I am absolutely delighted to host this Guest Post from a marvellous poet, fellow blogger and wonderful friend, KEVIN MORRIS.  Kevin creates the most otiginal poetry, that has layers of meaning.  He is most innovative and I always enjoy reading him.  Here is his Guest Post:-


I remember, as a schoolboy, being fascinated by the hypnotic tick tock
of a wall mounted clock. And I recall watching the slow movement of
the pendulum as it slowly ticked away seconds which, once gone could
never be recalled.

One of my happiest memories concerns a teacher, mr Delacruz, playing
and singing “My Grandfather’s Clock. There are several versions of the
song including this one,
One of my favourite speeches from Shakespeare’s plays is that of
Macbeth, who, on hearing of his wife’s death speaks thus:

“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.”

Many of my own poems touch on the passage of time, including several
which appear in my forthcoming collection, “Light and Shade: Serious
(and not so Serious) Poems”. One of the poems in “Light and Shade” is
entitled “On Hearing the Tick Tock of the Clock”, and it runs thus:

“On hearing the tick tock

Of the clock

On the wall,

I know not

What to write,

For the clock

Says it all.”

Time will, one day, take me away. but, until that fateful day, I shall
continue to write rhyme about eternal night, and time.

(“Light and Shade: Serious (and Not so Serious) Poems”, by Kevin
Morris will be available in the Amazon Kindle store and in paperback
format, in late June/early July. “The Selected Poems of K Morris” is
available in the Kindle store and as a paperback, and can be found




We had never known such a WET time. The only problem was, we were camping. But we did not want to let this be our DOWNFALL. It rained for three whole weeks, and it was impossible to see the mountains, yet we knew they were there, BEAUTIFUL as ever, with a rugged kind of beauty. The dogs, who had very long, thick coats, gave off a SMELL as we travelled in the car, hoping that when we reached the next place, the sun would have come out. There is nothing like the smell of damp dog!

We always remember that holiday, for the “hot hot hot” little GIRL. Sheltering from the rain in a café everyone, it seemed, was having warming soup, served very hot. Every few seconds, it seemed, the girl’s mother was warning her about the soup, telling her loudly that it was “hot hot hot.”

Each morning we would make our way across the now muddy camping field to the facilities block to WASH, feeling decidedly morose. We remembered better times in this place when the sun shone and the days were hot, and we could hear the crickets STRIDULATE in the long grass. We were astonished at the sound to begin with, but we soon got used to it. It was the sound of summer. But we were RESILIENT and this was our most useful VIRTUE, as we refused to pack up and go home. Three whole weeks were spent like this, and we continued to nurture the hope that this would be the day the sun shone.

We were glad that this campsite was quite INFORMAL and not rigidly arranged in rows, like some we had been to in the past. We liked the more free and easy feel and despite the depressing conditions we began, over those three weeks, to really ATTACH ourselves to this place,  Even in the rain it had a charm of its own, being situated on a hill overcooking a large lake. There was no point in looking BACKWARDS really, to better holidays. We were here now, and determined to make a go of it. And so, for three weeks we endured it. But wouldn’t you know, on the very last day the sun came out.


Life used to be fast
Before I was stripped laid low
Now it is humdrum

Each day is the same
Excitement is not my lot
Sometimes my mind goes

Absent  Without Leave
What is life without a mind?
I better find it

Ah, I found it here
In the middle of WordPress
Amongst my good friends


Yesterday was an ethereal day in a weird kind of a way. We went to the little church to enjoy the peace of this isolated place, but suddenly, for some reason, it became like Piccadily Circus! It was inundated with cyclists and walkers who all seemed to have discovered the place at once. The farm workers were noisier than usual too, clanking and banging with various things, plus having a radio blasting out from the workshop. We wondered what had hit us.

