Following the debacle of hubby falling out of bed, we have gone through a very dark time. I attempted to write some poetry this morning, but could only manage one limerick and one or two others. I struggled horribly. I had a tremendous desire to write what I truly felt, but that would have made me far too vulnerable at this time. It would have been very dark.

I must admit that I am frightened. Very frightened. But admitting to fear is not a very good idea always. I am frightened by my own physical condition and my husband’s physical condition also. Our lives are so very precarious, and we walk a tightrope, but the worst of all is that we have no one. We have been traumatised of late by my brother saying I am not his sister, and turning completely away from us, with no mercy. He will not change. But it has been one of the most painful things that I have ever endured. Not only has he done it to us, but to his 93 year old mother too, whom we thought was dying at the weekend. He walked away.

I have been thinking a lot about my life over the past few days, and very especially today. I felt that I had to write something meaningful for my blog today, even if it is not poetry. It was very hard to write humour this morning, but I just had to do it.

I have thought such a lot about my life up to now, and tried to make sense of things , but can’t. Maybe there IS no sense to anything. I don’t know.

At the moment I just want the summer to pass and autumn to come. It may match my mood more. I may start writing about autumn even before it comes. I want it to come quickly.

I am afraid of my own health. We have not had good news on it, and I cannot say that I am brave. I am scared silly. But I cannot put on an act either. I find it very hard to live up to the bravery of other people with cancer. But I can only be honest. I fear death. And it may be that I will write about that – the great taboo!

I will finish here, but I needed very much to write this down. I write in great physical pain and utter exhaustion. But I am not giving in.


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.


Hubby was in a court room, and the prisoner was being questioned and he had a black neoprene type mask on his head and part of his face. He was told by the prosecution that he was frightening the witnesses and the jury, but the prosecutor insisted he take it off even though it was there for medical reasons – he had serious facial burns. The defence insisted he was telling the truth and that seeing the burns would be even more terrifying. Anyway, the Judge ordered that he be taken down to the cells in contempt of court for not taking it off. The guards were taking him out and they hit him and took his mask off. He turned round and everyone screamed at the sight and went into pandemonium. Someone then grabbed a hammer from somewhere and was bashing a picture of the man before he was injured. Hubby woke up at that time!!! He woke up on the bedroom floor!!!

What a weird dream ha ha.


My mind runs ahead
Anticipating better days
Tinged with love and kindness
Like the rose tints of evening skies
I dream of colours so bright
That I am dazzled by their beauty
I dream of peace I dream of joy
And the crispness of excitement
I dream to be a human being once again
In all the colours of life
I dream…..I dream


Hubby fell out of bed again during the night. It is about the fourth time this has happened. He was totally stuck – wedged hard and with being disabled and in a wheelchair he really WAS stuck! We thought we would have to get the fire brigade, but somehow or other after about half an hour he managed to pull himself up onto the bed, but it was hard. We were panicking but he was not injured.
Be careful what you dream, because he was in the middle of a dream when he fell out. He was in a court room, and pandemonium broke out and he was in the muddle of the pandemonium.

It just goes to show how very vulnerable we are if anything happens as, being blind and in a wheelchair myself, I could not help him.

We are laughing about it now but it was very frightening at the time. Anyway, I managed to make up a silly limerick about it!!!

There once was a man called Bob
Who fell out of bed on his tod
He got very stuck
And couldn’t get up
And the fire brigade called him a nut


It isn’t quite September yet, but already many of the ospreys have left. It feels very sad to me, but hopeefully they will all be back next year. The swallows have not gone yet though. Anyway, here is a sestina poem about Migration.

September heralds the leaving of the birds,
Migrating to much warmer climes,
Embarking on a dangerous journey,
I watch them flying overhead,
Apprehension fills my heart,
But I must say “Goodbye.”

So final is the word “Goodbye,”
All summer long I have watched these birds,
Taken them deep into my heart,
Knowing they came from different climes,
They sit on telegraph wires overhead,
Gathering for their journey.

I cannot tell what kind of journey
Awaits them as I say “Goodbye,”
The dark clouds roll by overhead,
As if to threaten these vulnerable birds,
Before they reach much better climes,
I carry them within my heart.

