In the grey mist light may pierce your soul
Though every turn seem dark and hope be gone
Back clouds may hover deafening thunder roll

Unceasing pain may rage and take its toll
Your mind may often tell you “It is done”
In the grey mist light may pierce your soul

In dark nights angry beasts may seem to prowl
It seems to you that peace cannot be won
Black clouds may hover threatening thunder roll

In life there seems to be no fair but foul
Deadly arrows fly your mind to stun
In the grey mist light may pierce your soul

All is not lost so now make love your goal
Let light invade your heart the darkness shun
Black clouds may hover threatening thunder roll

Light always comes at dawn no darkness stole
The love that waits in patience like the sun
In the grey mist light may pierce your soul
Black clouds may hover threatening thunder roll


I’m really not that sophisticated! I write poetry from my heart. It might not be “up there” with the good poets, but I try to put into words feelings and experiences the best way that I can. Feelings and experiences of all kinds.

I have done many poetry courses and got Diplomas and things. It was on those courses that I learned the different forms of poetry, and discovered a certain freedom in writing to a particular form, and i am always eager to learn new forms. I am not good at writing free verse. It seems to muddle me, although I sometimes do it.

Mostly I naturally seem to write mirror cinquains. I have tried to work out in my head why that is, but I don’t know. It just seems to come naturally to me.

Anyway, I just wanted to say that my poetry cones from my heart, probably devoid of bug words, but straight from my heart to yours.

She didn’t look like the kind of person who would WOBBLE. Nicely attired in her pale blue trouser suit, smelling of expensive perfume, she smiled her half smile. She was bound for what was to her, an important occasion.

“ALL these ladies to look after,” she remarked, as she made her way towards the door.

No one really knew what she meant. But then probably, neither did she.

Sally had never really known what to make of her. There seemed to be something beneath the surface that was not a BIT like what was on display. She’d been to Oxford University, studying German, and had eventually taught German in a school, but on her own admission she had never been interested in the academic life. All she had really wanted was a boyfriend. None had seemed to be forthcoming for quite a while.

“I thought I would never get a boyfriend,” she had confessed to Sally, flashing her wedding and very expensive looking engagement ring at her. She had, in fact, married Stephen, a man who was destined to become a vicar. Many thought he had married her for her money, for she had inherited a large amount from her parents’ dairy farm. Indeed, this might have been true, for he enjoyed showing off his very expensive clothes on his day off. He himself had come from parents who, though in the church themselves, his father being a vicar, drank and smoked and spent money like it was water, the upshot being that he never had anything. However, somehow or other he had found himself at Oxford University doing Languages. He hadn’t had much time for girls, cricket being, in his opinion, the much better option. Until he met Helen, that was. Suddenly, he realised that he really wanted to have sexual experience, and so, in the end, married her. Of course, that was the only right way to do it, but he often complained to Sally that sex with Helen had to be “respectable.” Sally got the distinct impression that he yearned for mire exciting things. Helen bored him. That much was obvious.

Helen appeared to have it all together, fulfilling ger role as vicar’s wife. Until one day when Sally found her in the huge vicarage kitchen hacking at the ice in the freezer with a huge knife. Her whole body was thrusting as she attacked the ice, and her anger was patently obvious. She had finally broken under the strain of being married to Stephen and being a vicar’s wife. Gone was her powder blue trouser suit, and she was attired in sloppy jeans and a T- shirt that had seen better days. She was perspiring, for the day was hot. Sally sensed a rising uncontrolled anger inside Helen, and then it happened. Helen turned towards Sally brandishing the knife, with a grimace on her face. Then, her eyes started to stare, as if she had gone quite insane. Sally darted for the kitchen door, but she didn’t quite make it.

Stephen soon arrived home having conducted Evening Prayer, to be confronted with Sally’s body lying in a pool of blood on the kitchen floor.


FOWC with Fandango — Avoid

Her policy was usually to AVOID people like him. But there was something about him that held a strange attraction for her. He inhabited a world that she had never known and never could know, and yet it intrigued her. How did people like him live? She was not in his class and never would be, but when he invited her into his world she could not resist. She had to know it, to taste of it. It was exciting. It enticed her. Seduced her. And of course that was exactly what it was about – her seduction.

It took place gradually, so she hardly noticed it. He flaattered her.

“Pretty blue,” he said to her one day, in his high class voice. Of course, that made her feel good. And it was meant to.