As we had gone there for peace, we eventually decided to leave and go and sit down a little lane that is nearby. It was weird. We opened the car doors, and the wind was blowing not exactly like a gale, but enough to make songs in the trees. It felt so wild there, and indeed it was. But it was beautiful. I love wild places. I felt the wind to be like my life, with its constant rising and falling, sometimes laughing, sometimes moaning. Sometimes caressing me, sometimes treating me quite roughly. I was reminded of that song, “They Call the Wind Moriah,” and I asked hubby to find that song on You Tube for me, and play it on his iPhone. It was great. The words were just right!

Then quite suddenly the wind stopped, and all was peaceful, and the clarity with which the birds were singing in the sudden lull was quite amazing. I don’t know why, but the whole experience was quite ethereal. I would call my day exciting, though all we did was drive to a lonely place in the car. We did not go to the City or anything like that, but it had been exciting to me, and as we drove home, I had the biggest smile on my face.



With wind
Wild as night
Over the hills
Through the green valleys
Throwing off skins of fear
Roaring, laughing with delight
Raw, naked, vulnerable
Tasting at last purest freedom
Dancing wildly over the mountains
Nothing can ever stop you now, you’re free


I saw you nodding at me
Your head dancing in the gentle breeze
Saying “Yes” to my presence
Inviting me
Welcoming me
Inviting me to join your dance
My spirit rejoiced
At your “Yes”
For so many times I have been told “No”
So many times rejected
As if I was leprous
So many times labelled
By those who know nothing
Who do not walk in my shoes
Doors closed in my face
For being blind
For being wheelchair bound
But here you are
Nodding and saying “Yes”
In your glorious yellow
White accessories
Oh how pretty you look
How gentle your dance
And you invite me, ME
To join you
Tears well in my eyes
Tears of joy
And hesitantly
With wobbly legs
And unsure sight
I join you in your dance
Together we dance and sing for joy

IMMACULEE FROM RWANDA and her book “Left to Tell.”

We went back to the little church yesterday. On previous visits it had been bathed in sunlight, and the grounds were very beautiful and inviting. There is an old wooden seat in the grounds where you can sit and just meditate. A wonderful place of peace and serenity. However, yesterday was a very windy day, and it had an entirely different feel to it. It is strange how that place is REALLY windy at times. It is kind of creepy!

So, I remained sat in the car. One lone cyclist came by, struggling to keep his balance.

I started to think as I sat, about someone called Immaculee, whom I met when we lived in Derbyshire. Immaculee was from Rwanda, and she had lived through the terrible genocide there. She was saved, along with some other women and girls  by hiding in a bathroom. It was the bathroom of the local Pastor. They were in that bathroom for three months, listening to the sounds of the killers outside. The killers even came into the Pastor’s house, but miraculously the women were not discovered. Immaculee was a Tutsi and the Hutus were seeking out all Tutsis and murdering them. The Pastor was a Hutu but he saved Immaculee’s life.

When Immaculee finally got out of the bathroom, she found that her family had been murdered. She was now an orphan. She had been studying at University, but that life was now all over. She had to flee. On her own. She went to a city in Rwanda, and got a job working for the United Nations. Eventually she married, but then the violence began again, and she and her husband were no longer safe, and they fled to America. They went to live in New York, where both of them got a job at the United Nations.

Immaculee wrote a book called Left to Tell, and she travelled the world speaking about this book. It was at the bookshop in Hassop, Derbyshire, that I met her. She was beautiful. In every way. As she was speaking, there was something that she said that drew me to her even more. It was something that we had in common and that we both held dear. I felt overjoyed, and went to speak to her at the end. We ended up embracing and holding each other, immaculee signed my copy of her book, for me. She wrote something beautiful in it. This was in 2005.

We moved back to Lincolnshire in 2009 and I found the little church quite by accident, but there is something on the Rood Loft inside the church that links me with Immaculee. I cannot get into the church now because of lockdown. But hopefully one day it will be open again. I started to think about Immaculee yesterday, and wondered where she is now, in this pandemic, and what she is doing. Her name is Immaculee Ilibagaza and her book is called Left to Tell. I recommend it.


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

On the brink

This is the most powerful piece that I have read in a long time. Reena could have been writing about me. Thankyou Reena for moving me this morning. Bless you.