I hear within, my beating heart,
Fearing for them on this journey,
But soon they’ll be in safer climes,
Their wingbeats thunder overhead,
This may be their last “Goodbye,”
The last act in the Play of the Birds

But I hope for next year the return of the birds,
A thought which cheers my heart,
It may not be their last “Goodbye”
They may survive their journey,
I may once again hear them overhead,
Coming home to nest from those warmer climes.
I too have my own much warmer climes,
Where I take refuge, like the birds,
When a storm passes me overhead,
I can have confidence in my heart,
Although I face perils on my journey,
To final destruction I can say “Goodbye.”

I say “Goodbye” while watching birds flying,
Preserved by warmer climes, they sing from their heart,
All face a perilous journey, a mantle protects us overhead.


Sometimes all we can do is feel another’s woubds and share with them in their pain

I felt
Your face today
With my fingers, gently
Caressing Your wounds, feeling mine
As one
We danced in the Sanctuary,
For the sake of glory
Joined together


This has been happening more and more until now I can hardly post at all from my iPad.

I can get onto my site but then when I click on “write” to make a post I just get a black screen and am not able to post. It is as if WP has crashed but it hasn’t because I can still click on the little bell and read my comments and likes.

If I come in via my iPhone I can post but my poems lose their format. So if I write a villanelle or something in Word or into an email and then copy and paste it in on my iPhone it loses its format completely and does not separate out the stanzas.

I have tried typing the. Straight into the box on WP but even then it will not allow me to separate stanzas so things like tricube poems just come out as free poetry which is not what I want.

WP can be down for four hours at a stretch with me unable to make proper posts.

Does anyone else have this problem? I cannot use a desktop or a laptop, though hubby is going to try to find a way of my using a laptop but I don’t think I can as I cannot hold one or type on the keys as have no feeling in my hands.

If anyone else is having the same problem with iPads and iPhones I would love to know. I am typing this straight into the box on my iPhone but straight prose is ok. But poetry loses its format. Anyone else?


I never expected to see it,
Not here,
Not now,
Not ever.
A Black Spectre,
Blacker than black itself,
Masquerading as a human being.
The Spectre shuffled,
Then was still,
And amongst the black i saw
A crescent,
Whiter than white itself,
Thin narrow strip of piety,
Dazzling me,
From blackest black,
Like row of teeth,
Once seen,
Sparkling, glistening, ludicrous,
Fixed in deceptive smile.
I never wanted to see him,
Not here,
Not now,
Not ever.
But i did,
Why shouldn’t i have?


She sits hunched
Lost in her own world
Seeing nothing
In the sun’s glow
Forming patterns
People she once knew
Come and go
Though she now knows none
Never will they speak
Her world nonsensical
Though if you look carefully
Her eyes say it all


“God’s Funeral” still lies on a chair in the room,
His grave in your eyes, His love in the tomb,
You danced on the edge of the bound’ry of life,
Whilst knowing your game would cause anguish and strife,
You circled in close then you glided away,
Ignoring the line, only wanting to play
With the thick iron box that you found in my head,
“Don’t open the lid,” i remember i said.
You dudn’t much care, you wanted to know
If with skill you could melt me and make my love grow,
For i was your toy to be pummelled and used,
Kneaded and pounded until our souls fused,
But now you are gone, and Gid us quite dead,
Prostrate in the box you found in my head.


I’ve been sitting here having conversations with loads of different people all at the same time. All about different subjects. I’m getting lost. So if anyone is talking about tea and I say I’m drowning you’ll know what has happened. Or uf you are talking about coffee and I say I like ironing shirts I am sure you will understand. Is anyone good at doing cartoons, because it could make a really funny cartoon. Funniest of all is, my dog is sitting there bolt upright, joining in 😀


Beneath them, flowers, and deadly nightshade,
Beyond them lush green fields where cattle grazed,
I imagined them to be horses,
On their backs I could ride, gallop
Through my world of childhood dreams

