WHO WILL WIN?

When death comes it creeps
As if not wanting to be seen
Silently it wends its way
Inexorably
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

HAVE YOU GOT TIME?

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
Instant
She has dived into the middle
And then begins the dance
Up down round round
Belly

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

VALLEY OF DRY BONES

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

FUNNY NIGHT/MORNING

Hubby fell out of bed – for the SECOND time in a week!

The first time, he dreamt that he was lifting his leg and putting his foot onto a step, and he actually did it and fell out of bed! He landed on his kness! Saying his prayers lol.

Fortunatly he was fine, and we giggled and laughed about it.

Last night he dreamt he was with some others, learning to crawl on his stomach in enemy territory! They had to crawl across this big open space avouding the town’s searchlight. When the searchlight was not on where he was waiting to go, he was instructed to “GO” and he went – out of bed onto the floor again! This time he went with a great thump!

Fortunately he is O.K. But something has to be done about this lol!

I then fell asleep again and had the most terrible nightmare of slipping over on the ice.

We don’t feel very chirpy this morning. Unlike the budgie, and the birds outside. I need my hot chocolate!

SANCTUARY LIGHT

Sanctuary light
You tell me all is well
That here dwells my Beloved
To this place I am called
Here is where I leave my heart
Here on the Altar of Sacrifice
Here I where I offer myself
Our wills become one
Here is where suffering is turned to joy
Here is where consolation lives
Oh Sanctuary light
None can put you out
Here darkness is as light
And I am blinded by Your love
But oh what sweet blinding
Here is where mercy flows
And the light is never quenched

ASH

I looked round today and
all I saw was ash,
The ash of my life, spent,
The flame gone out, dead dreams on the ground in rubble.

The scene was bleak, my eyes
Beheld no beauty,
All was ugly, spent now,
I stood there stripped, knowing I could not pick up ash.

Dreams disintegrated,
Hope gone for ever,
Nothing to re-ignite,
Barrenness was my empty companion today.

But suddenly I heard
A voice, saying “Sing,”
What song could I sing now,
Here in this strangest of strange lands, alien now?

The voice insisted, “Sing”
I opened my mouth,
But no sound would come out,
“ Tell me how to sing,”
“Caged birds can sing, but you don’t have a cage, just sing.”

I looked around again,
I couldn’t see ash,
I saw the makings of
A new world, building bricks,
Beauty from ashes, I opened my mouth and sang.

HOPE JUMPS

Hope
Jumped up
With full force
Drawing me in
To a world of joy
Creeping up to my neck
Caressing my face laughing
Soon my ears began to tickle
And I was enveloped in pure love
Smothered in kisses from a lolling tongue

Yes, you got it – Hope is my doggie

WHO AM I?

Who am I?
I slide and slither on the rule,
Refusing to be held
In the bonds of what you say I am,
I am what I name myself,
Earth, sea, fire,wind,
Each day perhaps a different name,
You cannot measure me
On a ruler,
Hold me in your judgement,
Define, confine, condemn me,
Name, enchain me,
I don’t like boxes

JUDGEMENTS

PLEASE DON’T WORRY. I AM FINE. THIS POEM DESCRIBES WHAT LIFE FEELS LIKE SOMETIMES WHEN YOU ARE JUDGED HARSHLY AND REJECTED IN THE PLACE THAT WAS YOUR HOME

I’m a lost soul shaking in the dark
You pursue me
Judge me
Make me fit your box
Your coldness freezes me
Until, like an icicle, I break
Today I am broken
Shivering
Today I search for a warm blanket
But do not find one
Hostility follows me as I search
Never will I find safety
Or the green pastures
And share in your banquet
For this is only for the loved ones
The cherished ones
The ones who do not make mistakes
The perfect ones
Blot free
But I need blotting paper
To blot out the running ink marks
Cotton wool to absorb the blood
I am not like you
And you would never come looking for me
While I search for my blanket
Once again
I feel the hammer’s blow
Once again my blood runs
Cold
No one likes blood

