The paths crinkled as I walked
Ahead the red door
Incongruous and startling
I knew what was beyond that door
I trod in awe this ancient path
I pushed at last on this red door
And darkness hit my blinded eyes
But in this place was brightest light
That only hearts could truly see
Beyond the altar of intent
Where sacrifice once offered
Knew my presence swallowed me
And there I met


Up and down we went that night
Never knowing where we were
The dark sky boasted twinkling stars
We thought we’d carch one as we rose
Then suddenly the earth was there
We thought we’d hit it as we swung
Close by we spied the plastic ducks
Yellow floating round and round
Candy floss pink and sticky too
Bumping cars and music playing
Coloured horses rose and fell
Going round so gracefully
That night the fair held so much joy
But now it’s gone ne’er to return


By golden fields i remembered
Childhood days at harvest time

Sun warming earth’s rich offering
Stooks standing proud in fruitful stance

Men sitting by the buzzing hedge
Singing songs of victory

Stacks of food on plates of gold
Or so it seemed that joyful day

A party held in harvest field
A laughing dog joined in the fun

A rabbit ran the dog ran too
To shouts of “No” it halted there

The sky was blue that summer’s day
And hearts were glad that Harvest Home


Purple sheen on water’s face
Takes me to a different place

Here is where I stand and stare
Breathing here a purer air

Herons fly at water’s edge
In my heart I make a pledge

Earth and sky and I are one
Singing the divinest song

If perchance I breathe my last
Lay me here to find my rest

AUGUST. For First Line Friday at MLMM

August approached in a golden sweltering haze. Sadie had never known the sort of life that the “higher classes” enjoyed. She had realiseed so many months ago that he came from a different place to that which she had come from. She found herself fascinated by it. Drawn, even. So when she got invited to Sunday lunch along with some of his friends and a quaintances she accepted without hesitation.

The day was hot, and so was the conversation. The kind of conversation that she would never have expected. Sexually explicit was an understatement. Shocked, she wondered if this was how the higher classes went on.

It was odd really. He had made it plain that they had money. In fact he had made a lot of things plain! So when she found that lunch was served at a nelamine table in the kitchen she was most surprised. She had expected at least to be in a posh dining room complete with posh table and chairs. Maybe the lack of posh language said it all.

The hats were posh though. The ones that were scattered around for the guests tp pick up before going out into the garden after lunch.
“You all get on and relax and enjoy yourselves,” he said as he straightened himself up.

“I’ve got to go and do a baptism.”

And with that the vicar was gone.


Frayed and broken
The centre could not hold
It was foreordained to be so
The womb
Was never a safe dwelling place
She came
Screaming into a world of fear
The knives cutting twisting
Never at peace
She died


My heart aches tonight
For the balm of your love
For the safety of your knowing
And mine
But can two souls ever
Truly know
Touch each other
In the distance
I see a hand
Reach out
But find I cannot reach
It is too far
And too late
Far too late
The moment has gone
And you are lost to me
I know
That all must end
That fear took its toll
I took the safer way
And now I am lost

#FOWC. Qualms

Ronnie was a bit of a one! He had always been single, but fancied himself as a bit of a ladies man. Marriage was not for him. He preferred to hop from one relationship to another. Dressed in the most fashionable clothes he really thought he was something special. It was not always possible for him to make a killing though, and he would retire to his bed alone. That was when the doubts and the depression really set in. His life felt empty, and he began to think that really, he had done it all wrong. Soon, he would be old and no woman would want him. Then he would be all alone in life.

As he contemplated this future, he could not face it. He could see no way out of the trap he had got himself into. Without any QUALMS he went and got his gun out of the drawer, and shot himself through the head.


Last night I sang my own song
Unique with steely tones
A song that lived in me for long
Years amongst driest bones

I sang it loud there was no wrong
The notes were perfect ‘midst your groans
Never to you did I belong
Last night I sang

I thought I heard a clanging gong
The drama played through heaven’s moans
But empty was the play among
Rusted steel and empty thrones
Love is all that can be strong
Last night I sang


With unseeing eyes
Looking into the darkness
I know what hearts know

A chill runs through me
Until I become as stone
Glued to this dark spot

Where did that scream go
That escaped before I froze
It lies dead writhing

I the stone know all
Nothing can move any more
Paralysed by fear

#FOWC. Lonely

She came to on the bedroom floor. Blinking and holding her head, she tried to remember what had happened. There they were in the purple and bright pink bedroom that his mother had said you needed sunglaases on to go in,just lying there. Suddenly he had reared up in bed, flung his hands towards her barking,

“I’ll frighten you.”