Many were my childhood dreams,
I dreamt them as I walked down the lane,
I’d race in a race, at the gallop,
Never mind the deadly nightshade,
I’d turn the cattle into horses,
Train them in the field where they grazed

At night I’d walk where the cattle grazed,
Lost for the moment in my dreams,
With the wave of a wand they could be horses,
The other side of the hedge was the lane
And I had to remember the deadly nightshade
As I heard the horses gallop

I’d never before made a horse gallop,
Though often in other dreams I’d grazed,
I was drawn one day to the deadly nightshade,
Now it had invaded my dreams,
I knew there was danger in the lane ,
I forgot the galloping horses

I’d always been fascinated by horses,
But never taken one at the gallop,
Now I was fascinated by the lane,
As this night the cattle grazed,
Soon I’d be in the land of dreams,
Where I could approach the deadly nightshade

“Don’t go near the deadly nightshade,”
My grandmother said as I dreamt of horses,
But she could not get into my dreams,
Where I’d taken horses at the gallop,
On the deadly nightshade I grazed,
Grandma found me dead in the lane


The candle goes out,
Everything has its season,
Things and people come and go,
Without any reason,
We search in vain for something that lasts,
We feel our grief and loss,
As the darkness enfolds us
We open our hearts
And find one true lasting light,
Taking us into the future


For various reasons, I feel the need to post my “About Me” information. Things have moved on a bit since I wrote it, but the gist of things is still the same. The aim of my Blog is as stated here. I made reference to the Cross in this piece, but in fact I have not used it much. That is because I have no desire to alienate myself from other faiths or those who have no faith in any kind of “god” or religion. I want my Blog to transcend those barriers, and for all of us to be human beings seeking a way through life together, and through the sufferings that come to us.

In no way am I seeking advice or help in the things or situations that I post about. I write poetry, and prose, about a variety of things. Being human really. Human emotions. Human strugglesand yes, human coming to the end of our tether. But also I have added humour to the list! Fleas are making a comeback!

Please please can I make a plea for you not to see my wirds as asking for help. I simply want to write. About the human condition in all its joys
Sorrows and struggles.

Many of you have been very kind to me and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

So here is the “About Me” piece that I originally wrote:

This site contains my poems, blogs and reflections that have come from my wilderness experience of having cancer and being blind. The wilderness is a very isolating and lonely place, with many hardships and sometimes seemingly insurmountable difficulties to face. It is a place of suffering and this site reflects the many struggles that any of us can undergo in our differing wilderness experiences. Despite the pains and the darkness of the wilderness and desert places, the stars can still be seen, and even deserts can bloom, so along the way, there will be gems to be found. I have chosen to use the Cross as a symbol also, because I have discovered that for me, the way through suffering was and is to be found in the Cross Although that is a Christian symbol, the wilderness or desert experience can come to any of us, no matter what faith we hold, or even if we hold none. So I hope that as Maya Angelou says, there will be no barriers, and that all of us, through our sharing, can find our way through, appreciating the gems that we find on the way whilst not denying the suffering that we go through. May we all learn to look to the stars, and see how brightly they shine out in the darkness, and take heart and courage.


May there be a song one day that I sing
Rising above all the pains of this life
As beautiful as the birdsong in Spring
Tears having washed away all of my grief
One day may colours come live in ny heart
Though my eyes cannot see them they’re still there
Dispel the darkness tear the veil apart
This, my Lord now is my deep heartfelt prayer
Colour my world with a rainbow of love
Letting me know that my life s worthwhile
Give me the Spirit of peace like the dove
Let me again know and feel your warm smile
When all things in the Spring blossom and bloom
Make me one with Nature, singing its tune


SOMETIMES VIOLENCE IN FAMILIES IS “NORMALISED”. It is also silenced and made into a secret. The child is expected to keep quiet, whatever terrible thing they are going through.That is what this poem tries to depict. I actualky pisted this in the middle of the night, then binned it. But I have decided to post it anyway. This is a subject that needs airing. So here it is.

