Clothed in the scent of summer
I come to the place of my destiny
Where the breeze wafts the blooming poppies
Reminding me of my sacrifice
Too long have I acquiesced
But now it is my time
A time that was waiting
Beneath the church clock
You knew that I would be coming
From your resting place behind the wall
No one knew you were there
And only by accident did I find you
But you knew that I would
Even though I hardly knew you
You knew me
Made promises divinely sanctioned
Then brutally I was ripped away from you
And from my very self
Many years have now passed
But this is the day 
Some things can never be eternally broken


FOWC with Fandango — Overjoyed

Charlie had been OVERJOYED. He had found the key to life and all things. But having found it he had promptly lost it. How on EARTH could that have happened?

It hadn’t been a bad morning, as mornings go. Up early, swallowing a chemist’s shop to keep his various illnesses and conditions under control (they did have a tendency to be rather unruly), getting washed and dressed, then making his way to Mass. He’d always wondered about life and the world, because he had one of those square brains that had to have everything in order and everything in its place. He couldn’t deal with anomalies, and there were plenty of them. Nothing in the Universe ever seemed to fit perfectly. There were strange bits here and there that just did not seem to make sense or relate to anything else. They just kind of stuck out like a sore thumb.

So, you can imagine what Charlie must have felt like when, on parking up in the church car park, his car keys were suddenly on fire in his hands. He was transported, and suddenly saw everything. The universe in all its glory, and the answers to everything. And he hadn’t even got into Mass yet!

In that moment his life was transformed. Everything made sense, and everything was wonderful. However, needs must, and he had to get himself into Mass yet, which was quite a tricky operation in itself, since he had to go in on crutches, one of his many illnesses having behaved REALLY badly, thus taking away his ability to walk properly.

Once in Mass, Charlie went back to being his usual self, except that he had a greater joy than before. Suddenly, the words he was saying made sense. They leapt into life for him. He’d heard about religious experiences, but, much to his annoyance, he’d never had one. But now, things were different. In fact he had a job stopping himself shouting “Hallelujah” at the top of his voice. Instead though, his “Amen” was said just anlittle bit louder and more forcibly. He didn’t, after all, want to draw attention to himself, or make himself look foolish with too much enthusiasm.

The end of Mass finally came. Charlie rooted in his pocket for his car keys – but they were not THERE! Panic stations. They were the key to the Universe. Oh my God, what was he going to do? He could just imagine God saying to him,

“You see, I can’t trust you with ANYTHING.”

As if Charlie didn’t know this anyway. His wife said it to him three or four times a day. But this was DIFFERENT. It was the key to the UNIVERSE, not just the front door.

“Well that’s YOUR fault,” Charlie imagined himself saying back to God. “You know what I’m like. You created me this way.”

Charlie hunted everywhere for the keys, including in the Disabled toilets. But……nothing! He stood in the corridor looking wan. As he stood, Bill came by, and asked him what was wrong.

“I’ve lost my car keys,” Charlie said.

“Oh dear,” said Bill, “I’d better help you look for them then.”

Bill rooted around for a while, in various nooks and crannes, not realising the importance of these keys. But he found nothing. Eventually he went back into the church, to the pew where Charlie had been sitting. Maybe they had fallen out of his pocket onto the fllor during the Alleluia.

Soon, the priest came to join him. No longer in his celestial robes, he went down on his knees and scrabbled around underneath the pew. No sign of any keys.

Bill, accompanied by the priest, made their way to the church car park where Charlie was waiting anxiously. No one knew the secret of the keys, not even the priest, and God only knew what HE would say if he knew the truth.

Suddenly, Doris appeared, and saw everyone looking perturbed.

“What’s wrong?’ she inquired.

“It’s Charlie’s car keys. We can’t find them,” said Bill. The priest nodded.

“Oh I know where they are,” Doris said. “They’re in my handbag. I was doing a bit of cleaning and I found them so put them in my handbag for safekeeping.”

Then, with great aplomb, she produced from her rather scruffy handbag, the key to the Universe.

“Alleluia,” said Charlie, with much more enthusiasm and conviction than he had ever had in church. His joy was now unbounded.