BLINDNESS – The Reality. Help me be Part of the Human Race

I am living on the edge of light. I am neither in the dark nor the light. It is a kind of greyness and something that is very confusing. In a strange way I find myself straining to see the light thinking that if I strain hard enough I might actually see something. However it does not work that way. I feel all the time as if I am living in a cloud of thick smoke, or a pea soup fog. It is very difficult for other people to understand just what it feels like to me being in a room full of people. I do not know what is going on most of the time and I feel cut off from other people, and even though they are talking I do not know who they are talking to and even if they are talking to me I do not know that they are because most people do not say my name and make it known that they are talking to me. The fog seems to worsen the more I attempt to hear people and to know what they are saying. Mostly when I go somewhere I am so cut-off that I am actually totally alone. I often find this very distressing and it seems to me that I am doomed to live in a world all on my own. More and more I am turned in on myself, not through choice, but because there is very little understanding of blindness. There are also very few openings where I can explain just what is happening to me and what others can do to help. I am finding myself becoming more and more depressed the more cut off I become.

I am naturally a very friendly, confident and outgoing person who loves life and who loves giving to others. But I am no longer myself and I am struggling to know just who I am now. When I think of my future I become very distressed and wonder where it is all going to end. All that I want is to be part of the human race again. I would love people to talk to me about my life because most of the things that people talk about are things that I can no longer do. I have never been so lonely in my life and I cannot envisage continuing this way until the end of my days. Sometimes I want to scream out, “Please please talk to me.”

When the nights draw in and we are closed in in our houses , my loneliness seems even greater, and the hours and minutes longer as there is so little that I can do. Many are the times that I give way to tears. Many of the times that I do not know how to go on. I lie on my bed feeling that my Life is over. Even writing my poetry is so difficult and I fear it becoming impossible. It is not often that I talk about my life as it really is, and there is much more that I could say, but I will leave it here for now.

I would make a plea that if you know anybody who is blind you will go to them, touch them gently, tell them your name, and ask theirs. For me there is the added difficulty of being in a wheelchair and in order to be heard it is necessary for people to bend down so that they are near to my face as they speak to me. Most people tower above me and do not come down to my level and I find this very disconcerting. So, if you do happen to know anybody who is either blind or in a wheelchair or perhaps both you would adjust how you speak to them and how you relate to them. I would ask that you help them to be part of the human race again.

P.S. i have to say that this is the only place, here in WordPress, that I feel human. You DO all talk to me. You are all so kind. And I thank you very much indeed for making me part of the human race again. You are all my salvation. Thankyou xx

BREAD

This poem reflects some of the treatment we have met in the place where we should least have had it. Very sad, but true

Do you know
The loneliness of hearts
Sometimes life seems so cruel
As I reach out ……and find only a stone
I hunger for bread
For my hungry soul to be fed
But I go unheard
My suffering unnoticed
By those who are fed at the banquet
But in my heart I know
That I am not the only one
That out there are many lepers
Untouched
Unfed
Hungry for love
To them I turn my heart
And touch them with my love

A MOUSE CALLED ST. GEORGE

“I’ve got a MOUSE,” came the cry down the phone.

Well, we all knew what THAT meant. My mother is TERRIFIED of mice. It was all hands to the deck! Or the kitchen, dining room bedroom, and loft should I say!

“Where is it?” I inquired.

“EVERYWHERE,” came back the reply.

I did fleetingly wonder how one mouse could be everywhere, but I know my mother well, and she was obviously thinking of his sisters, brothers, aunts and uncles, cousins, parents, grandparents, the LOT!

“I’ll get you a mouse man,” I said.

“Well make sure it’s a GOOD one,” she said, “The last one was useless.”

So then began the saga.

“I need to go up in your loft but I haven’t got my ladders with me,” the first one said. “And I’ve got a gammy leg anyway. I’ll have to get my nephew to come back with me.”

He never came back!

“I’ll have to take your kick boards off in the kitchen,” the second one said.”

“No you won’t,” my mother said. “I’m proud of my kitchen.”

She was too – it was her first ever new kitchen and she was 92. Can’t say I blamed her really, but a mouse man has to do what a mouse man has to do. She insisted he couldn’t. He left. Never to return.

“I’ll bash ‘em on the head if I see ‘em,” my mother said. “Your father used to do that.” He did too, with a spade!

And so it went on. Mousey was still firmly established in the KITCHEN. Leaving his trade mark everywhere. And by now, he had a name – George.

“How’s Mother?” I asked my sister one day. Hardly daring to listen to the answer.

“Oh, she’s mad,” my sister said.

“Why?” I said.

“Because of George.”