Ssshh my little one
All is well
Look, here is the nice fire
To warm your body
Let me hold you
Why are you trembling?
Mummy and Daddy are just playing
Look here
A nice sweetie
Tomorrow we’ll go to the fair
It’s okay
You don’t have to be frightened
Shall we play a game now?
And then I’ll read you a story
Hush little one
It’s okay
No one need know
It’s only a game


I rest me
In the dark forest
Where wood nymphs play
In evening sun
Where no more pain
Can find me
From all
A spirit
Floating free
I remember no more
The dark
And the cold
Past deeds
On aching body
I rest me
In the dark forest


No platitudes could help me right now. My world is smashed to smithereens. I do not believe it can ever be picked up or put back together again. No amount of words could describe what has happened either, or the pain and devastation caused. Possibly a fit and healthy person who has anchors in life could in some way deal with this, but that is not the position I am in.

My blog is mainly for poetry, as I have said many times before. That remains true. I guess that in the end my poetry might reflect my feelings as of the present moment. I am, however, finding it difficult to even write poetry, every word seems useless. Yet maybe one day I WILL find the words. Maybe this IS the time to write my life story. I have held back so far because of living people. And because the story seems too horrific to be true. I had hoped that when I did write it, there would be a kernel of light and hope buried within it. For indeed , how could someone go through the things thatI have gone through, and still be a loving functioning being? An achiever despite everything.

Yes, I DO want to tell my story. Maybe when my world is smashed to pieces is the best time to tell it – with no gloss, and no holds barred.

I do not wish to tell it for “healing” or “therapy” though those things might just be a bit of a side effect. No, I want to tell it to show how human depravity can so wreck a life that the pain is almost unbearable, yet life is still possible.

I am vulnerable right now. Very. And yet I still wish to carry on. And so I will.


I don’t know why
I don’t know how
We could have reached this point
I wake, night’s arms enfold me now
I know the lid is tight
Alone in death’s embrace we fade
No one can understand
The way that it has been for us
The agony within
Dear brother
Why did you reject
The person that I am
For you fared well
Your path you forged
We never did exist
And now the hour has come to lose
The mother we both know
I’ve lost you too
Your hardened heart
Won’t melt despite the pain
I bang the walls
I scream to God
Where is my family now?
There is no answer
None will hear
The world spins
I am lost
For no one cares that we are here
We have to say goodbye
I scream
“Don’t go
Don’t leave me here”
But nothing melts your heart
I know my soul can’t bear this loss
I lose it in the night
The day will never come again
I close my eyes and pray
“Please take me too
Don’t leave me here
In this hard cruel world”
My voice trails off
I am no more
In silence I am gone

#FOWC. Newbie. Personal Rats and Cauliflowers

FOWC with Fandango — Newbie
Ellen was a NEWBIE to the area. And no one had ever told her about Harry. Mind you, no one had told her about Babs and Gerry either. And then there was the elderly French lady over the road who had an affair with a monk!

Harry looked perfectly O.K. to Ellen. But according to Babs he was the biggest pervert you could ever hope (or NOT hope) to meet. Ellen noticed a slight glint come into Babs’s eye as she told her all about Harry.

“He WATCHES,” Babs announced, self importantly.

“Watches WHAT?” Ellen inquired.

“WASHING LINES,” Babs replied.

“Washing lines?” Ellen said, in a quizzical tone.

“Yes, LADIE’S KNICKERS,” Babs mouthed, her eyes as big as saucers. “He goes in his shed and he has a peepy hole that he looks through. He used to watch my lasses. They hated him.”

It turned out that Babs and Gerry and Harry had had a bit of a dispute over the boundary fence. It had got so heated that Harry ended up throwing a huge cauliflower the size of a football at Gerry. They had not spoken for twenty years!

Then one day, some men in plastic suits arrived at the bungalow over the road where the elderly French lady lived. Babs’s eyes were like dinner plates.

“Did you see THAT?” she inquired of Ellen.

“Yes,” said Ellen.

The next day, Babs informed Ellen that the monk that the elderly French lady was having an affair with had tried to strangle her.

Not long after that, two large rats appeared on Ellen’s path outside her patio window. Ellen screamed as she ran to the back door. Suddenly Babs was there, eyes bigger than dinner plates.

