It has been a difficult day.

My mother who is 93 years old is suffering from emphysema. She is a VERY strong, determined woman. She thinks she is invincible, and that she can defy death. Despite many setbacks in her health, she has so far managed to do so. This time last year she nearly died, after she caught a chest infection.

However, lately, she can hardly move from her chair because of breathing difficulties. It has all been very very complicated though. But today she had the Community Matron call on her for the first time. The Community Matron talked to her about death and dying. My mother hated that. In her book she is not going to die. She doesn’t want to think about her death or where she wants to go to die. She was asked if she wanted to be resuscitated. This upset her greatly. I think she was angry.

The Matron told her that she is in the end stage of her emphysema. She left her a book on the end stage of emphysema. My mother was very upset and refuses to look at it. She may even hide it, knowing my mother.

There was much much more, but the sum total of it is that my mother is probably going to die soon.

Some of you know, from what I have written in the past, that she has been a highly abusive mother. She has done some very cruel things to me.

However, today I cried. Desperately. I still love her, whatever she has done to me.

I have veered, all my lufe, towards cutting myself off from her for ever, and I dud, for long periods of my life. But when I got cancer she re-entered my life. However, her abuse continued even then on a big scale. I felt that if I recovered, I never ever wanted to see her again.

But she is my mother. And she is dying.

I came home this evening and wrote a poem about death. About control, and who will win. Of course, however much my mother wants to, she cannot control death. In the end she will lose control. This is her one biggest fear. Losing control. But she will have no choice.

I do not know how long this process is going to be. I know I am dreading her death. I am dreading seeing her suffer. Some people will think I am mad. But this is me.

My poems etc, may contain stuff about death, my mother, and this situation. Let us see what happens. X


When death comes it creeps
As if not wanting to be seen
Silently it wends its way
In many different attires
Bringing you to your knees
Never speaking its name
Or is it you
That does not want to speak its name
For fear of rousing it
To speak it is to know it
But you do not want to know
And yet……….
Deep inside you know its name
Know it is coming
The one thing that you cannot win over
The one thing that you cannot control
And oh, how you have controlled, all your life
But now is the big showdown
And we all know who will win


In the passage where time waits
I stumble
Trying not to look back
Afraid to look forwards
A blockage has occurred
Thrashing around I try to kill time
And find
That it is an illusion
A construct
Made to control us
Trip us up
“I haven’t got time,” you say
No, you don’t have time
You have eternity

#FOWC Puddle

FOWC with Fandango — Puddle

Every time it rains the HUGEST puddle forms outsude our back kitchen door. I couldn’t help but write thus very silly poem lol

Oh what
A PUDDLE right
Outside our kitchen door
It is so deep and big
And I see my dog’s eyes light up
In an
She has dived into the middle
And then begins the dance
Up down round round

Flops soaked
Runs in kitchen
Shakes all over the place
Laughs in our faces then licks ears
It’s great
To be
A big dog with the longest coat
Think how much I can soak
Mum and Dad leap
And play


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