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

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


When I was in my twenties my husband and I went on holiday to Scarborough, and one day, there, high up on the cliff top overlooking the sae, was a beautiful Garden For the Blind. It was a very special place and I could feel something wonderful about it even though I was not blind then. Since I became blind I have wanted to create a Garden For the Blind somewhere near to our town but so far no space has presented itself for it. This very short poem is really about a Garden For the Blind

By the sea
A garden blooms
Known by scent

A special place
Where breezes blow
With sunshine days

Heaven is here
A resting place
Full of wonder


As we were travelling along in the car yesterday, we went passt many rape fields, where the rape had originally been glorious. Not now though. Here in Lincolnshire there are acres and acres of bright yellow rape fields

Rape in fields
Dampened by rain
Scorched by sun

Laid low now
Gone former glory
Yellow now brown

Stench hits nose
As pollen did
In late Spring


In my home village of Blyton, there is a beautiful big horse chestnut tree right by the War Memorial, and right opposite to Rose Cottage which was the home of my great grandmother (also godmother) and my great grandfather. I was taken there as a child. On the War Memorial is the name of one of their sons, Harry, who got killed in action in WW1. He was only 19. We researched his time in the war, and what his Batallion was doing etc.and we found that he had been through some utterly horrific things. He was very brave though, and got medals posthumously. I hate war, but I became very caught up in his story, and in my great grandmother’s grief.

To sit there now, under the chestnut tree, in the sunshine, right near to Rose Cottage is so lovely. As you sit there you are looking up the hill out of the village, to where my grandparents’ farm was. On one sude of the road is the wash dyke where a Mr. C. (who was SUCH a gentleman most of the time) used to end up in every Saturday night. He would be found there every Sunday morning, rather the worse for wear!

And, sitting there is beautiful, and peaceful, yet so much sorrow went on too. It was this that inspired my very brief poem here:-

The chestnut tree
By the memorial
Gives me shade

I sit down
On the seat
Beside Rose Cottage

Thinking of heroes
Who knew mud
Blood and death


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


Once there nothing
Just a black void empty
No signposts to see
A dry barren land no water to quench my thirst

Heat hitting by day
Cold knives cutting at night
Demons tormenting
Dancing seductively before my confused mind

“You lost everything
I can give you back all
Come this way my friend
I am the signpost you are seeking come hither”

Suddenly there came
A light in the darkness
I could see my way
Get thee behind me Satan you have no hold now

The light now shines on
Never quenched by darkness
I see desert streams
The desert shall blossom, flourish I see roses

FOWC – House. A New Life.

FOWC with Fandango — House

I stood in the HOUSE that had been my home for twenty years, and mentally said Goodbye. We had finally done it – bought a house in the hills of Derbyshire. Ever since we had begun camping in the Lake District and discovered the magnetic character of the hills and mountains there, we had vowed that one day we would live amongst the hills. We envisaged spending our retirement there. In fact, we were not yet retired, but the very week after my father died, we took a break in Derbyshire to find some peace after his death.

We were never impulsive people, and normally everything had to be worked out in the finest detail. We were most definitely not risk takers. But death changes you. You realise that you are not on this earth for ever, and that, life being short, you have to take what you can, when you can. You have to MAKE things happen. Yes, take rsks even. And so, we went on holiday the week after my father’s death, subconsciously having made the decision to change our lives dramatically, and to make our dream of living amongst the hills, come true.

Neither of us said much to the other, but quietly, inside of ourselves, in an almost unacknowledged way, we were looking out for cottages to rent long term. Thus it was that one day, we were on the outskirts of a village, and we saw a “To Rent” board outside a beautiful stone cottage, with the romantic name of “Rose Cottage.” We looked at each other, and as one, we knew what we were going to do.

And so it was that we found ourselves, within half an hour, looking round the cottage. We had never decided to move consciously, for finances would not allow it. We had not sold our house, and had no intentions of selling it. But by the end of that day we had taken a cottage in Derbyshire, and the move was to take place four weeks later.

Life takes strange turns at times, and, after some months in rented accommodation, we had sold our home of twenty years, and were about to move into a house in Chapel-en-le-Frith in the High Peak. We never thought we would ever have enough money to buy a house in Derbyshire, but my husband sent me off one day with the brief, “Find us a house. And if you find one that we can afford, make an offer on it.” What a responsibility THAT was! But I DID find one. A very small one,
but nevertheless, a HOUSE!