She wondered what had hit her, but the next thing that she knew was that he was round her side of the bed pulling her out. Then he stood astride her, stark naked, doing the most revolting long, slow spits on her face. She was paralysed. There was nothing she could do except wait until it was over. He was so big, and looming over her, and she knew she could not possibly fight back. The next thing she knew, he was hitting her around the head. And now here she was, waking up again. It was the most LONELY place in the world.


In the Sanctuary the light burns strong
There within the holy place so safe
Eternal and yet ever new
There my heart and soul refreshed
Absorb the light once more
I walk upon this soil
This dark earthly place
And see heaven
Made new


There are some things that there are almost no words for, but I am going to try to use them. The words that I choose to use will not convey the full pain of what I am feeling. Yet I have a need to try and help people to understand. If I can achieve some measure of this, then I may not feel as alone. For that is the essence of what I feel right now, and the truth is, that I AM alone.

I have outlined in other places my mother’s abuse of me as a small child and as a teenager. It then went beyond that when she got back into my life when I had cancer. Her whole purpose throughout my life was to separate me from other members of my family, including my brother and sister who are ten and eleven years younger than me. She did this in many different ways with the result that I now have no one in my life and am dependent upon others for every single thing. As my health deteriorates more and more I have no idea where this is going to end up, but the fear that often engulfs me is too much to bear at times. Whilst at the time of my having cancer I did decide in the end to fight to live, I often, now, feel that I made the wrong decision. I have often said that in fact my natural end had come and that it was only through medical intervention thatI lived. I figured, therefore, that maybe things should have progressed naturally and ended in my death.

I am fully aware that there are many people who would have the opposite view to me, and who would feel that life is always worthwhile and should always be fought for. On the other hand, there are others like me who feel the exact opposite. I guess what each person feels is totally valid.

There are days now that overwhelm me completely. Days when the very basics of life are not available to me. This has occurred through no fault of my own, but simply because of the system that does not work for everyone, and the sheer bloody mindedness of others. There are times that I feel that I have had enough, and do not want to go on. The daily struggle is too great for me. Having put positive thinking into effect most of the time, the strength and the energy required to do that is too great for some people. Sometimes, the fight is too long and too hard. Exhaustion sets in and there seems to be no way through.

I have to admit that that is happening to me more and more now, as my disease progresses. When you have cancer, you hope that, if the chemotherapy works, you will return to having a fairly normal life. You do not expect to be blind, virtually completely wheelchair bound, with peripheral polyneuropathy that invades every part of your body, causng you to be in constant pain everywhere. That is a shock. You try to adapt to it however, and learn to live with it, even though it is advancing. You try to overcome it, and to a large extent you do. But there comes the time when you cannot do that any more. You have to rely on other people to give you strength. In my case there are no other people, and I have had to remain my own strength.

Yesterday I lost it. Big time. It is strange how these things come upon you. In my case it was someone taking away my walking aid, and my being left stranded. It had been a hard day anyway, but also there were things to be done that I tried to do but did not have the strength in the end to do. I ended up struggling for breath on the bed. All it had involved was hanging some clothes up. But it was too much.

Where does one turn in those moments? For me, the thought that had been there for a long time, kind of hiding away, came right out into the open. Why not end it all?

This may sound shocking, but many ill and disabled people get to feeling that way. We all strive to go on living our lives, but sometimes it feels impossible, and we have no strength left at all.

We go on though. Most of us anyway. We have to.

Socs. Colour

I always said that I should have been born green! I mean, I feel green. I look at the grass and feel part of it. I love to roll in it when it is wet, and the smell of it when it is just mowed is delicious. I could almost be a grass verge or the grassy banks of a river. The trees are so green at this time of the year too, and often when you are travelling along you go through a tunnel formed by the branches that overhang the road. Sometimes just a little bit of sun peeps through a gap where there are no leaves.

Then there is the green of the forest- a dark, rich, mysterious green. The smell of pine and the darkness of the forest where anything could happen. The forest draws me and wants to emfold me and I want to hide there.

