Month: November 2018

OFFERING

On By blindzanygirlIn Uncategorized4 Comments

If only I could write today
Of what I truly feel,
Looking at the world through blind eyes,
I read the words of those who see and leap and walk,
Who live in such a different world, it almost seems
That we are aliens, strangers to each other,
Yet still made of the flesh and blood
That draws us close together,
I struggle to know that I belong,
Yet write as if I do,
Illusory? Perhaps,
But sometimes illusions have to be,
For otherwise
How could we
Bear the pain of blindness?
How do I write my Goodbyes?
How do I say “So long”?
And yet today,
The tree stripped bare
Said it all to me,
For I too am stripped bare,
Of all that I once knew,
Of the colours of my life,
Of beauty, of frolicking in the breeze,
And now, I am empty handed,
Except for my words,
I offer you my words

COLOURS

On By blindzanygirlIn Uncategorized8 Comments

If I were you and you were me,
What different colours would we see?
For I am blind and you can’t hear,
What different things would we hold dear?
The grass is green, what does that mean?
It could be blue, things only seem
To paint a picture bold and true
That means the same to me and you.

If you were me and I were you,
How would we hear the colour blue?
It’s not just words that shed the light
On all life’s questions big and small,
There’s none that mean the same to all,
I wonder if you’ll now agree
That different shades we all will see,
That white is black, and black is white,
But all has meaning in Love’s sight.

#FOWC – Contrast

On By blindzanygirlIn Uncategorized5 Comments

FOWC with Fandango — Contrast

“Some people don’t want their sight back,” the priest said to Mary.

Mary knew what he meant. Since she had gone blind she had had the most wonderful sense of the “other world” that people with eyesight do not see. Things that she would not have noticed as a sighted person, she now noticed. Like the sharp pinprick of raindrops falling onto her outstretched hands. Most of the feeling in her hands had gone now, but if she opened her hands and turned her palms upwards to the sky, to her amazement she could just feel the icy raindrops falling onto the palms of her hands. It made her squeal with delight.

And that was another thing. Now, she was much more of a child than she used to be. A child who knew delight in a most delicious way. A child who laughed at the most inane things, and who danced and danced in her head. A child who gloried in colour, although she could no longer see it. Indeed, these days she did not care if she got bright orange, red, purple, green and blue all on her body at the same time. To her, each single colour was beautiful in itself, though in common with many cancer sufferers she did have a penchant for shocking pink. What was it about shocking pink? Mary thought about that often, and decided that it was a statement – a kind of defiance in the face of a serious and potentially dangerous and debilitating disease. And for her it HAD been debilitating. Eight months flat on her back on the bed at home with only fortnightly trips out to the hospital for her chemotherapy – although the week her chemo was due, she had to go in three days running, for blood tests and one quite painful injection. Those days were very dark days, and they took place at the height of the winter and the dark days and nights. Christmas that year was abysmal. She and her husband were alone. No one came to visit them, or to comfort Mary in her pain. Just a couple of days before Christmas she had had her chemo, and ALWAYS, the third day was the worst. For some reason on the third day after chemo she was always very ill. And so, on this Christmas day she could hardly speak, and was unable to lift her head off the pillow, never mind eat!

And so, was there any wonder that now, in remission, Mary LOVED bright, and often clashing colours. It kind of said,

“Look, I am still here. “.

She didn’t know for how long she was going to be here, for even in remission her body was deteriorating, and many of her days were spent in pain. Other things had happened to her due to the aggressive chemo which she had had to have, blindness and an insbilty to walk being just two of them.

But her life was rich. Much much richer than it had been before cancer struck. Her time might be shorter now, but the time that she did have was very rich. She saw and felt things with her heart that she would never have seen and felt before. The tiniest of things gave her enormous pleasure, that normally would have been nothing. Just the sound of the rain beating on the roif of the car sent her into wild ecstasies.

“Listem to THAT,” she would say to her husband, who had to try and keep up with these constant detours into childish ecstasy.

Mary sang a lot. Especially in the car. And the car doir became her drum. She discovered also that she could make different notes by banging on the door in different places, and with different things, like full plastic bottles, metal spoons, bits of wood. This, she would never have discovered as a sighted person. And life was such a delight to her, despite thenphysical pain that she was always in.

Her life now was such a CONTRAST to what it had been before. She used to be a lecturer, with responsibilities, and standing. She LOVED her work, and became a mentor to many a struggling student. She loved walking, swimming, climbing hills and mountains, cycling miles and miles, going to the gym, keeping fit, going to the opera house and seeing plays, enjoying the different Groups that came to play there. She would go alone, relishing her independence. She LOVED driving her car – usually in Sports Mode. And life was GOOD.

So, when she was faced with what might turn out to be the biggest decision of her life, she just DID NOT know what to do. She was offered the possibility of an operation on her eyes to try and restore her sight. But it was to be a dangerous operation in many ways. The chemo had damaged her lungs (one of the drugs she had been given was known to do this, and Mary already had one damaged lung from a previous illness, and now, the second lung was damaged too) making it exceedingly dangerous for her to have an anaresthetic. In fact, she had been told that in reality, she should only now have an anaesthetic if she was going to die anyway, and an operation might save her. But, as the anaesthetist had said to her,

“It’s your eyesight.”

She was told that if she went ahead with the ooeration which may, or may not work, she woukd wake up (if she DID wake up, that was) in the hugh dependency unit where she would have to stay for a few dats, as her lungs could fail for up to five dats after the operation. The eye surgeon hsd boiked two operating theatres for her, one for each eye. This was to avoid the high danger of infection, since Mary had a very challenged immune system as her cancer had been of the immune system. Not only that, but the surgeon was going to have two Teams, one for each operating theatre, and he himself would completely change his gear before he went into the second operating theatre. All of this to avoid infection.