It was not long before the day of the removal, and on that day we closed the door on our old lives, and began a new one. The life of our dreams.

Writing books sucks…

Read After Burnout

‘So’ has become an old friend. It’s one of those old friends that you never really knew you had. It’s the quiet one in the room. The one that begins at the end of some drawn-out episode and pushes you on to start afresh. ‘So’ is that needle pulling thread, followed by ‘la’. But what does ‘la’ do?

If ‘so’ is the galanizing agent, ‘la’ is the stark realisation of the road ahead. It’s coming down that steep hill on a bike, exhilerating in the air rushing past you, careful not to get too confident, not ‘pushing out too far’ because tarmac hurts; and so do trees. And when that final whoosh of descent ends, the wheels beginning to lose their impetus, and it’s just you and the world ahead, a world that frames another climb, much steeper than before, the temptation is to stop, and rest, and wait for…

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Now the pain has gone
I wait for the next attack
Knowing that soon
It will wrap me again
In its surly arms
With no thought
No mercy
No abating
And then after time
Its grip will ease
Let me go for a while
To live a little
To smile
To dance
To be free
Oh may true freedom
Come soon


What is this light that shines
However dark the road
What is this light
That just cannot go out
Though sometimes only a glimmer
What is this light that shines
That none other than you can see
What is this light
What is this light
Oh my soul
Praise for the light
That darkness can never quench
Praise for the light
That is pure, uncreated
Praise for the light
That only my soul knows
Praise be to the Light


What is love?

In one of our daily newspapers, there used to be a daily kind of cartoon with the heading “Love is…….” And then a picture of two people doing something or other, and then at the bottom, it would say what love was. Sometimes they were funny, but always there was a serious message. It might be something like “Love is…….washing his shirts for him when they are covered in paint,” or something similar. I loved those daily cartoons.

Ooops, there it goes again – that word– loved!

When I was at Teachers Training College many moons ago, we studied child psychology, and one very remarkable and well read book that everyone had to read was “Child Care and the Growth of Love” by John Bowlby. Some of you who are as ancient as me might remember it. It was very famous and a standard text.

This book affected me very very deeply, because it explained exactly how a child is affected psychologically when a mother either denies the child love or does terrible things to a child, which makes the child feel it is not loved. That is the message that it gets. The psychological effect upon the child can be devastating. It takes a lot to heal the wound/s in that child. Some become delinquents or much worse.

I saw myself in this. I was not loved. I was neglected, starved, and many other things too. But I had been determined not to let it affect me. I therefore managed to get to Teacher Training College.

I was lucky. I had two things going for me. The first was a loving grandmother, although we did not live near to her at all – but I did get to see her in the school holidays. The second was something that happened to me when I was 13. My mother’s abuse of me was at its worst at this time. But I started going to a Youth Club with some friends. This happened to be a Youth Club attached to a church, and there, one of the Leaders told me quite simply that God LOVED me. It changed my life – for ever. Whether or not you believe in God is kind of irrelevant, in a way, because the point I am making is that to be told you are loved is utterly vital to your life. Everyone needs to be loved. Without love we die. It is our lifeblood.

I went through my life buoyed up by this love.

My faith in it was tested sorely, however, as my mother continued to abuse me for the rest of my life. I am 71 now, and she is 93. She is on her way out now, and even as recently as when had cancer in 2013 she still abused me horrifically. She had greater access to me at that point, due to my having cancer and being bedfast,

In all of this I never stopped loving HER, whatever she did to me. I never wanted to pay her back, or hurt her. I knew that it must have been very deep pain inside her that made her like she was. So I forgave her. The hurt and pain that she caused me was enormous, but it did not affect my love for her. She never wanted the olive branch offered to her by me though, and hardened herself to me.

It was my deepest wish that before she died, she would love me, or just change in some way. On quite a few occasions she hurt me really badly, and certain religious people told me not to expect any change un her – that she would never change. In their view I was stupid for expecting that there might be change. But I couldn’t give up on her, however much she rejected me and my love for her.

This morning, in my post that I ultimately deleted, I mentioned something about this.