It is always the green buds that you see first before the flowers open, and often you do not know what colour the flowers are going to be, so the green of the buds fill us with anticipation of something wonderful about to happen. The bright red of summer flowers, contrasting with the green leaves, or the wonderful cheery yellows, or the sensitive pale pinks. All beautiful colours enfolded in the green buds.

Yes, nature is green and I should have been born green too, for I am a child of nature.

#FOWC. Vacuous

He roamed around the town all the time, always pretending he was on some mission. He liked to think that he was doing important work. The wine bars and coffee shops were his favourite places. He loved to chat with the staff and the owners of the businesses, and they were always pleased to see him. He showed a real interest in them,caring what was happening to them. They knew that they could always tell him anything that was on their minds. Mostly he wore black. That was his professional colour. At least he didn’t have to worry about what colours went together, though he did from time to time chafe at the bit and want to wear something outlandish.

He was very well respected in the town, and it was to him that everyone turned for advice. He seemed to know a lot – in fact he was an expert on many things. Until it came to Sundays, and then the Revd. John Holmes spouted nothng but a load of VACUOUS rubbish


I’ve been thinking a lot recently. And observing. Observing people! I know that a lot of us love people watching. Well I can’t physically see people any more, which is a shame because you often guage people by the expressions on their faces, body language, etc.

I have noticed, over my lifetime that a lot of people blow their own trumpets. Some love to air all the degress they have got or how high up they have got to in life. Others, like me, are dark horses! I am a quiet person, believe it or not! Though I do tend to be a bit life and soul of the party in company, but generally speaking, I am not good at blowing my own trumpet, or anyone else’s for that matrer. I was brought up with, the “A still tongue and a wise head” maxim, i still believe it.

Anyway, having said all of that, i am still writing my book (s). I have virtually finished one and begun another which is a sequel to the first. The first one gives my life story, including how I went through and coped with the cancer that left me blind and in a wheelchair, and the second one is about the spiritual side of how I coped with the cancer, and now the blindness. By spiritual I don’t mean any one kind of spirituality, for there are many, but they all have much in common.

I am enjoying my writing very much indeed even though it does mean that I neglect my blog a little bit at times.

As I am not good at blowing my own or anyone else’s trumpet I will TRY and let you know if and when any of my books become available!
For the moment though, a BIG THANKYOU to all of you who follow my blog. You are SO appreciated.


It was a CRAZY time. Both of us were young and stupid. Well, some might call us stupid. I guess we were. I mean, who would want to VISIT a place like that was?

We wanted a bit of a HOLIDAY. It hadbeen a hard term at University. We needed a break. And so we did it. We went. And now here we are. He hasn’t got one of his arms any more and I lost an eye.


“ I’ve often wondered what it would be like to be an ANIMAL”, said Joe to Sal. “I mean, they say animals never BETRAY you.”

“Yes, you certainly get a lot of DOUBLE talk with humans,” said Sal. “But we’re a bit like a DUET aren’t we. We sing together from the same song sheet, and we have promised to be TOGETHER for ever.”

“Yes, and I am your best FRIEND and you are mine,’ said Joe, looking lovingly at Sal.

“I think I get the GIST of it,” said Sal, laughingly. “At least we can be HONEST with each other and we don’t usually take the HUMP.”

“No, said Joe. And our relationship is certainly not based on LIES.”

“I think we should throw a really good party celebrating our relationship. I mean, we’ve been married for ten years now,” said Sal. “And we can show all those PETTY buggers out there what a real relationship is like.”

“Hmmm,, said Joe, we don’t have to PRETEND anything do we. This is real, and much better than being SINGLE. And if anything does go wrong at least we’re able to say SORRY.”

“Yep. This is all TRUE,” said Sal. It is certainly no STORY.”

“It’s great to be able to TRUST each other like this,” said Joe, starting to hum a little TUNE.

All of a sudden he felt a shove in his back, and the WET beginning to go through his clothes as he descended into the reservoir, and the last thing he heard was a WHISTLE from Sal as she whistled her favourite tune, “Going k Down,” by G3.


The little doodleberries had all got soaking WET. It had been a rainy day in the forest and they were all feeling a bit fed up. They were used to all kinds often weather, and often they would hear the wind WHISTLE in the trees. It was only when it became a storm though, that the little doodleberries got frightened. They were gradually begnning to wander further and further afield and were getting to know a little bit about humand, though they did not know they were called humans. All that they had to do was go to the end of all the trees, over the HUMP on the track that led from where the humans lived to the forest, and down the track and then they could see funny things made of funny things that the humans lived in. It was all very interesting to the doodleberries but they were always glad to get back to the forest and hide under one of the trees. They decided that this was the best place of all.