Reena Saxena

It is the last day of chemotherapy. Her energy is drained out, but she is not particularly keen on going back home.

“Your family must be waiting,” says the nurse smilingly as she helps Esha with her wig.

“The concept of family is such a big myth, when you can’t think alike. I found the strength to live alone, when I reached the brink.”

The matronly nurse looked on with both concern and satisfaction, as she watched Esha get into a cab – her destination unknown.

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Once upon a time some sillywaddlers sillywaddled into a church and pretendised to be real good peopliodes. They sittised right at the front where the priestliode could see them. Some of them even readised from the Bibliode and led some prayeries. They kneelised down and closied their eyekins. Their AMEN could be heard right through the church, and they singised real loud. They lookised proper pious.

Some peopliodes came in who were a bit raggedy, One of them was blind and in a wheeliechair. The pious sillywaddlers went and shooised them out of the church telling them that they couldn’t come in lookising like that. But the one in the wheeliechair smilised sweetly and ran over the foot of the sillywaddler. The sillywaddker yellised out so that all could hear, and shoutised,

“Look what this silly raggedy blindey idiot has done now. She ran over my bluddy foot.”

The blindey idiot then took a water pistol out of her pocketilode and squirted it at the sillywaddler. The sillywaddler yelled again and demanded that the police be sentised for. But lots of peopliodes in the congregation were ripe for a good bun fight and they got all sorts out of their handybags and pockets and started joinising in. In the end no one knew who anyone was, not even the priestliode who got his doggy collarie all skew whiff in the fight.

Then, the priestliode , after straightening his doggy collarie said,

“The Piece of the Lord,” and told everyone to exchange the Piece. They all scowlised at one another and said, “The Piece of the Lord” through clenchised teeth.

Then they all sang “Onward Christian Soldiers, marching as to war,” and everyone felt a bit happier.

Everyone said what a bluddy good Service it was and that they were coming again next week.



You took
Everything, put
A noose around my neck
Left me hanging, writhing deathly
Pale white
Sheets have
Nothing on me naked I hang
You intended all this
And now you walk

Walk on
By you scoffers
You who believe the lies
That nailed me to my cross of pain
“Look there,”
You say
She deserves this for she is scum
My eyes bulge as the words
Enter my brain

My life
Now drains away
You will live for ever
Off my pure blood or so you think
Can scum
Like you be fed eternally
One day you too will die
Face deathly pale


I have been a bit preoccupied of late, since I have begun writing my book in earnest now.  I will at least self publish it, but hoping that a publisher will take it up, though I know publishers are hard to find.  It is not just the story of my life, but mostly, the story of events at the little church where I go most days now.  I find peace there.  The story is OF how I found peace there.  It is a story of a journey.  So please forgive me if I miss out on visiting your blog, though I am still hoping to visit as many as possible.  Xx

3 THINGS CHALLENGE#261. The Great Gainsborough Flood

She always used to BUMBLE around. Never seemed to be doing anything important, though I expect it was to her. She led an uninteresting life. Well, to us it would seem to be so, but she seemed happy enough. Never complained about anything. She seemed a bit disconnected really. Lived in a world of her own.

Until one day that was. The day of the flood! The GREAT Gainsborough Flood. No one was expecting it. It just went real dark one day, then the next thing anybody knew was that there was a river running down the street.

Diane looked out onto the street from her shop, a bit bemused. Clothes were her speciality. She had made it her business to care for the townspeople by giving them a personal service. She didn’t just sell clothes. She listened. She heard so many tales of woe. But she didn’t mind. People would often call off at her shop just for a chat. The one comfy chair in the shop was rarely empty. Diane gave a service to the lonely and distressed. And even to cross dressers. She never discriminated, and two of her regular customers were cross dressers. Men who liked to wear women’s clothes. She treated them with the same dignity as she treated everyone else and indeed, closed the shop for an hour or so in an evening to allow each of these cross dressers in to browse in comfort, and try on the clothes. One of them brought his wife with him, and they chose clothes together.