In fact, the religious people were wrong! This morning my refusal to stop loving her had results. She told me that she loved me for the first time in my life! I told her that I loved her. It was precious.

I rang my mother up this evening, and thanked her for what she had said, and said that whatever happened in the future, those words would stay with me for ever. She said to me,

“I meant them.”

In my book this is a miracle. She had been won over by my love for her despite everything.

I want to say to you, my readers, don’t ever give up. There is always hope. Keep loving. Don’t pay back evil for evil – though I truly know how hard that is.

But, the main message of this is – Love always wins. It really does if you keep ob loving and persevering to the end. It’s hard, but possible.

Thankyou for reading this


I made a post this morning about what has been happening to me over the last week and many of you were so very kind towards me but this afternoon somebody left a horrible comment on the post. It affected me so deeply and so badly that I am afraid I have binned the whole post but I do know who my real friends are and I hold in my heart all the lovely things that you said to me. Unfortunately this has now left me afraid to express myself on my blog because the comment was so obviously horrible. I don’t wish to go into it any further but it has gone very deep and I feel very afraid now to post anything on my blog but let us see what happens in the future. I may still post poems but they will not express my deepest feelings thank you for all of you have been kind to me


This poem is as true now as when I first wrote and posted it:-

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,
Again we rise,
Like gold,
In the fires of life


Lying waiting
As earth’s covers
Keep me warm
Waiting for my time
To rise again
From the grave of my sorrows
Carrying the treasures I have found
In the darkness
Treasures to offer
To the world
Treasures to sustain me
Through the coldest winter night
Through the deepest sorrows known
When the covers come off
My vulnerability will make me whole
Perfected in love
Opening my very centre
To the world


FOWC with Fandango — Switch

It was a mysterious place. Either in the dark or the light. Full of old staircases that went who knew where. Corridors that went on for ever leading to strange places. Bedroom doors that were never opened. What WAS behind those doors? Nooks and crannies that were never explored, but that seemed to hold all sorts of things.

There was no electricity there. In fact there had not even been running water for most of the years in which I went to stay there. Water came from a pump outside the ancient farmhouse.

The night time, however, was the most mysterious. As night fell, the rituals began. Lighting the paraffin lamps, and hanging them up from the ceiling in the huge kitchen. Getting the candles ready to light, to go to bed by. Boiling the kettles on the open fire for the hot water bottles. All the time, listening to “The News” on the wireless. The wireless never worked quite right. It was always crackling, and fading out so my grandfather was constantly attending to it whilst trying to eat his supper.

The last ritual of all was going right through the farmhouse to the wash house door, then out and round the corner to the outside wooden toilet. That was an experience in itself. You didn’t want to be sat there too long, but it was a very necessary trip. It involved going down a long dark corridor, candle in hand, past an old wooden staircase that no one ever went up, for it was blocked with what looked like thousands of ancient books. Oh how I wanted to get my hands on those books, but never managed to. It was creepy, in the dark, but in a kind of enticing way. Eventually you reached a door that led into the wash house, complete with boiler in the corner, a mangle, and a tin bath. Then, the outside world. The whole place was surrounded by trees that made eerie noises in the dark. But, it was a wonderful place for a child.

Then came the news,

“We’ve got electricity.”

My grandfather had had electricity put in, and it was the greatest event ever. Such excitement.

The next time I went to the farm, everything had changed. With the putting down of a SWITCH all that mystery and wonder had disappeared. It was not a happy day for me.


“Don’t do that,” Grandma said.

“If you keep rocking backwards and forwards like that you’ll fall off the table.”

Sally was sitting on the huge wooden kitchen table, knees up to her chin, rocking gently. It was a hot day. Too hot almost to be outside.

Grandma had a penchant for making everyone pink satin knickers, with wide bottomed legs. Sally hated them, but you couldn’t argue with Grandma.

Suddenly Sally felt what was like a thousand needles going into her butt. Screaming uncontrollably and almost falling off the table, she had no udea at all what had happened to her.

“I told you not to sit like that on the table,” Grandma snapped.

“Let me look.”

Sally felt the indignity of it all as Grandma came to pull her knickers down and inspect the area.

“It’s a wasp,” Grandma said. “A wasp went up your knicker leg. Keep still. I’ve got to make shre that the STING is out.”