Mary shivered as she thought of it all. Would she be made any happier if she regained her eyesight? YES, in many ways she would, and she LONGED to have it back again. But could she live without it? She didn’t know. She had managed to do so so far, and had experienced all these wonderful things that she had never experienced before. But what if her husband died or became sick? She was totally reliant upon him.

It seemed like an impossible decision. Did she want to die? Some days, when the pain was especially bad, yes, she DID.

And so, the words of the priest,

“Some people don’t want their eyesight back” rang true to her.

She turned to her God, and cried out to Him, saying that she could NOT make this decision. She owed it to her hysband to at least try, to take the pressure off him. But what if she died? He did not want to lose her.

And strangely, in the end, the decision WAS taken out of her hands. Two days before the operation was due to take place, she contracted a bug, and the operation had to be cancelled. The surgeon who had been willing to try and restore ger eyesight left to take up a new life in New Zealand, and no other surgeon, she was told, could perform the operstion.

Mary still grieves over the loss of her eyesight. She still has black days when she is sunk in deep depression and fear. But then, a new experience comes along, and she is lifted again.

(Some of you may recognise that this is MY story. Lorraine’s. But it was easier to write it this way).

“Some people don’t want their sight back,” the priest said to Mary.

Mary knew what he meant. Since she had gone blind she had had the most wonderful sense of the “other world” that people with eyesight do not see. Things that she would not have noticed as a sighted person, she now noticed. Like the sharp pinprick of raindrops falling onto her outstretched hands. Most of the feeling in her hands had gone now, but if she opened her hands and turned her palms upwards to the sky, to her amazement she could just feel the icy raindrops falling onto the palms of her hands. It made her squeal with delight.

And that was another thing. Now, she was much more of a child than she used to be. A child who knew delight in a most delicious way. A child who laughed at the most inane things, and who danced and danced in her head. A child who gloried in colour, although she could no longer see it. Indeed, these days she did not care if she got bright orange, red, purple, green and blue all on her body at the same time. To her, each single colour was beautiful in itself, though in common with many cancer sufferers she did have a penchant for shocking pink. What was it about shocking pink? Mary thought about that often, and decided that it sas a statement – a kind of defiance in the face of a serious and potentially dangerous and debilitating disease. And for her it HAD been debilitating. Eight months flat on her back on the bed at home with only fortnightly trips out to the hispital for her chemotherapy – a,though the week her chemo was due, she had to go in three days running, for blood tests and one quite painful injection. Those days were very dark days, and they took place at the height of the winter and the dark days and nights. Christmas that year was abysmal. She and her husband were alone. No one came to visit them, or to comfort Mary in her pain. Just a couple of days before Christmas she had had her chemo, and ALWAYS, the third day was the worst. For some reason on the third day after chemo she was always very ill. And so, on this Christmas day she could hardly speak, and was unable to lift her head off the pillow, never mind eat!

And so, was there any wonder that now, in remission, Mary LOVED bright, and often clashing colours. It kind of said,

“Look, I am still here. “.

She didn’t know for how long she was going to be here, for even in remission her body was deteriorating, and many of her days were spent in pain. Other things had happened to her due to the aggressive chemo which she had had to have, blindness and an insbilty to walk being just two of them.

But her life was rich. Much much richer than it had been before cancer struck. Her time might be shorter now, but the time that she did have was very rich. She saw and felt things with her heart that she would never have seen and felt before. The tiniest of things gave her enormous pleasure, that normally would have been nothing. Just the sound of the rain beating on the roif of the car sent her into wild ecstasies.

“Listem to THAT,” she would say to her husband, who had to try and keep up with these constant detours into childish ecstasy.

Mary sang a lot. Especially in the car. And the car doir became her drum. She discovered also that she could make different notes by banging on the door in different places, and with different things, like full plastic bottles, metal spoons, bits of wood. This, she would never have discovered as a sighted person. And life was such a delight to her, despite thenphysical pain that she was always in.

Her life now was such a CONTRAST to what it had been before. She used to be a lecturer, with responsibilities, and standing. She LOVED her work, and became a mentor to many a struggling student. She loved walking, swimming, climbing hills and mountains, cycling miles and miles, going to the gym, keeping fit, going to the opera house and seeing plays, enjoying the different Groups that came to play there. She would go alone, relishing her independence. She LOVED driving her car – usually in Sports Mode. And life was GOOD.

So, when she was faced with what might turn out to be the biggest decision of her life, she just DID NOT know what to do. She was offered the possibility of an operation on her eyes to try and restore her sight. But it was to be a dangerous operation in many ways. The chemo had damaged her lungs (one of the drugs she had been given was known to do this, and Mary already had one damaged lung from a previous illness, and now, the second lung was damaged too) making it exceedingly dangerous for her to have an anaresthetic. In fact, she had been told that in reality, she should only now have an anaesthetic if she was going to die anyway, and an operation might save her. But, as the anaesthetist had said to her,

“It’s your eyesight.”

She was told that if she went ahead with the ooeration which may, or may not work, she woukd wake up (if she DID wake up, that was) in the hugh dependency unit where she would have to stay for a few dats, as her lungs could fail for up to five dats after the operation. The eye surgeon hsd boiked two operating theatres for her, one for each eye. This was to avoid the high danger of infection, since Mary had a very challenged immune system as her cancer had been of the immune system. Not only that, but the surgeon was going to have two Teams, one for each operating theatre, and he himself would completely change his gear before he went into the second operating theatre. All of this to avoid infection.

Mary shivered as she thought of it all. Would she be made any happier if she regained her eyesight? YES, in many ways she would, and she LONGED to have it back again. But could she live without it? She didn’t know. She had managed to do so so far, and had experienced all these wonderful things that she had never experienced before. But what if her husband died or became sick? She was totally reliant upon him.

It seemed like an impossible decision. Did she want to die? Some days, when the pain was especially bad, yes, she DID.