“Oh, has she got fire coming out of her nostrils now then?”

It was a standing joke in the family. My father used to call her “The Dragon.” And with good reason.

“I’m having our house blessed,” I told my mother one day. Our local priest had offered to bless people’s houses for then if they wanted him to. Well, it couldn’t do any harm, I thought. There were a few queer noises coming from the airing cupboard at night.

“Can he come and bless mine?” my mother said.

“Well he might, but if he does he will have blessed George as well,, and so he’ll be Saint George then and you’ll not be allowed to kill him.”

“Oh,” said my mother.

She was getting more and more agitated about George and all the other possible Georges.

“I always knew it would be mice that would kill me,” she said weakly one day. Her face was rather pale.

I couldn’t resist saying to my sister,

“Well, St. George DID slay the Dragon.”

THOUGHTS AND IDEAS

I am thinking some things and not sure what to do. I have a possible Plan, but not sure if it is right, or would work.

I first started a Blog on WordPress in 2016 , because somebody suggested it to me. I had, when I first went into remission from my cancer, done a Course on poetry writing. At that time my sight had not gone, though it was going. The tutor suggested that I might do something with my poetry, as he felt it was worth it. So, I self published two poetry books. They did well.

Then, someone else suggested a Blog. My first reaction was to dismiss the idea. However, about a year after that the idea started to take hold. And so I started a Blog here in WordPress calked Zany Wild Words. I had no idea whatsoever how to manage a Blog, and I just wanted it to be a pkatform for my poetry. I didn’t even know at that stage what that little bell thingy was, and as someone had set the Blog up for me I was scared to touch anything for fear of somehow wiping it out. So I never touched anything apart from the thingy to post stuff.

However, eventually, intrigued by what that bell thingy might be, I clicked on it and lo and behold, there were some “Likes” on some of my poens.

“Heck!” I thought.

I had no idea at that stage that you then followed other people’s Blogs. I knew NOTHING! I am defo NOT teccy!

Anyway, I discovered that I had a few Followers. So I kept on posting poetry and also Reflections. Then things went downhill. No one was visiting it any more.

Prior to this though, I had asked my friend if she coukd set me up another Blog here on WkrdPress that I could use JUST for spiritual stuff. So she set me up this one – Blindwilderness. At first it did not good whatsoever. Then, suddenly one day I got LOADS of visitors and “Likes.” What had happened? I had NO IDEA! But I thought I had better start posting much more in here. From there, it grew. Steadily. I ended up posting not only spiritual stuff once again. And I am happy with that now. I am so happy that people follow me and encourage and love my stuff! I have made some lively friends in here, and it is such a supportive community.

I feel, though, that I need a “Bitch Blog” lol. You know, one where I can bitch as much as I like, be deoressed if I AM deoressed, etc. etc.

This morning I was and still am, in a great deal of phtsical pain. I got into the bath to try and ease it, and imnediately howled and howled. About my pain, my state, my life, my future, and my fears for my future. I felt shit!

And I realised that I wanted a place where I could be as shit as I liked. No holds barred! And I thought of my old Blog. I can BITCH there if I want to lol.

But you see, I want to write poems about PAIN. Poems about my FEARS. Poems expressing my depression, my tears, etc, etc.

I don’t know yet. I might not use that Blog.

But sometimes, just sometimes, I want to drop the courage bit, the smile bit and all the things that people like to read, and express that other side of me.

I like fun. I like a laugh. Despite my great phtsical pain this morning and a very disturbed night, I posted humorous limericks. But then when I got in the bath I HOWLED.

I know that there are many other people here in WordPress who struggle in this way. It is hard.

And so, I am thinking. Do I use my other Blog for this or not? Hmmmm! Thoughts.

Anyway, that is the history of this Blog, and I have to say that without this Blog I would not survive.