Sally sat still as still. Soon, the operation was over.

“I’m never wearing those knickers again,” Sally dared to say to Grandma.

“It wasn’t the fault of the knickers,” Grandma said.
“It was your fault for sitting with your knees up like that.”

Secretly Sally resolved NEVER to wear those knickers again.


Suddenly suffocating fear rises
No control
No way out
Screams emanate from the back of the throat
Stomach wrenching
Breathe breathe breathe
Push it down
Just breathe
Body shaking
Is it coming back?
Don’t think
Just breathe
How do I get through this?
Just put me out

FOWC. COHERENT.Camping Disaster

FOWC with Fandango — Coherent

Everything sounded good. The salesman described it all very well. I was sure that everything would work out okay. We’d never had one of these before, but it seemed like a good idea. We spent the day driving from one end of the country to another, feeling secure in the knowledge that once we were where we were headed, we would soon be sleeping comfortably. Everything was going to be much easier than it had been in the past.

We had envisaged arriving in nice weather, but as we drew nearer to our destination, the rain started pouring down. Not to worry, we thought. All would be shipshape in minutes. This was going to be the best thing we had ever done.

As we arrived, we realised that the field was almost flooded. Hubby was confident that this need not bother us. Our new “toy” could deal with anything.

The car parked, hubby got out and started to put things together. This new “toy” had a proper bed. No more lying on air beds on the floor.

An hour later, hubby was still messing about with poles and bits of canvas. Nothing was going together properly. I was attempting to keep two big dogs occupied and quiet. Most people were in bed by now, and we were afraid that we were waking them. Hubby was utterly soaked. It was dark. It was cold. It was horrible! By now, hubby was becoming rattled. Especially as he had been the one to persuade me that this new “toy” was a good idea. As the minutes passed, he started to mutter loudly, and was in the end hardly COHERENT.

Eventually, things kind of stuck together, but the tent was looking rather like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Hubby assured me that everything was fine – that this was how it was meant to be. Well, at least now, there was a platform with a foam mattress on it that we could lie on, though one corner of the “bedroom” was almost down on the floor when it should have formed part of the roof.

The next day, after a horrific night, when rain was coming in through holes that should not have been there, we set off home again. Hubby drove to the chimes of,

“I’m NEVER going in a trailer tent again.”


In the distance between us
Lives the story of my life
Could you travel through
To get to me
To have and to hold
And know as we are known
The journey is long
And rubble abounds
In dreams and memories
And the bones are but dust
Yet still I have a face
The eyes are gone
But somewhere or other there is a heart
It’s been a long time
I am far far away

Sent from my iPad


In the spaces
In my mind
I hear a chattering
Of souls who want to be heard
Whose stories were secret
But now ache to be known
From the safety of eternity
They wish to speak
I hear
A cacophony of whispering
My heart flutters
I strain to listen
Longing to hear
The truths they have to impart
From a place I have never been
But have yet to go to


As. i hear
The morning silence
Feel the still air
My spirit wakes
And dresses itself
In gladness
Of many different colours
Last night the clock stopped
But my heart kept ticking
Keeping time
With the Universe
Never will time stop
But simply become


As I think of life I wonder
Unseeing but never lost
For truth hits me in the eyes
And I know
That I have found my way
Through the deepest darkness
A way that no one can follow
Without opening the heart
Yet even then……….
……………..the way is unknown
To those not humble of heart
I see so clearly
The rush to meaningless things
That can never satisfy the heart
But for a while
One feels full
Having tasted the sweetness
Of meaninglessness
Dressed up
As candy
I see people stumbling
On their misplaced affections
Now staring at them from the ground
Light beguiles
A sweet sensation
Whilst the darkness glows
Its treasures hidden deep
But everlasting


I’m tired
Too tired to think
Inside, given up, lost
Is my soul but I just don’t care
I gave
To all who needed me to give
And now I am empty
Bring to me light
And life

I’ve tried
To save my soul
To exist when stripped bare
But no one saw I was fainting
Helped me
Get up
Now I live right down on the ground
Waiting for time to pass
One day it will
I wait


Can be quiet
Taking place in the soul
Accompanied not by trumpets
In the stillness of the dark night
Serene, it shows its face
By few