And so, the words of the priest,

“Some people don’t want their eyesight back” rang true to her.

She turned to her God, and cried out to Him, saying that she could NOT make this decision. She owed it to her hysband to at least try, to take the pressure off him. But what if she died? He did not want to lose her.

And strangely, in the end, the decision WAS taken out of her hands. Two days before the operation was due to take place, she contracted a bug, and the operation had to be cancelled. The surgeon who had been willing to try and restore ger eyesight left to take up a new life in New Zealand, and no other surgeon, she was told, could perform the operstion.

Mary still grieves over the loss of her eyesight. She still has black days when she is sunk in deep depression and fear. But then, a new experience comes along, and she is lifted again.

(Some of you may recognise that this is MY story. Lorraine’s. But it was easier to write it this way).

“Some people don’t want their sight back,” the priest said to Mary.

Mary knew what he meant. Since she had gone blind she had had the most wonderful sense of the “other world” that people with eyesight do not see. Things that she would not have noticed as a sighted person, she now noticed. Like the sharp pinprick of raindrops falling onto her outstretched hands. Most of the feeling in her hands had gone now, but if she opened her hands and turned her palms upwards to the sky, to her amazement she could just feel the icy raindrops falling onto the palms of her hands. It made her squeal with delight.

And that was another thing. Now, she was much more of a child than she used to be. A child who knew delight in a most delicious way. A child who laughed at the most inane things, and who danced and danced in her head. A child who gloried in colour, although she could no longer see it. Indeed, these days she did not care if she got bright orange, red, purple, green and blue all on her body at the same time. To her, each single colour was beautiful in itself, though in common with many cancer sufferers she did have a penchant for shocking pink. What was it about shocking pink? Mary thought about that often, and decided that it sas a statement – a kind of defiance in the face of a serious and potentially dangerous and debilitating disease. And for her it HAD been debilitating. Eight months flat on her back on the bed at home with only fortnightly trips out to the hispital for her chemotherapy – a,though the week her chemo was due, she had to go in three days running, for blood tests and one quite painful injection. Those days were very dark days, and they took place at the height of the winter and the dark days and nights. Christmas that year was abysmal. She and her husband were alone. No one came to visit them, or to comfort Mary in her pain. Just a couple of days before Christmas she had had her chemo, and ALWAYS, the third day was the worst. For some reason on the third day after chemo she was always very ill. And so, on this Christmas day she could hardly speak, and was unable to lift her head off the pillow, never mind eat!

And so, was there any wonder that now, in remission, Mary LOVED bright, and often clashing colours. It kind of said,

“Look, I am still here. “.

She didn’t know for how long she was going to be here, for even in remission her body was deteriorating, and many of her days were spent in pain. Other things had happened to her due to the aggressive chemo which she had had to have, blindness and an insbilty to walk being just two of them.

But her life was rich. Much much richer than it had been before cancer struck. Her time might be shorter now, but the time that she did have was very rich. She saw and felt things with her heart that she would never have seen and felt before. The tiniest of things gave her enormous pleasure, that normally would have been nothing. Just the sound of the rain beating on the roif of the car sent her into wild ecstasies.

“Listem to THAT,” she would say to her husband, who had to try and keep up with these constant detours into childish ecstasy.

Mary sang a lot. Especially in the car. And the car doir became her drum. She discovered also that she could make different notes by banging on the door in different places, and with different things, like full plastic bottles, metal spoons, bits of wood. This, she would never have discovered as a sighted person. And life was such a delight to her, despite thenphysical pain that she was always in.

Her life now was such a CONTRAST to what it had been before. She used to be a lecturer, with responsibilities, and standing. She LOVED her work, and became a mentor to many a struggling student. She loved walking, swimming, climbing hills and mountains, cycling miles and miles, going to the gym, keeping fit, going to the opera house and seeing plays, enjoying the different Groups that came to play there. She would go alone, relishing her independence. She LOVED driving her car – usually in Sports Mode. And life was GOOD.

So, when she was faced with what might turn out to be the biggest decision of her life, she just DID NOT know what to do. She was offered the possibility of an operation on her eyes to try and restore her sight. But it was to be a dangerous operation in many ways. The chemo had damaged her lungs (one of the drugs she had been given was known to do this, and Mary already had one damaged lung from a previous illness, and now, the second lung was damaged too) making it exceedingly dangerous for her to have an anaresthetic. In fact, she had been told that in reality, she should only now have an anaesthetic if she was going to die anyway, and an operation might save her. But, as the anaesthetist had said to her,

“It’s your eyesight.”

She was told that if she went ahead with the ooeration which may, or may not work, she woukd wake up (if she DID wake up, that was) in the hugh dependency unit where she would have to stay for a few dats, as her lungs could fail for up to five dats after the operation. The eye surgeon hsd boiked two operating theatres for her, one for each eye. This was to avoid the high danger of infection, since Mary had a very challenged immune system as her cancer had been of the immune system. Not only that, but the surgeon was going to have two Teams, one for each operating theatre, and he himself would completely change his gear before he went into the second operating theatre. All of this to avoid infection.

Mary shivered as she thought of it all. Would she be made any happier if she regained her eyesight? YES, in many ways she would, and she LONGED to have it back again. But could she live without it? She didn’t know. She had managed to do so so far, and had experienced all these wonderful things that she had never experienced before. But what if her husband died or became sick? She was totally reliant upon him.

It seemed like an impossible decision. Did she want to die? Some days, when the pain was especially bad, yes, she DID.

And so, the words of the priest,

“Some people don’t want their eyesight back” rang true to her.

She turned to her God, and cried out to Him, saying that she could NOT make this decision. She owed it to her hysband to at least try, to take the pressure off him. But what if she died? He did not want to lose her.