He had beautiful teeth. That was one of the first things she noticed about him. And his smile was like something out of this world. Sometimes he would come towards her with a dance like movement, as if he longed for her to be his partner.

It happened quite suddenly, at the end. She saw the pick axe in his garage, and wondered what a pick axe was doing there. That was the day he lost his temper, and he lunged towards her as if to hit her. She remembered how he had once told her that he used to hack at the undergrowth in the jungle that was meant to be a garden, venting his anger. In that moment she knew she had to get away.


Yesterday as we were driving home after a short foray into the winter gloom, I suddenly became overwhelmed by darkness. I felt the suffocating feeling of the black blanket again. As we drove slowly up our drive, I did not want to go back into the house, to my dark place on the bed, where I mostly reside on my own, in pain. The feelings of being blind overwhelmed me, as did the feelings associated with my bodly pain. Exhaustion flooded over me, and I wondered just what my life was worth. There are many days when I just don’t know how to go on any more. There are reasons. Reasons that no one can help.

I do not know how I got through last night, as wave after nauseating wave of emotional pain crashed in on me. I felt battered and bruised, and the worst thing was the knowledge that none of this can change.

Today I will go and share these feelings with somebody. A trusted friend who knows and understands my struggles. I thank God for him, for without him I would surely die. Until I met him I was totally alone with this awful struggle and the blackness. It is strange not to be able to see his face. I have no idea what he looks like, but he has big strong arms that sometimes hold me. It is not a romance – not that kind of thing at all, but just someone who cares deeply for my pain. In his assessment, he does not know how I have got through everything and continue to get through. Yet I do.

I write my poetry, I pray, I try to remain positive, I cry sometimes, I laugh, I “dance” wth joy in my heart, and I get on wth it. But this life is hard. Very hard. 2021 has changed nothing for me, and know the truth that my body is only going to deteriorate and that I can expect much more pain. Maybe longer spells in bed. I am glad that for now, I can still get out most afternoons for a drive. I thank God for the sounds of nature. For the feel of the wind and the rain on my face as I open the car door. I thank God for my memories, though sometimes they are bittersweet. And I thank God for my ability to write poetry, for I believe that this saves me. It means that despite everything, my brain is still active, and my heart filled wth love.

Sometimes life stinks. It is shit. But there is always a way through somehow. A way through the darkness. I pray that whatever darkness you might be going through this New Year, you will find a way through. For there is always a tiny tiny glimmer of light somewhere.


Still is the world
At the saying of Goodbye
We hold our breath
At the awesomeness
Of that which awaits us
That place where you have gone
A place of light
Too bright for our sullied eyes
And as we say Goodbye
We know our own poverty
Our smallness
In the face of infinity
And we pray
That we too
May approach that place of light
Unworthy though we are
Inspired by love and faith and light
We dare to say
“I too will follow”
And in that moment we are held
We take the Bread
Broken for us
To feed us in our brokenness
Held in the everlasting arms
That never will let us go


Well, yesterday we went to a place called Far Ings, which is a Nature Reserve on the South bank of the River Humber, just outside Barton Upon Humber. It was very peacefful.

When we first moved back to Lincolnshire from Derbyshire, we had no idea where to go, despite it being my home county. We had loved the hills and the sheep in Derbyshire, and I grieved for them.

However, one day, we found Far Ings by accident. And thereupon began my love affair with the birds. It was full of all kinds of fascinating birds. Some were of the common variety, and some, like the bittern, were very rare ones. There are lakes there,with all kinds of water birds on them, and right beside the Reserve is the River Humber that is very wide at that point as it it begins to go out into the sea just there. So there are also sea birds there too.

We used to go there every single day before I became ill with cancer. I would write my poetry there, and commune with nature. There were the most beautiful sunsets too.

Whilst I was ill with cancer, in 2013, the place was hit by the most terrible floods. It changed the place for ever. Once a fresh water area, it is now salt marsh. This means that the plants that once grew there can no longer grow, and it looks rather like a wasteland – or at least that is what my husband tells me.

The place certainly was nothing like it used to be, which saddened me – but it was peaceful. It used to be brimming with life, but even the geese were no longer there.

Whether we caught it on a bad day I do not know, but there were no herons to be seen, nor even any cormorants out on their usual piece of wood on the lake. It just seemed dead.

We shall go again, to see what happens. Apparently, according to the notice, there are still kingfishers there. And they say there are herons too, but certainly we did not see any, and they were not in their usual place.

I am hoping that the New Year will bring life back to the place again. Roll on Springtime!