Thankyou to all of you who read it, a d who make such lively comments to me. You all keep me going. Much love to you all xo

PLACE

In its place

It still stands

Never ending

Through all of the turmoil

Present

Steadfast

And I hold on

Knowing that this place

Was where it all began

Where first I heard my name

And to here I will retire

At eventide

And rest my soul

DO NOT DESPISE THE DARK NIGHT

Do not despise the dark night in your soul
For in its arms you’ll find the clearest light
Here in this place is where you’ll be made whole

Darkness in this world so truly has its role
Though in its path we know soul’s great fight
Do not despise the dark night in your soul

Many griefs in life do take their toll
We seek in desperation to have sight
Here in this place is where you’ll be made whole

Now the time has come to reach your goal
To find in this dark night a joyous height
Do not despise the dark night in your soul
Here in this place is where you’ll be made whole

SURRENDERING

Surrendering to the darkness I sit,
Letting its arms wrap around me, rock me,
For by no other is my dark life lit,
Only in the dark can I truly see,
Waves of peace wash over my aching soul,
Soothing, calming my ever raging storm,
For I have tried so long to reach a goal
Not of my own making, how I was torn,
I knew that in the dark there was more light,
For in the dark I see with different eyes,
The eyes that walk by faith and not by sight,
And in the darkness now my spirits rise,
The light deceives false comfort offers me,
Embracing dark I can be truly free

LADY OF COATES

This morning I posted about my Little Love Affair. It was about my unexpected and unplanned visit yesterday to a tiny church in the wilds of nowhere in England. I will be writing more of that story. But one of the main features in the church is a halo shining out into the darkness of the church from the wooden rood loft. The halo is that of the Virgin Mary, and although you cannot see the full figure of Mary from in the church, her figure is still there. It has faded with time. But the amazing thing is that at a certain point in history, in the 1500s and 1600s figures of Mary had to be scrubbed off rood lofts etc. But here in this church she remains. She escaped. And so this is very unique part if the church. I was SO inspired by this, and wrote a poem about it. This poem is in my book of poetry called “Eternal Light.”

Gentle
Lady of Coates
In you I find deep peace
You soothe the fears and pain I bring
To you.
Tell me
What is your name my sweet Lady?
You fill me with deep joy.
You whisper back
“Mary”

STUMbLE

A Lento poem

Stumble as your eyes face the growing dark
Rumble the thunder as clouds turn black
Fumble to find what you cannot see
Tumble down stairs falling on your back

Lie on the floor on this cold dark day
Cry out in pain, as no one hears
Die in the absence of arms held out
Why do they run not seeing your tears

MY LITTLE LOVE AFFAIR

Yesterday was a strange day.  I had hardly slept because of pain, and in the morning I felt so bad, so I decided that if I didn’t go out I would sink into the most horrible depression.  It’s a bit like if you ignore it it’s not really there.  You know – defying it!  

 

So, off we went in the afternoon.  But I was fed up with going to our normal place, which is a little old wooden bridge out in the countryside near to where I was born.  So I asked my husband to take us a different way.  

 

As we were travelling along, I realised that we had got almost to a place that is very dear to my heart.  Although I had not set out with any intentions of going there, I realised that as we were so near, we could actually go there.  I have not been there for a long time, and, having been so ill of late, thought I would never go there again.  But there we were!  

 

The place is a tiny tiny church that is very ancient, that sits in the middle of a farmyard.  Literally.  It was built in the 900s and has many very ancient features inside it.  It is so tiny that it takes only about 40 paces to get from the back of it to the front.  But it is an absolute gem.  So isolated, despite being in the middle of a farmyard, and so peaceful, except when the Red Arrows are practising overhead.  

 

I found this little church quite by accident in the summer of 2009 just after we had moved back to my home county of Lincolnshire from Derbyshire.  I was just driving around the countryside re-acquainting myself with Lincolnshire again, with my two dogs in the back, when I came across a signpost on my left that said, “Unspoilt Pre-Reformation Church.”  Well, I go for ANYTHING that is unspoilt!  And I love old churches.  So I headed off down the road, with  great excitement.  It had started out as an ordinary day, but in then turned into a most extraordinary  one.  Though, I did not realise at the time just HOW extraordinary it was going to be.  

 

I drove up what was really just a narrow country lane – an Unclassified road.  I drove for a while, but the road seemed to go on for ever.  I thought I must have made a mistake.  Maybe the signpost was pointing down a different road.  Yet there was only one!  What had happened?

 

However, eventually I came to a row of tiny cottages that were facing me.  The road swung to the right, but STILL no church.  I MUST have got it wrong!  

 

I continued to drive, but now, the road seemed to have become a mud track.  On either side of the road were tall poplar tress reaching up high into the sky.  It felt like a tunnel.  But then suddenly there were no more trees, and on the right hand side there was a clearing – and there, in the clearing , stood a tiny little stone built church.  My excitement rose.  My heart fluttered.  WHAT was I going to find inside?  