And strangely, in the end, the decision WAS taken out of her hands. Two days before the operation was due to take place, she contracted a bug, and the operation had to be cancelled. The surgeon who had been willing to try and restore ger eyesight left to take up a new life in New Zealand, and no other surgeon, she was told, could perform the operstion.

Mary still grieves over the loss of her eyesight. She still has black days when she is sunk in deep depression and fear. But then, a new experience comes along, and she is lifted again.

(Some of you may recognise that this is MY story. Lorraine’s. But it was easier to write it this way).

DARK PLACE

On By blindzanygirlIn Uncategorized6 Comments

Most of us don’t like the dark. In fact, some people fear it. But actually it can be quite comforting. I once had the experience of going into a really really pitch black church at night, and I was alone in there, and I had this strange sense of the darkness actually putting its arms around me. It was so comforting, and I have written quite a lot about darkness since then. I must admit, I do not like it when the dark nights come around, and I hate this time of year. So maybe I should go and sit in my dark church again, and re-live that lovely moment of a couple of years ago. Here is just a short poem about it:

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

RIVER

On By blindzanygirlIn Uncategorized13 Comments

River, I hear you call me to you,
Gone are the days when I walked
On your grassy banks, the wind in my hair,
But still I hear your song,
The air thick with desire,
If just for one more time I could come

On summer days I would often come
Finding peace as I watched you
Around, all that I could desire
My spirits lifted as I walked
Deep within a joyous song
As the wind tossed my hair

Wayward always was my hair
As I felt each season come
Accompanied by a different song
That I sang as I danced beside you
Many miles over time I walked
To walk was always my deep desire

Now I am filled with a deeper desire
So different is my hair
No miles now will ever be walked
Never again will I come
But I never will lose my love for you
Or cease to sing you my song

On my lips is always a song
Born from my deep desire
One day maybe I’ll dance with you
Grow once again my hair
Again and again you whisper “Come”
Remembering how far once I walked

Along your banks many feet have walked
I wonder how many sang a song?
My sweet love, soon I will come
My heart aches, for you are all I desire
See the greying of my hair
But in my heart I carry you

LORD I’M BLIND

On By blindzanygirlIn Uncategorized30 Comments

This poem was written some time ago. But I want to share it now.

I used to be OK with going blind
Was that real?
Or was it because of the pressure
To see things as others wanted me to?
Or was it maybe that I had no choice?
Only the choice to be OK with it
Or to let the pain overtake me
What was the reality?
Was it a game?
How can you make a game of going blind?
Even as a child I learned
To show no emotion
To bear the utmost pain
Without a murmur
It became a habit
A habit I could not break
Crying was not allowed
Violence was normalised
And so, the violence of blindness
Could not be allowed to find acknowledgement
It was OK to go blind
But now I am lost
I was good at seeing with the eyes of the heart
I was good at making the best of it
I was good at smiling when all was not well
I was a good girl
I gave people what they wanted
While inside my heart was breaking
And fear ran riot
Confusion filled my soul
I wanted to do it well you know
To succeed at being blind
Failure was not even on the menu
I could not be seen to stumble
And fall
And now
This taut ball of humanity
Is breaking
I am not brave
This taut ball of humanity
Wants to scream and scream
And cry out
“I’M BLIND.”
And I know
That even as I scream and cry
The very stones will cry out with me
For all the Universe is groaning
As if in the pangs of childbirth
But oh, what a birthing this is
If indeed it is a birth
And not a death
And as I give birth
To this thing called blindness
That has lain fallow for so long
Will it kill me?
Is it too big for me?
You wave at me and smile
As you watch this birthing
And call me proud
As I do not wave back
And I know that in your eyes
I must go to Confession
For failing to deliver
Because I was too busy
Delivering blindness
And so you beat me with the stick of blame
As the baby was being born
I had held it within me for so long
But now, it is here,
Born upon this earth,
And I cry
“Lord, I am blind.”

I HEARD TONIGHT

On By blindzanygirlIn Uncategorized4 Comments

I heard tonight the calling of my name
Upon the wind when tears did sting my eyes
In soft and gentle tones caressing all my pain

I listened hard,and there it was again
Blowing through the trees a whispered sigh
I heard tonight the calling of my name

Here in this place You made Your purpose plain
I answered You not even asking why
In soft and gentle tones caressing all my pain

I’d waited long to hear Love’s sweet refrain
My grief so strong I thought that I would die
I heard tonight the calling of my name

Sweet peace embraced my soul and I did gain
Love’s rich reward eternity came nigh
I heard tonight the calling of my name
In soft and gentle tones caressing all my pain

AS I WAIT

On By blindzanygirlIn Uncategorized15 Comments

As I wait the light dies
I say goodbye to precious things
There is no time for “Whys”

Now it’s winter, my dream lies
On the cold hard pavement, sings
As I wait the light dies

I cannot see now with my eyes
But my dream has spread its wings
There is no time for “Whys”

The dream on the pavement flies,
Rises up to heaven, shines,
As I wait the light dies

Someone Somewhere heard my cries
Knew there could be better things
There is no time for “Whys”

This dream is of enormous size
Fit for queens and kings
As I wait the light dies
There is no time for “Whys”

WEEP NOT

On By blindzanygirlIn Uncategorized10 Comments

Weep not, my child, your pain will soon be gone,
Tears will no longer fill your darkened eyes,
Your heart at last will sing a brand new song.

Grief fills you now, but soon it will be done,
Hear well the soft words of the wise,
Weep not, my child, your pain will soon be gone.

Salt tears do sting, you stand among
So many for whom the light dies,
Your heart in time will sing a brand new song.

Joy shall be yours, you’ll join the wisest ones,
Who know they have no earthly ties,
Weep not, my child, your pain will soon be gone.

One day you’ll know the eternal light has shone
Death will no more deceive you with its lies,
Your heart at last will sing a brand new song.

#FOWC. Leave

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FOWC with Fandango — Leave

“Gran, how many stars are there in the sky?” asked Bobby as they walked up the long lane to the farmhouse.