“Have you seen those rats?” she asked Ellen. “You’d better get rid of them. They’re YOURS.”

The next day, Ellen was at the local store, and the assistant said to her,

“Had any trouble with Babs yet?”

“Oh YES,” Ellen replied. “Didn’t you know that i’ve got two personal rats in my garden?”

“Oh them,” the assistant said. They come from the brook by the hotel there. Don’t you worry about Babs. She’s been in prison once for trying to burn the house down with her husband in it.”

Three Things Challenge: Desktop lasagne tissue

He always sat looking at her from behind his DESKTOP computer. He was very tall, and almost seemed too large for the room. Sal wondered about him as he dug his teaspoon into the honey jar and, having got it laden with honey, plunged it into his tea. The action was performed in an exaggerated manner, followed by the licking of his finger where some of the honey had attached itself.

In a strange way, the action fascinated her. She had never met anyone quite like this before. He was larger than life, or so he seemed to her. The thing she noticed most about him was his beautiful teeth. White, and forming a perfect shape in his mouth. Sal would have given anything for teeth like that!

The relationship deepened over time. But not in a physical way. He had a wife who was always present in the house when they met. He often referred to her.

“Your story is hers, writ large,” he had said, boasting that he had been the one, in the early days of their marriage, to help her. Sal wondered just what this woman was like. His description of her suggested a very subdued, controlled woman. Sal had occasionally seen her in the large garden as she had come to keep her appointment with him. Always, she gave her a weak smile, leaning on her spade as she did so. The slash of red lipstick always struck her as odd. Why would she put lipstick on just to do the garden. From what Sal understood, this was the only time that she left the house. So she was very surprised one day to be invited for lunch.

LASAGNE was the dish of the day, delivered to her with great aplomb. It was tasty, and the conversation, though a bit stilted at first, was quite tasty too. Sal was rather taken aback. In her nervousness she knocked over a glass of orange juice.

“Oh oh I am SO sorry,” she said.

Frances was soon beside her with a TISSUE to mop it up. As she did so she put her arms around Sal’s shoulder, announcing,

“You are part of the family now.”

Sal didn’t quite know why, but she shuddered.


The ospreys are about to leave us for warmer climes. Already some have gone. We have watched the nests on webcam since April. It has been fascinating. Often the male has brought a live fish to the nest to feed his family.

Lone bird
Calling forlorn
Its cries going unheard
Then comes her mate with a big fish

FFIPP Written for The Purposeful Practitioner

Joyce could never look a hot air balloon in the eye! They reminded her too much of her escapades in the War. Desperate to “do her bit” she enlisted in the WAAFs, lying about her age, as she was a year too young. Brought up on an isolated farm, life was rather different for her, as she learned everything there was to learn about balloons.

One day, she found herself in a rain soaked field up to the eyes in mud, and wondered what the hell she was doing there. She thought of the comfort of the farm, and the decent food that was on offer there, despite rationing, and she knew immediately what to do. Confess!

Soon she was on her way home again. As she entered the ancient farmhouse her mother greeted her with,

“What the hell did you think you were doing?”

“I don’t know,” Joyce replied. “There weren’t any decent looking lads there anyway.”


A state of mind,
No prison bars can hold
Those who hold freedom within them,
Have legs
That dance,
Blind eyes see the wonder of life,
The created world sings,
Hearts are set free,
To live

Take up
Your freedom now
Tear down those prison bars
For in your mind you find all things
Take heart
And become the one whom you are
You were meant to be free
Rejoice my friend
And sing


Today much of the wheat and barley that was growing in the fields was flattened – by the recent wind and rain. What a sad sight. In just a few days it had gone from standing upright, akmost ready to be gathered in, to being flat on the ground. Some farmers were trying to rescue their crops, and some had just left them still in the fields.

I could not help but remember those wonderful days of harvest on my grandparents’ farm. This poem is about that.

I held the hand today
Of sumner days
That took me on a journey
Back through time
To a glorious celebration
Of what earth had delivered
Aided by the sun and rain
A golden time
‘Neath golden skies
Men’s voices raised
In joyful song
All is well
All is well
The harvest is in
The harvest is in

#FOWC – Shadow. Come Home to Barrowholme.”