Diane treated everyone with dignity. And that day, the day of the Great Gainsborough flood, she was marooned in her shop. The whole street became a fast flowing river. It was fortunate that she had a good relationship with the owner of the shop next door. A pizza place. He had a bit of a penchant for Diane, and he liked to look after her in a kind of paternal way. And so, on that day, the day of the Great Gainsborough Flood, he and Diane were on the phone together watching the water rushing down the street.

Maud had been into the town on a shopping trip when the flood happened. She had bumbled into the newsagents for her paper, then the butchers to buy some sausage for her tea, then the bread shop and finally she was on her way to Diane’s. She knew she could sit down and enjoy a chat there. She might even buy herself a new cardigan. It was beginning to get a bit chilly, and her old ones were looking a bit the worse for wear. Summer was passing, and the colder autumn days were setting in.

It took her by surprise. The flood I mean. She was almost at Diane’s when it happened. Quickly, before the water got too deep, she shinned up some stairs on the outside of the building, and then managed to prise open the window on the top floor of the shop. She didn’t even know why she did it. It just seemed to her that as the water was going upwards, she had better go upwards too. It had risen to just above her knees when she took to the stairs. The window prised open quite easily, and she clambered through it onto the top floor of Diane’s shop.

Diane heard a noise. Whatever was it! It sounded to be coming from upstairs. But she had been the only one in the shop. Suddenly she SAW a rather bedraggled figure appearing from nowhere and coming down the stairs.

“MAUD! What on earth are you doing?”

“I SAW a really nice cardigan in your window the other day,” said Maud. “Mine is a bit holey now, so I thought I would just drop in and buy a new one.”

By now, the water was starting to come under the door and into Diane’s shop.

“QUICK,” said Maud, grabbing hold of a bottle green cardigan that was on display. “Get up those stairs before the water gets you.” She then grabbed hold of Diane and pushed her up the stairs.

“Fancy a cup of tea?” she said as they reached the stock room at the top of the stairs.

“Well I wouldn’t mind,” said Diane, feeling a bit spaced out by all that had suddenly happened.

“Now you sit down there,” said Maud. “I’ll look after you. A good cup of tea works wonders.”

And that is one story from the day of the Great Gainsborough Flood.



Stopped by the wall I found a tree
It seemed to draw me into its world
I saw people passing in its lee
Stopped by the wall I found a tree
With my blind eyes I could not see
But somehow or other the tree set me free
Stopped by the wall I found a tree
It seemed to draw me into its world


I am approaching the end. No, my cancer was not terminal, though the side effects are. I view the world from a different perspective which may or may not be useful or interesting to others. Life takes on different colours when assailed by such impediments to “normal” living. It is as if no longer are you the person you once were. Either to yourself or to others. You become a stranger to both yourself and others. And gradually the world recedes. You live in a bubble of your own.

It is hard too live like this, and the most natural reaction is to attempt to hold onto some semblance of what was once “normality.” It is the most natural reaction to attempt to be the same as everyone else, and talk like everyone else. But when you enter this new strange bubble, you find that your language and the language of the rest of the world does not match. At the end of the day, what do you have to talk about when most of your life is conducted from a bed? What do you have to talk sbout when you cannot see the world around you? When you cannot hear, much of the time.

I could write essays. I used to. I could write a thesis. I have written three. I could floor you with my knowkedge, gained in the University of Life, but also in my academic world where I mentored others. Yes, that seems impossible doesn’t it! That myself I can no longer mentor, but I used to mentor others.

This world that I now find myself in is unmapped. Unmarked. Sometimes it seems like just a wasteland. It is certainly a hard land. Not much comfort. No soft pillows. A lot of stones. A lot of hunger and thirst for something different. Something more comfortable. Something more interesting. Something less boring.

And as I approach the end, what is my hope? Where does my hope lie? I have asked this question many times. I used to think I had the answer, but I have to admit that I was wrong. I didn’t have the answer.