“Oh I don’t know,” replied Gran. “Thousands probably.”

“Gran, do they have names? “ pushed Bobby.

“I don’t suppose so, but they make patterns in the sky, and those are given names.”

“Ooh, Gran, what are they?”

“Well, if you look up there you will see one called The Plough.”

Bobby gazed up at the dark night sky.

“Oooh Gran, I can see it” exclaimed Bobby.

“Watch what you’re doing,” Gran remonstrated with Bobby. “You’ll fall down one of these potholes.”

The lane was FULL of potholes. AND deadly nightshade!

“Now you keep right away from that deadly nightshade,” Gran had said.

Bobby was curious. What was deadly nightshade? And what did it look like?

“You mustn’t eat it,” warned Gran. “It will kill you.”

Bobby felt a but weird. The word “deadly” played on his mind. He decided he had better not even LOOK in the hedge bottoms in the lane.

“Just keep looking straight ahead,” he told himself. “You never know what that deadly nightshade might do.”

Bobby was FULL of questions. At five tears old, the world was an amazing place, full of wonder, fears, confusions, and questions.

It was autumn. The farmyard had all sorts of trees in it. Bobby had watched them turning to beautiful colours of gold, orange, red and brown. He was busied with trying to fathom the mystery of the leaves. But there was one question that puzzled him more than any other.

“Gran.”

“What?” She asked, wondering just what might be coming next.

“Gran, if lots of leaves are called leaves, why isn’t one leaf called a LEAVE?”

“Gran, how many stars are there in the sky?” asked Bobby as they walked up the long lane to the farmhouse.

“Oh I don’t know,” replied Gran. “Thousands probably.”

“Gran, do they have names? “ pushed Bobby.

“I don’t suppose so, but they make patterns in the sky, and those are given names.”

“Ooh, Gran, what are they?”

“Well, if you look up there you will see one called The Plough.”

Bobby gazed up at the dark night sky.

“Oooh Gran, I can see it” exclaimed Bobby.

“Watch what you’re doing,” Gran remonstrated with Bobby. “You’ll fall down one of these potholes.”

The lane was FULL of potholes. AND deadly nightshade!

“Now you keep right away from that deadly nightshade,” Gran had said.

Bobby was curious. What was deadly nightshade? And what did it look like?

“You mustn’t eat it,” warned Gran. “It will kill you.”

Bobby felt a but weird. The word “deadly” played on his mind. He decided he had better not even LOOK in the hedge bottoms in the lane.

“Just keep looking straight ahead,” he told himself. “You never know what that deadly nightshade might do.”

Bobby was FULL of questions. At five tears old, the world was an amazing place, full of wonder, fears, confusions, and questions.

It was autumn. The farmyard had all sorts of trees in it. Bobby had watched them turning to beautiful colours of gold, orange, red and brown. He was busied with trying to fathom the mystery of the leaves. But there was one question that puzzled him more than any other.

“Gran.”

“What?” She asked, wondering just what might be coming next.

“Gran, if lots of leaves are called leaves, why isn’t one leaf called a LEAVE?”

“Gran, how many stars are there in the sky?” asked Bobby as they walked up the long lane to the farmhouse.

“Oh I don’t know,” replied Gran. “Thousands probably.”

“Gran, do they have names? “ pushed Bobby.

“I don’t suppose so, but they make patterns in the sky, and those are given names.”

“Ooh, Gran, what are they?”

“Well, if you look up there you will see one called The Plough.”

Bobby gazed up at the dark night sky.

“Oooh Gran, I can see it” exclaimed Bobby.

“Watch what you’re doing,” Gran remonstrated with Bobby. “You’ll fall down one of these potholes.”

The lane was FULL of potholes. AND deadly nightshade!

“Now you keep right away from that deadly nightshade,” Gran had said.

Bobby was curious. What was deadly nightshade? And what did it look like?

“You mustn’t eat it,” warned Gran. “It will kill you.”

Bobby felt a but weird. The word “deadly” played on his mind. He decided he had better not even LOOK in the hedge bottoms in the lane.

“Just keep looking straight ahead,” he told himself. “You never know what that deadly nightshade might do.”

Bobby was FULL of questions. At five tears old, the world was an amazing place, full of wonder, fears, confusions, and questions.

It was autumn. The farmyard had all sorts of trees in it. Bobby had watched them turning to beautiful colours of gold, orange, red and brown. He was busied with trying to fathom the mystery of the leaves. But there was one question that puzzled him more than any other.

“Gran.”

“What?” She asked, wondering just what might be coming next.

“Gran, if lots of leaves are called leaves, why isn’t one leaf called a LEAVE?”

EVER MINE

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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
Wondering
If I could catch a star
And hold it forever
Here, in this place where now I sat
The past lived again
And
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

WINDING ROADS

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A POEM THAT I WROTE AS I WAS GOING BLIND.

Winding roads in the dreary grey of dusk
Neither day nor night, a time of limbo
My life discarded like an empty husk
Time now doesn’t even have a window
Tortuous the journey, never ending
In the greyness of my life, no clear line
But soon, growing dark will be descending
This night for a clearer light I will pine
How will I ever reach my journey’s end
Fumbling in the fog that plagues my eyes?
Is there a message clear that I can send?
Truthful words, honest and without disguise
I fear the dark, please help me on my way
Till journey’s end, and then a better day

#FOWC: Coma

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FOWC with Fandango — Coma

“Is Grandma dead yet?”

Cindy’s voice was trembling, in company with her tiny body.

“No, she’s not dying. Everything is okay,” her mother insisted.

But Cindy knew better. Everything was NOT okay, and never had been. In her few short years on this earth she had known nothing but drama and trauma. And it was NOT okay. NOTHING was okay. And this most certainly wasn’t.