FOWC with Fandango — Shadow

Patty sat, hunched over the steering wheel, her mind in torment. A torrent of thoughts were tearing at her brain. For so many months she had been estranged from her own world, and part of something totally alien to her. She had been magnetised by it, but repulsed at the same time. It was a world inhabited by the so- called higher classes. A world where even socks had labels on the outside of them, on show to all who happened to see. A world of fine wine and fine accents, yet where the Sunday table talk could be quite coarse. It had seemed quite incongruous to Patty. Sunday morning worship, and then talk about expensive fast cars and blasé comments of a sexual nature. Hugh, the vicar, was a bit of an enigma. A most confusing person to Patty. And his wife, Diane, who was completely under his control, but uneasy with her role as vicar’s wife. She had a penchant for expensive perfume and cheap tea cups and dinner plates from the local market. Her clothes were nothing special, but she did make an effort on a Sunday morning, with a matching trouser suit, and some make up. Her engagement ring was her most prized possession, with its huge sapphire stone, which she constantly flashed at Patty, as a symbol of her highly coveted married state. This was in contrast to what Diane saw as the shambles of a marriage that Patty was in.

There was so much about this world that had fascinated Patty, and hugh had worked tirelessly to entwine her in it, at the same time changing her thoughts and thought processes surreptitiously, in a most insidious manner. Patty hardly knew herself any more. She tussled within herself as Hugh tore her world apart, telling her that her marriage was a blasphemy and that she needed to leave it. And he was going to be the chief engineer in this operation, masterminding it all. But deep inside herself Patty knew that despite all their problems, she and Terry had a deep bond. Her love for him was unbreakable. She fought with Hugh, telling him that she would never leave Terry. But that word “blasphemy” was ringing in her ears. It caused a deep rupture within Patty’s mind. She had always had a regard for God, though she was never quite sure whether she believed in Him or not. On the whole, she did believe, but there had been many testing times in her life when she was no longer sure. But to be told that her marriage was a blasphemy, by a vicar, was earthshattering to Patty.

Hugh had got Patty into quite a state. Thus it was that that morning he had taken Patty to see his doctor, who said that she was suffering from stress and high levels of anxiety and needed to rest. After all, her mother had just died, and she was in the throes of very deep grief.. It was obvious what was happening to her.

Hugh took Patty back to the vicarage, which he had now begun to call her home. She had spent the day with Diane, talking about all kinds of things.

“I married for love,” Diane announced, flashing her sapphire ring again, at Patty. She was doing the ironing, which included ironing Hugh’s clerical garb. She did it almost boastfully.

Patty shrunk back in her seat. She too had married for love, though neither Hugh nor Diane would believe it. And that was exactly where Patty should be now – with Terry. She felt decidedly uncomfortable, and not only slightly frightened. Hugh arrived home, and, after having a meal, Patty sat with him in the sitting room. She already knew what she was going to do.

“What am I doing here?” Patty said to Hugh. She neither expected nor wanted a reply but she got one anyway.

“Suffering,” he said.

What on earth did that mean, Patty asked herself.

“I’m going home,” she announced.

He did not reply.

Patty got up off the settee and walked towards the front door. He did not follow her. She let herself out, walked to her car, got into it, and drove away. When she reached the isolated book store about two miles away, she stopped in the large dark empty car park. She was trembling, and needed to get herself together. She began to sob. Months of what felt like torture took over her whole being, and everything had to come out.

Suddenly, Patty saw black SHADOW at her car window. Then there was an urgent rapping on the window. She almost screamed. Who was it? What was happening?

Then came the voice.

“Come home to Barrowholme,” it said. It was Hugh.


Don’t distract me from what I know
For only in knowing the score
Can I live in integrity
Sweeping away the dross
That gathers around my ankles
My feet hampered halted
By that which holds no meaning
Empty of the joys that await
The embracing of the truth
As leaves die ingloriously
Crackling their complaint
So do lives lived not in the truth
Dancing down paths of deception