I think often about whether there really IS anything beyond this life. I do not know. Sometimes I think how unfair and awful it is to have known such suffering during this life, for there then to be nothing beyond. But then that is how it might be.

And so, what do I do now? How do I spend my time? I used to be a bit of a philosopher. I am not sure I can be that any more. Each day has its very own struggles. And I LONG to be “normal” again. Whatever normal is. I long to be viewed as the person I was before all of this struck me. But that is not going to happen. And so all I can do is utter my words from where I am now. A very uninteresting and boring place.

I am seeking the light.





Ancient days, old like the paths we tread
Full of all that is
That was and can be
Stretching into the unknown
And back into time
When do the two meet
And is there really no tomorrow
Or yesteryear
Seamless like the sky
From which comes sun and rain
Making rainbows
Arching over life unknown
For who can know
The sum of everything
Or hold time in a crucible


Taking life
To where they will
Strong soles holding on
Along rugged pathways
Onto the highest mountains
Alongside streams in greenest fields
Never giving up keeping going
Soon will be the time to rest satisfied


Take this day and live it
Break illusions, let them go
Wake to better things, and dance
Shake the world in your energy flow

Wear with pride your new self
Tear away old skins
Share your heart with those you meet
Dare to be the one who wins


Thankyou all so much for your support. My bad day yesterday only lasted for that day. I have had a MUCH better day today. Thankyou so much for all your hugs.

This afternoon we went out into the isolated Lincolnshire countryside, to that little church that I have written of before. It is such a peaceful and beautiful place and it never fails to work its magic on me.

Today, even though I knew the building itself would be locked, I ventured up the path to the door and it brought back so many amazing memories. I first went there in 2009, and so much happened for me there. Because it was so isolated, I was able to practise walking, and did get to be able to walk a lot of steps with two sticks (canes) but then it all left me as my body got worse again, and now I cannot walk at all. But those memories of walking there stay with me, and the joy that I felt when I thought that I might be able to walk again.

I know now, that walking will never be a possibility now, but it felt so strange to be by that ancient door to the church and just remember. I intend to share some of those memories with you over time. Today, the wind was blowing (nothing unusual for there) and I managed to catch a sunny bit in between the heavy rain showers.

I hope that my black times do not come back. I hate them. But I guess they are inevitable.

I shall be back there tomorrow hopefully 😊


Yesterday was another bad day. I posted, but not what I was feeling.

I went through a very deep depression yesterday because life felt meaningless. The things that I relied on, to get me through my blindness, have been lost – locked down. When you are blind you rely on other senses to get you through. Human touch is vital. Now, we can no longer hug. We have to keep our two metres distance. Being unable to walk as well means that I cannot exercise either.

Yesterday it just all got to me. I could see nothing worthwhile in life any more. This happens. Hitting a very black day when it seems impossible to pull myself up, spending the day weeping, grieving, etc. Reaching the bottom of the pit again.

However, we did go out, and by the end of the day I was exhausted and struggling horribly, but got through, somehow.

Sometimes I just see endless days stretching in front of me, and no end to this lockdown, and never hugging anyone ever again. Touch is SO important.

Today I guess I feel a bit better, but the lockdown is really beginning to tell on me now. Hoping this afternoon will bring some relief.


A REPOST.  For some reason our garden is full of leaves again!


A leaf is a leaf
Whether on the tree or on the ground
Whether green or yellow
Red or brown
A leaf is a leaf
Beauteous in all its shades
And even
When dying
A leaf is a leaf
Though death may come to the leaf
We glory in its fiery demise
We love the leaf
Or dying


When the world talks
There is a loud clanging
Of emptiness
Disguised as fullness
Leaving me hungry
I crave that which satisfies the soul’s longing
Which can only be found in solitude
Take me to the wild places
Oh wind
Where I can be alone with my soul
Where I can eat and drink
Of Nature’s fullness
Let the wild wind laugh
And let me laugh with it
Let us roll around in joy
Dancing with the clouds
Until the sun sets
And night comes
Then let us rest in peace
In the arms of the dark