 

Here was to begin the most extraordinary story of my life.  I may tell it here one day.  

 

The church is called St, Ediths, and it is at the little hamlet calked Coates-By-Stow.  It is some miles from the market town of Gainsborough, and some miles from Lincoln. 

 

Yesterday, quite unexpectedly, I found myself back there again.  A place I never expected to be ever again.  Yet that place had been the centre of a love story  for me.   Not the conventional kind of love story, but very intense nevertheless.  

 

It has been strange how that tiny church has appeared and disappeared from my life at will.  I became very close to it, and it very close to me.  My first impression was that there were souls living in the walls of this ancient church, and that if I listened hard enough I would hear them talking to me, and they would tell me their stories.  And as I began to research the history of the church, they did. They talked to me.  My research was original and may be published one day.  But I became very close to the characters that I uncovered, and it is a most amazing history.  

 

I became close to the church spiritually too.  I felt as if the veil between earth and heaven had been torn when I went in there. 

 

Then I got cancer!  I was too sick to even think about the little church.  But we had emailed the churchwarden, whom I had come to know, and told her of my cancer.  And that was it!  I was going to die anyway – or so we thought, and I DID receive the Last Rites.  I thought I would never see that little church, my little love, again.  I lived!  I am still here.  By some miracle!  

 

When I finished my chemo, I started to gain a little bit of strength, and the first place I went was this little church that I thought I would never see again, that had once been so central to my life.  .  We were awaiting a CT scan to see just how much the chemo had worked.  But here I was again, quite unexpectedly.

 

There followed a period of time when the church once again became central to my life.  The live affair was on again.  We never went to Services there as there are hardly any taking place.  But I went in on my own and just contemplated.  It was an amazing time.  

 

Then, my health started to go downhill again, to where it is now.  And I had not been to the little church for many a month.  Until yesterday.  Quite by accident!

 

I was too ill yesterday to actually go inside it, but I could sit outside it in the car with the doors open, and I just breathed, and soaked up the atmosphere.  My husband went inside so that he could look a d see if anything had changed.  It had not.  I found myself taking up my pen, and writing.  Word after word after word.  Yes, I cannot see what I write, but I can still write, with the aid of my thumb, which moves with each line, and tells me where I am.  That then has to be read to me by someone else, and dictated into my iPad.

 

As we were driving home, a sudden thought came to me.  When was that first time I had returned to this place after my cancer?  Upon  arriving home, I tried to find out.  And YES, there it was.  The same date as yesterday, in 2014.  AMAZING!.  How do our minds and bodies know these things?  But yes, they DO!

 

And so now the love affair – and the writing – begins all over again!

 

 

 

 

 

RAMBLINGS

Just rambling on. Not a proper poem. Just rambling

I don’t like to think
Of what we have gone through
But some things bring it back
Old writing
And as I read
I go through it again
So much was forgotten
Do we bury the bones that are too hard to chew?
I don’t want to remember
The present feels so different now that I have remembered
Did all that really happen?
Lord blank out the past
Never to be remembered
I am here
Now
In the present
Such as it is
And because of the past
I am in the present
I live a different life now
And I can never go back to the before
I am living in the after
I am old
So old

TAKE NOT YOUR HEART

Take not this day you heart to danger’s shore
Whare rocks are lethal singing their sweet songs
For peril waits for you in its dark store

Its songs may lure you sounding oh so pure
Honeyed words put right all this world’s wrongs
Take not your heart this day to danger’s shore

Use all your wits to know what is the score
Entangle not your heart in smiling fronds
For peril waits for you in their dark store

Remember those who floundered here before
This cannot be where your true soul belongs
Take not your heart this day to danger’s shore
For peril waits for you in its dark store

SIT HERE WITH ME

Sit here with me upon this bounteous hill
Where many folk have walked from ancient times
And listen for its song while all is still

Stay here awhile let all your senses fill
With all that lives and dreams while warm sun shines
Sit here with me upon this bounteous hill

Take in the peace and sojourn here until
Your heart is full your soul no longer pines
And listen for its song while all is still

Around are many souls who found the will
To live and strive for good with greatest skill
Sit here with me upon this bounteous hill
And listen for its song while all is still