All that Cindy knew was that Grandma and her parents were in the house together, and arguing about something, she knew not what. But arguing was common to this family. Cindy hated it, and wished only for it all to stop, and for all the drama to cease. She always felt the reaction
O in her very body. Her stomach was constantly in a tight knot, and her world was forever being shaken. Her parents seemed to lurch from one drama to another, but Cindy never understood it. All she knew was that mummy said was okay, and told her to be a good girl. And she was. She would watch silently while daddy nearly killed mummy. But that was okay, because mummy said it was. Her body, however, told her different. Her body would often be wracked with sickness. Yet she was the little adult in the family. Firmly controlled. She hardly showed any emotion at all, and remained the “good girl” that mummy wanted her to be.

Today felt different though. Thus was GRANDMA and not mummy and daddy. Cindy did not know her grandma all that well. And in a way, that made it worse. It was a shock to her system to see daddy banging grandma over the head repeatedly with a rolled up newspaper. There was a lot of shouting, and grandma fell back in her chair moaning. The hitting continued despite the moaning. Fear rose in Cindy’s chest. But that was not the worst bit. The worst bit was when grandma got dribble coming from one corner of her mouth. Her eyes were by now closed, and the moaning had stopped. Grandma looked almost dead.

Cindy could not stand it. She did not want to watch grandma die. Especially as daddy had brought it about. She HAD to get out of the house while it happened. No one saw her go. They were all too pre-occupied with the drama. She leant up against the garden wall, on the pavement outside. She was about to bolt. She was NEVER gling back inside that house again. She would run away.

“Come on. Come back in the house,” her mother instructed her.

“But grandma is dying,” wailed Cindy.

“No she’s not,” her mother remonstrated. “She’s only in a COMA.”

“What’s a COMA?” Asked Cindy.

SNOWDROP LANE

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THERE IS A LANE NEAR TO US THAT IN MARCH IS AWASH WITH SNOWDROPS. IN THESE DARK DAYS WEIMAGINE THEM AGAIN AND ARE CHEERED,

Today
I will walk down
Snowdrop lane, recalling
Times past when I walked the mountains
Climbing
To heights
I had never scaled before, now
Is the hour to scale heights
Again, take me
To Snowdrop lane

SACRED TREE

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The rowan tree stands to guard all souls
The most sacred tree in the Churchyard
It stands there listening as the bell tolls
Its heart knowing every tear that rolls
Down cheeks that this tree’s great love enfolds
In grief’s dark night true faith feels so hard
The rowan tree stands to guard all souls
The most sacred tree in the Churchyard

STARS THAT FELL

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On the ground my tears shone
Like the stars that fell from my eyes
Where had all of my life just gone
Desolation now was my song
Yet pure light streamed from what had gone wrong
From grief’s dark night I gained the prize
On the ground my tears shone
Like the stars that fell from my eyes

#FOWC – TRAP

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FOWC with Fandango — Trap

Inner
Voice do you speak
In dulcid tones like dew
Sitting in the early morning
On leaves
Branches
Or do you TRAP in blaming tones
Telling me of my sin
How do I know
The truth
For long
Siren voices
Sang to me in sweetness
Telling me that they loved me true
Wielding
Secret
Knives ready to stab my soft heart
But now I hear silent
Voices calling
In love
The dew
Is gentle now
Just like the inner voice
Telling me that all is well now
And ever shall be well for love
Shall rule
My heart
Not fear or blame but acceptance
Of all
I am
And now I rest caressed by dew
Refreshed made whole again
Speak, inner voice
The truth

HAIRLESS

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Waters so deep called to me
Did I have a choice?
Could I answer the call
Or could I walk away?
Fear swept over my soul that day
As I beheld their depths
The thing I’d always feared had caught me up
I heard the dreaded word
“Cancer”
Could this really be me?
Somehow I always knew that one day
It would catch me
Call me
And as I looked it in the eye
Hairless before my time
I knew
There was no choice
The waters pulled me in
Sucked me dry
In a maelstrom of tears
That remained captive
Within my soul
The waters so deep around me
Left no room for tears
The swirling waters gave no time to think
And I entered my new world
Hairless

TESTED

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ANOTHER ONE THAT I HAVE POSTED BEFORE, BUT THAT IS SO TRUE I WANT TO POST IT AGAIN

Never ending
The path that we tread
Beset with perils,
Darkest nights
We lose our bearings,
Stretch out our hands,
Feel our way,
Terror strikes us,
In fear we fall,
But there on the ground we find
Bright gems,
Shining,
Again we rise,
Like gold,
Tested,
Tried,
Proved,
In the fires of life

STARS DANCED IN HER EYES

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One night the stars danced in her eyes
Her face turned up to the moon
In that moment she won the prize.

Through her life she’d been told so many lies
She’d lived her life in the gloom
One night the stars danced in her eyes.

No one seemed to hear her cries
Set to a mournful tune
But in that moment she won the prize.

Sometimes the hope within us dies
We feel the darkness loom
But one night the stars danced in her eyes.

There are heavens above so vast in size
Up there for us a room,
That night stars danced in her eyes,
In that moment she’d won the prize

WRITING MY HEART

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I want to write my heart
And give it to you
But it is ugly
And you would not want it
You have half of it
But the other half lies hidden
Eating away at my soul
For lack of comfort
For lack of a voice
One day it will burst out
For it cannot remain hidden for ever
Will you still love me then?
Inside it cries
Wanting to be heard
And soon it will cry no longer

AFTER THE TREE FELL

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After the tree fell, what were you saying?
“It was the tree’s fault for not being strong”
Although it was wounded, the sap sinking,
Blow upon blow hitting for far too long,
Each time the sap rose again, defiant,
But nobody saw the cost to the tree
On its own strength alone, was reliant,
It knew of no other sure way to be,
How can you judge what is weakness and strength
When you’ve never been wounded by such blows?
Of such woundedness knowing not a tenth,
Yet the sap in the strong tree always rose,
It could never have been the tree to blame,
It never will hang its proud head in shame

