and dance in the night,
A nightingale sings, its song rises high,
Out of the darkness has come a great light,
The spell is broken, i know I will live,
I learned in the dark a new song to give


WELL, DAY HAS COME, BUT IT’S NOT REALLY MUCH DIFFERENT TO NIGHT lol. Except the burds are singing. Ah sweet music

In the dark night
I sit here, not sleeping,
Why is the dark always darker
At night?
Both are
The same to me, no difference
When will everything stop
Spinning inside
Day come?


Take, my Love
What I have offered to you
And let yourself be broken
As you caress my brokenness too
In brokenness we find ourselves
In touching wounds
In healing balms
Take, eat, remember me
As you share the feast
Of brokenness and love
Broken bread
Shed blood
Of innocence
You ask who sinned
It was not you
You simply broke
As i did too
And from our wounds
Gushed blood and water
But today we feast
And in the feast you join me
In Paradise


Bring to light that which is hidden
Nestling deep in the darkness
Sing into being that which should live
Wing your chosen way onwards

Do not fear the deep waters
You were once held in this ocean
Too many times you stood at the edge
New life is yours for the taking


If I have accidentally used anyone’s name in my flea poems, please note that no offense was intended. I am sure that none of you bite really. But to set matters straight, my middle name is Kathy – so here goes!

There once was a flea called Kathy
Who bit someone hard in a cafe
They jumped with banoffee
Spilling their coffee
And drowned that poor flea called Kathy


From time to time we all find ourselves in a dark place. In those times, I believe we need to acknowledge that darkness, and embrace it. So often we feel we have to put on a false smile, or see our glasses as half full etc. But sometimes we just need to allow the darkness to live within us, for dark is not always bad. Sometimes, darkness can comfort you. It is where we become the “real me.” I am in darkness physically, in a sense, through being blind. Also, my life is gradually ebbing away, and I am encountering a lot of bad physical pain. I have also encountered much rejection at a time when I need comfort and peace. But in this dark time I have learned so much. So here is my poem, which I may have posted before.


Dark place,
I sink into
Your arms, hold me, heal me,
Let me close my eyes, to my pain,
The past
Within the dark may a new day
Be born, with no more pain,
No more sorrow,
Hide me


Trees wave gently in autumn sun
Grieves my heart for the coming cold
Leaves fall down in the midst of glory
Heaves my soul in this time of gold

Blue and white will soon take their toll
Through the dark night I’ll wither
Too many times I’ve given in
Do your worst, gold come hither



Do not fear the dark night
Nor run fast from its embrace
Seeking only to be in the light

In the darkness we gain clear sight
Here is where we find pure grace
Do not fear the dark night

Often in the darkness we fight
Looking for the smallest trace
Seeking only to be in the light

In the depths we find the height
Of joy and wonder in sacred space
Do not fear the dark night

The dark is luminous, oh so bright
Never could we find a better place
Seeking only to be in the light

My friend, do not be filled with fright,
Here is where you come to see God’s face
Do not fear the dark night
Seeking only to be in the light