DEAR FOREST

I think this one might sound a bit corny so please tell me if it does lol. All critique gratefully accepted

The forest holds me deep within its spell
For here I’m lost and mesmerised by grace
Here in this space I know that all is well
As sunlight dances lightly on my face
I hear the birdsong clearly in the air
And join my song with theirs my spirit light
This sacred dance is all I need to bear
My other world where all is toil and fight
And as I gain new strength from Nature’s core
I turn and face my world with new resolve
Until I reach that gold eternal shore
Allowing fear and doubt now to dissolve
Dear forest hold me tight this wondrous day
And may the joys you hold forever stay

NEW WORLD

Beyond the bridge there is another world
Visible though hazy through the grey light
To look at it is to become beguiled
Dancing as it does in your dimming sight
Beneath the bridge are waters oh so deep
And it is frail and dangers lurk below
The new world beckons for its joys you seek
But dare you cross the bridge where wild winds blow
Your sight is clearer now it leads you on
Determination now becomes your friend
Fear cast aside you hear the new world’s song
Your feet now on the bridge your life you’ll find

ACCEPT

this poem was inspired by something someone said to me last week

Accept
My truth dark though
It is, it is my life
Is not my life valuable
Though maimed
And torn?
Honey coated words do not help
Illusions cannot live
Long in my heart
Truth is

“My God
Why have You gone?”
Is what His Son once cried
Can you behold the pain of Him
Who knew
Darkness?
I too live in the deep darkness
That covers my whole land
Please do not run
In fear

Is there
Not one to hold
My hand in the darkness
Walking beside me patiently
Seeing
The truth
Through my blind eyes in deep waters.
Let us walk together
Through flood and fire
My friend

#FOWC. Tacit. SURVIVAL

FOWC with Fandango — Tacit

I sit often in the afternoons at Black Bank, an isolated spot out near the road alongside the River Trent, close to East Butterwick. As I do so I often recall that wonderful day in the late summer of 2012 shortly before I received my cancer diagnosis. The fields then were full of ripened golden wheat, reflecting the fullness we were feeling in our hearts. We were watching for ospreys heading South on their long and dangerous journey to warmer climes. Often, they had passed by this spot, and spent a week in the surrounding area, fishing for food in the many angling ponds round about. The day was golden, in more ways than one – the sun shone, the corn glowed, and all seemed right with the world. Little did I know that I was about to embark on my own own most dangerous journey of all.

We were the first to arrive that day, my husband and I, that is, complete with two dogs – rough collies. We thought we were to be alone. Not many people knew about this spot, and that ospreys could sometimes be seen here at certain times of the year. Suddenly, we heard the sound of an approaching motor bike, and as we heard it approach we knew it to be our friend, Roger, who was well known for his love of raptors.

“Seen anything?” He asked

“Nothing yet,” we replied.

We were prepared to wait all day.

I had become captivated some years ago by Lady, the oldest surviving breeding osprey in the U.K. The species had almost become extinct in our country at one time, but now, through the efforts of many dedicated people, they had been saved. I wondered if ever, on her way from her nest in Scotland to warmer climes, she would pass by this spot. This was her twenty second year of breeding, and each year, in the Spring, everyone waited nervously to see if she would re-appear for another breeding season. She was so old that it always seemed like a miracle now, every time she returned. A miracle of survival.

Three years later I would be again nervously waiting, to see if there had been another miracle of survival – my own. As I awaited the news, once again, I watched the webcam in the Scottish glen where Lady had her nest, to see if she returned, hardly daring to believe that she might, but knowing that if she did , I too would survive. She did return, and the very next day I was told that the chemo had worked, amazingly, since my cancer had been so severe and widespread, and advanced, and I had been expected to die.

The three of us kept our binoculars trained on the skies, and the distant hedges. It felt like a sacred spot. We knew that whatever happened, there would be SOMETHING there to see.

When not scanning the skies, we chatted idly. At one point I got the dogs out of the car, and took them for a walk down the tiny narrow lane that we were on. I felt exhausted, and hardly knew how to keep going. Unbeknown to me, the cancer in my body had already taken hold, and I struggled. The heat overwhelmed me, and I was glad to get back to the car.