BE STILL

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In the ancient trees I saw you
Such wisdom as I had never known
Time honed and perfected
As storms raged
Growing from the darkness
Reaching up towards the light
Thrusting through the wildness
Until now
You stand
Offering yourself to the world
Speaking your wisdom
In silence
In the still small voice
Listen
Do you hear?
Look
Do you see?
Be still
And know

NOMINATIONS

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Three people have so kindly nominated me for the Liebster Award. I am humbled and feel deeply honoured. It is hard to believe that my Blig would have been nominated for this. I am si toyched. I don’t usually do Awards, as I find it really dufficult to co-ordinate everything, with being fairly newly blind. However, if there are questions asked of me, I will try my very best to answer them. Thankyou so much for nominating me xoxo

#FOWC FLUID. Mother’s trip to the Red Light District

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FOWC with Fandango — Fluid

“Mother is stuck in Amsterdam,”my brother announced on the other end of the phone.

Inwardly, I felt a groan coming on.

“Oh no,” i thought. “I KNEW something was BOUND to happen.

“She wants us to get her home,” my brother continued.

“Eh?” I said. “How can WE get her home?”

“She’s stuck in the Red Light District,” my brother replied.

“Well I’M not going there to get her back,”. I pronounced.

“Don’t worry. I know a man,” my brother said. “I’ll keep in touch..”

And with that he put the phone down.

I felt a bit flummoxed – though I shouldn’t have been. Mother was always getting herself into some fix or other.

She had gone on the Ferry to Amsterdam with my sister, absolutely convinced that they would be just fine. I had warned her that as she did not know the place, it would be best to go with a Holiday Company. That way, hotels would be found, and everything else as well, and she would have to do nothing. They would be safe.

But no – Mother HAD to do this all herself, just to prove her prowess. The Red Light District did, I admit, figure rather fleetingly in my mind a few times.

I waited, agitatedly, for my brother to phone back, to tell me what was happening. Eventually the call came. Mother was panicking, and screaming down the phone,

“GET ME OUT OF HERE. I WANT TO COME HOME.”

My brother explained that she and my sister had got, with great difficulty, to the hotel that they had booked, and it had turned out to be right on top of THE RED LIGHT DISTRICT! They had had a terrible night, with sleazy men in all the corridors of the hotel, and terrible noises coming from outside the hotel.

“I used to work with a man called Case,” my brother said. “He lives in Amsterdam and he’s on the Case.”

Both my brother and I eere worried as to how my mother and sister were going to find their way back to the Ferry. My mother, having had a taste of flying one time, to Ireland, did NOT want to come home on a plane, having hated every minute of it after she had seen a cloud out of the plane’s window, which she was sitting right by, and realised that she was in the SKY! After that, she had been fortunate enough to be sitting behind a man with a bald head, and had fixed her eyes in his bald head for the rest of the trip, thus avoiding any more clouds.

The day passed by, interrupted by regular phone calls from my brother, updating me on the situation.

“Well if she gets desperate she can always sell her body,” my brother remarked one time. My mind boggled. She was all of 70 years old! And wrinkly, at that!

In time, the long awaited reassuring phone call came. “She’s on the Ferry, coming home. Case got her out of the hotel and escorted her to the Ferry.”

Phew! A huge sigh of relief emanated from my mouth.

“What on earth possessed you?” I saud to my mother when she got home. “I TOLD you to do it through a Holiday Company.”

“Well, we were alright really. You have to be FLUID in these situations.”

THE OLD WOODEN BRIDGE

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Old wooden bridge
Shrouded in mystery
Translucent light falling
Magical
You call me
To the beyond
To a new place
Of glory
I sit
And hear you calling
Yet I do not tread those boards
It is not time
I look
And see
As if through a glass darkly
And I am dazzled
By even this
I take the chalice
Eat the bread
And know the beyond
One day
I will cross over
The old wooden bridge

FALLING RAIN

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And so now I am alone
In the eerie silence of a life gone wrong
Shall I unpack my case
Such as it is?
All that I have is my body
Wracked with pain
But it is mine
No one can steal it from me
Like you stole my soul
I sit here in the dark
Remembering
Is it good to remember?
A line was drawn one day
When the pink blossom bloomed on the trees
And birdsong filled the air
A line which I can never cross over
Again
Never go back
On one side is health,
Busyness
Mountains to climb
On the other side is cancer
Blindness
Confinement
And you chose to abuse that
My helplessness became your fruitfulness
Such as it was
And so where are my fruits now?
Do oranges grow in the dark?
Apples tempt us?
And what of the serpent?
I lie in the dark and the silence
Hearing only the falling rain

#FOWC – Carry

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FOWC with Fandango — Carry

Tread softly as you go into the night,
For many before have journeyed on this road,
Soon will come the dawning of the light.

Do not let your dark thoughts cloud your sight,
Raging long while you CARRY your load,
Tread softly as you go into the night.

Take heart from those of old who in the fight,
Preserved within the promise of a heavenly abode,
Soon will come the dawning of the light.

The light cannot be quenched by grief’s great might,
Sing, for joy on you will be bestowed,
Tread softly as you go into the night.

Speak soft and gentle words when at the height
Of darkest struggles, do not goad,
Soon will come the dawning of the light.

Let not your heart be troubled, glimpse the bright
Joys ahead, sweet heavenly food,
Tread softly as you go into the night,
Soon will come the dawning of the light.

MUM

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What
Will time
Bring to you
Days are dwindling
But still you fight on
As if to defeat death
Your fists raised to the heavens
Always you were a control freak
Your grip growing stronger each day
But soon you are about to meet your match
My eyes fill with tears watching you fighting
I see a soul in deepest torment
Hear you say to me “I’m frightened”
I am kneeling at your feet
I stroke your withered arm
My face touches yours
“Wouldn’t you be?”
“Yes I would”
I say
Mum

SHAVE OFF THE YEARS

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Shave off the years that held your heart in fear,
Start now at this new place, shorn
Vulnerable, exposed, but free.