“I think it is far better to have an ANIMAL than a human,” said Daz to Gloopy as he emptied almost a full box of cornflakes into his bowl, with the result that the floor was now full of cornflakes. Gloopy agreed.

“Those humans are really stupid,” he said. “And you just can’t TRUST them.”

“I know,” said Daz. “They do all sorts of queer things.”

“Well anyway,” said Gloopy. “I am glad that you are my FRIEND.”

#FOWC. Colloquial

It was the hundredth of never. Lots and lots of days had passed since everyone had suddenly lost all their clothes. All sorts of things had happened since then and life was very different to what it had been before. People had formed groups of their own. Society had changed so much. All of these groups spoke in ther own COLLOQUIAL language such that one group often could not understand another. Everything got a little bit complicated. Then someone said that maybe on the hubdred and oneth of never things would change a bit but they didn’t yet know how. It was generally agreed though that it would be a good thing to find their clothes again, or at least make some more. So a plan was drawn up to create lots of clothing factories.



Don’t know why he had to go and do it. Die, I mean. He always did want revenge. All his life he’d been dying – then, he finally went and did it. Shocked us all, he did. Never thought he’d really do it. They were all the same in his family. Never did anything by halves – everything for maximum effect. Take his mother – woke up on Christmas morning, wished them all Happy Christmas, and then – died! Would you ever. She was another one – spent her life dying. When she did it seemed unreal – just like with him. My Dad, I mean.

Well, he just went off to the doctor’s one morning. Not for anything in particular. Never guessed he’d got this up his sleeve. It’s almost as if it was all planned. Only two days before, he’d said to me, “I’m going to die.” Well, tell us some real news, I thought. It’s just one of his games again. Stress, he said it was. Couldn’t take any more, he said. Any more of what?
I wonder how he managed to do it? I mean – it’s not easy to die to order.

The doctor wasn’t especially worried – just said he had a slight heart irregularity, so he was sending him into hospital as a precaution. Knowing my Dad I expect he was pleased as punch. The doctor told him to go home and pack a case; the ambulance would be there within the hour. I can just see him walking home with a spring in his step, dead chuffed. Bet it was the most sprightly he’d walked for years!

Packed his own things. My Mum just let him get on with it. After he’d walked into the ambulance carrying his case, my Mum rubbed her hands together. “Good,” she thought. “Now I can decorate his bedroom.” I didn’t know that until afterwards – but then she told me.

They hadn’t slept together for a long time. Right bone of contention that was. I remember taking him to the library with me one day. Had to get some books for my project on Victorian prostitutes. “I’ve not had sex since your brother was conceived,” he said. Well, my brother was forty two then. Hell of a long time to bear a grudge, I thought. Found it all a bit disgusting really. I didn’t want to know about that. I was driving my car at the time. What a way to trap somebody! I was forced to listen. I couldn’t put him out on the motorway. Motorways brought him out in a cold sweat when he was inside the car. God knows what it would have done if I’d put him outside of it. It might have killed him!

Anyway – next thing my Mum knew was that the consultant was ringing her from the hospital. “Does your husband always slur his speech?” he said.
“Well, not that I’ve noticed,” she said.
“Was he alright during the night?” he said. Well I mean – how could she answer that one? Honesty was the best policy, she thought.
“Oh I don’t know. I don’t sleep with him,” she said.

“We’ve got to do some tests,” the consultant said.
“We think he might have had a slight stroke in the ambulance.” Just like him, my Mum thought. He never could do anything by halves.

Ten days it took him to die. Took us all by surprise. I mean – he didn’t look too bad when we went to see him. Tried to write us messages. All wobbly they were, and in big letters. Wrote the same word over and over again, and then kept pointing to it. Some of the letters were missing. We had to guess what the word was.

He did try to speak – but he couldn’t. That was the first time I’d known him lost for words. He always had something to say on everything. And he always had to be right.
“They think I’ve had a stroke,” we managed to decipher. Well – it couldn’t be too bad if he could get that across.

Never thought he’d die! Silly old bugger. Why didn’t he fight a bit. But no. He’d been waiting for this chance all his life, and he wasn’t going to blow it now.