As the afternoon, and the sun, began to die on us we realised that we probably were not going to see an osprey THAT day. As we were thinking about packing up and going home, suddenly, to the left of us, there was a dart of colour. Electric blue, and a kingfisher landed on a branch. Such a tiny bird – so different to the osprey – but just as thrilling. I had never seen a kingfisher close to, and my heart danced and sang as I beheld this wonderful sight. Its wings did not throb and beat powerfully like those of the osprey, and it did not soar high in the sky, but this tiny thing had a power all of its own. At that moment I felt I had never seen anything so beautiful in my life before. I was reminded of how, some years earlier, the kingfisher had proved itself to be a survivor too. It had been a long, hard winter, and the ponds had all completely frozen. So many birds had perished, and, as we shared our grief with the Park Ranger, suddenly, he exclaimed,

“Look at THAT.”

He pointed towards the bird table that was positioned just outside the Centre. We looked, but by that time it had gone. We remained TACIT, in our utter
astonishment. A lone kingfisher eating BREAD. We had thought that all the kingfishers would have perished, along with so many other species, as they only eat fish. But this lone kingfisher had found a way to survive – by changing its way of eating! On that day, I learnt that sometimes, in order to survive, we have to change our way of doing things, and do something almost unheard of. Surviving is not always easy because we have to be open to doing the unthinkable. But deep inside us, we all have a well, from which we can drink, and we have no idea that it is such a deep well until we are in dire difficulty, and as we attempt to drink from it, we find how deep it is.

SQUISHY SQUASHY WORDS

Do you want
Squishy squashy wirds
Malleable
First one shape then another
Flattened
Raused up
Sideways on
Slithering around like jelly
Wobbling
Glistening
Enticing
Or do you want words
That stand up straight
Firm and solid
That stand the test of time
Words can be anything
Mean anything
Words can defy
Interpretation
But solid words
Stand for ever
Hear now
Their truth

#FFFC 1

Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #1

Jess looked longingly at her silver flute in the corner of the room. Stood there in its stand it ached to be played. Jess was in tune with it and she knew what it wanted, and it was what she wanted too. But years had passed since she had played it in an orchestra. In fact she had played solos on it, dressed in her beautiful blue fine evening dress that made her look like a nymph in the woods. Flowers adorning her hair she charmed her audience.

Older now, and affected by disease and sickness she knew that those days were gone and would never return. Yet still she heard the voice of the flute calling her. That night she found her old shimmering fine evening dress and trembling put it on. She caressed her flute then haltingly picked it up. Gently she put it to her mouth and started to play. A liullaby. She had not list her touch. Transported by the music she was in a wood, barefoot, her audience the birds and a deer.

Soon it was over. She was tired but now she knew that whenever she wanted to she could pick up her flute and be transported once again to that beautiful place.

THE HOLY GRAIL

When favour falls upon my aching heart
The light shines on its glimmer bright again
I learn to take the blows with supine art
Life’s mysteries held within time’s rigid frame
Whatever comes I look towards the end
Knowing full that time wields its deadest hand
I make my darkest night my dearest friend
And read the letters written in the sand
We are but matter on this hardest earth
And soon we will be ash upon its shore
Our spirits then will find their deepest worth
Not then confined to physics’ rigid law
We see though now just darkly through the veil
And read with mortal eyes the Holy Grail

RISE UP MY CHILD

When light grows dim in coldest winter’s night
No warmth to usher in love’s warming glow
The silence of the earth echoes your plight
And death hangs heavy on your fevered brow
Your restless body twists and turns in fear
A hammer in your head the only sound
A scream begins to rise the dark is near
No hope in you this dark night can be found
Remember soon will come Spring’s finest dawn
And flowers will spring again from earth’s deep cold
Let hope become your rock on this cold morn
Let love from Nature’s store your heart enfold
Hear now the birds are singing in the trees
Rise up my child defy dark winter’s freeze

BEAUTY FROM ASHES

When snowdrops bloom I feel a hope within
From their white innocence I take my cue
And know that now what’er my life will bring
I can’t be harmed by things that I’ve been through
Though innocence was once within me marred
And blood red skies did speak of grief and shame
The fire of cruel hearts my being charred
Nothing can ever my pure essence maim
I see the white and shed my tears of grief
As snowdrops droop their heads and cry with me
Soon soon the naked trees will be in leaf
And I with them be clothed and with them see
Beauty for ashes that my soul adorns
Now will have gone for good cold winter’s storms