For so long now your life was ruled, your ear
Heard only guttural sounds, desolate, forlorn,
Shave off the years that held your heart in fear.

In vulnerability find love’s meaning dear,
It is for this that you were born,
Vulnerable, exposed, but free.

Take the risk, your liberation ynow is near,
Your fear has always been your thorn,
Shave off the years that held your heart in fear.

Grasp, in your nakedness, this void, and steer
Your life to pastures new and warm,
Vulnerable, exposed, but free.

Learn the truth, wipe every tear
Precipitated by the storm,
Shave off the years that held you in your fear,
Vulnerable, exposed, but free.

#FOWC. SHED

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FOWC with Fandango — Shed

A BIT LATE BUT HERE GOES:

Yesterday I thought that death had got me
I felt the darkness put its arms around me
Hold me tightly, lead me on
Everything was closing down
Suffocating was its grip
Inevitable was its hold
I accepted my fate
SHED all my illusions
For, there is a time for everything
And a season
And the time and the season was now
I said “Goodbye”
And rested
But then the miracle occurred
Suddenly there was the beginning
Of light and life
Like a floid it swept over me
Bathing me, cleansing me
And I heard bells ring
Alleluia, alleluia

LIFE LIVES AGAIN

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One day the darkness overcame her
The earth covered her
The dampness ate into her,
Stifled, she tried to scream
But there was no breath in her body
Lifeless she lay there
This could not be it
Her soul still lived
This could not be her final breath
Slowly she began to move her fingers
Stiffened by the dank earth
They struggled to move
The resistance of the earth
Held them
She remembered she was dust
But in the dust
The Valley of dry bones
Life lived again
Her fingers curled around a tiny stone
She felt its sharp edges
And knew she was not dead
And that life could live again
And suddenly her scream was born
And in the screaming
She was brought to life again
The darkness pierced
Shattered

SILENT WOMAN

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Woman
Are you silent now,
Pondering things in your heart?
It is the way of things,
Carrying so much,
Not just the child,
But all that is to be born from you,
As you stand waiting,
In silence,
There is within a fluttering,
That turns into a Dance,
Yet your silence knows
That one day will be born
A child with a Cross in His hands,
Too heavy in time to carry,
You watch Him stumble and fall,
And only you
Can help Him to carry it now,
Within your womb,
Knowing that even as
He is placed on that Cross,
His Spirit will dance
Through His suffering
Transforming the pain
Of the whole wide world

GEESE

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Geese flew overhead one day,
Forming a ‘V’ in the sky,
Chattering loudly as they went,
Each knowing what the other meant.

Forming a ‘V’ in the sky,
The leader honking loudest,
Each knowing what the other meant,
Giving help to the weakest.

The leader honking loudest,
Cacophony of sound,
Giving help to the weakest,
Journeying towards their destination.

Cacophony of sound,
A clear message from the sky,
Journeying towards their destination,
To help our weaker brothers.

A clear message from the sky,
“How to reach our destination”,”
To help our weaker brothers,
Outpouring of God’s love.

“How to reach our destination”,
Nature reveals the secret,
Outpouring of God’s love,
Geese flew overhead one day.

HIDDEN

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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

KNOWING NOTHING

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I know today
That I know nothing
And as I shrink,
You grow
Once I could see
Now I am blind
The path ahead was clear
Now I see nothing
If I look forwards
I learn nothing
Except that I am blind
And so I have no choice
Except to look inwards
For in looking inwards
I do not need my eyes
And yet
Without eyes
I see far more looking inwards
Than ever I could with my eyes
And as I travel inwards
I see
That I know nothing
Except that by grace
I will be saved
And what is better
To see the path ahead
And feel sure
Or to travel inwards
And know that I know nothing
At all
And thereby
To find my true self?

LOVE CLOSER THAN YOUR BREATH

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Closer
Than your own breath
Is the comfort you seek
In Love do we have our being
Though pain
Darkens
Our spirits, we reach out and touch
That which is deep within
And find that Love
Waiting
Dark nights
Of weeping leave
Us weak, our hearts open,
In our weakness we find our true strength
In love
Inside
That will never let us go, holds
Us safely in strong arms
Absorbing tears
That fall
Seeking,
You will find rest,
Deep peace beyond measure
It is not far away, but here,
Your heart
Knows it,
Go inside your heart, dear child, lay
Your head down on Love’s breast,
Cry your tears and be soothed,
Trust in this Love,
So deep

MEMORY

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I see things in my memory’s eye
Like the birds that I hear singing,
For now I can only see shapes,
Colours merge into each other,
I see so clearly in my memory,
The birds that brought me life.

This dark world now is my life.
But the dark is only in my eye,
Light shines, in my memory,
My heart within is singing,
I can say no other,
Pure light, my life shapes.

In my time I have seen so many shapes,
Some good, some bad, that determined my life,
Sometimes one, sometimes the other,
On the good I tried to focus my eye,
So that my heart could keep singing,
All these things live on in my memory.

I live now in my memory,
Things take on so many shapes,
Never can I stop singing,
Whatever happens in my life,
I see now with more than my eye,
Not with anything other.

There are so many things but nothing other
Than the light of God lives on in my memory,
It shines not only in my eye,
But into my depths, my life it shapes,
Such light brings to me eternal life,
Everything in me is singing.

Sometimes I hear the angels singing,
Louder than any other,
Bringing to birth in me new life,
That doesn’t live just in my memory,
This for me eternity shapes,
In my spirit, my only eye.

I am not reliant on my eye but on something other,
To keep me singing but not in my memory,
Something greater my future shapes, giving me eternal life.