We did everything to try and make him live. Brought him food. Jam sandwiches. Those were his favourites. We should have known when he wouldn’t even eat them. And then when the Chaplain came in. I mean – my Dad was an atheist. “Don’t let no bloody parsons near me when I’m dead,” he used to say. But there’s no telling what you’ll do when you think you might be about to snuff it. You could see his eyes light up. He put his hand up to him and smiled at him. Wanted to speak to him – well, as much as he could. Maybe he was playing safe. Needed to be on the right side of God if he might be going to meet Him soon!

I’ll never forget one day. He wanted to go to the toilet. Well – what a palava. He could hardly get out of bed. The nurse came and helped him. I could tell he wasn’t really up to it. He was so weak. Why couldn’t they have got him a bedpan, I thought. Why did they force him to walk all that way? I was almost crying. You wouldn’t do that to an animal, I thought.

We sat there, silently. Then, all of a sudden, it happened. We heard a wailing and a shouting. A chill ran through me. It sounded like an animal. There was fear in the voice. And desperation. The wailing got louder. “WHAT THE……” And suddenly I knew. It was my Dad. I began to shake. What the heck is wrong? I thought. I started, as if to go to him. But suddenly there were all nurses there. He’d fallen off the toilet, and was on the floor in a corner behind the door, crying like a baby.

They got him back into bed. “We’re short-staffed,” the nurse said, brightly. “He’s alright.” My eyes looked into hers, screaming at her, “That’s my DAD. That’s my DAD.”

It was all downhill after that. Soon, they moved him into a side room. The blinds were pulled down. We had our privacy. Not that he did. He kept pulling the sheets down, exposing everything. “Eee, Eee,” he said, pointing to his nether regions.
“It’s alright,” we said. “You’ve got a bag.”
We pulled the sheets back over him – but he fought, insisting, “Eee, Eee.”

We couldn’t win. Gave up in the end. Let him lay there with it all hanging out. Wonder if it was the first time my Mum had seen it in forty two years? He started to get agitated. They came and gave him an injection. He calmed down. We knew this was it.

My Mum brought a tape recorder in. Played an Abba tape. He liked Abba. I got hold of his hand and danced at the side of the bed, and sang along. “Let’s have a party, Dad,” I said. He always did love a party.
He looked at me with a look in his eyes that said, “Yes – let’s.” It was as if, for one moment, he forgot he was dying. Seconds later, he fell into a deep sleep. Soon after that, it was all over. He died to the sounds of ‘Dancing Queen.’

My Mum still doesn’t know why he had to go and do it. “He should have fought,” she says, putting her fists up to heaven. Just like he did when she was about to go at the end of visiting time one day. And that about sums it up. They spent their whole lives fighting. Now, my Mum’s bereft. She’s got no-one to fight any more. Gone down to seven stone. Nothing to feed on. She’s fading fast. I’m waiting for the call.


I feel awful because I have not been so present on my blog and on WordPress as usual. This is because I am engrossed in writing my book. I have got 11 chapters done now, and I don’t know how many it is going to end up at, but then I have to edit it and will most likely rewrite some bits or add some in and take some away. I am really enjoying the process but it is very hard work and I have gotten through a few headache pills now though lol. I hope it turns out to have been worth it in the end. I want to get back to my blog a bit more now though.


It was a very hot day and all the doodleberries were frazzled. The heat was a bit too much even for doodleberries. The usually cool forest where they lived was getting hotter and hotter. They were beginning to get really bad tempered and decided to go to the lake that was just beyond the forest, to cool off a bit. When they got there they found that even the water in the lake was no longer cool.

The poor doodleberries didn’t know what to do. They were not used to this at all. Suddenly one of them spied something very unusual just beyond the old tree thatt was near to the lake. It was really hard and oblong shaped, reddish in colour. They did not know what it was or how it had got there. They had never seen such a thing before.

Suddenly the wise old owl app eared. He always seemed to know verthing about everything. He explained that this strange th ing was called a BRICK and that those strange things called humans used them to build houses with. Of course the doodleberries had no idea what houses were and they couldn’t imagine them even when the wise old owl tried to explain them to them. Why would anyo ne want to live in a thing like that when you could live in a beautiful place like a lovely green forest?

The wise old owl told the doodleberries that there were a lot of strange things about humans but that that was a whole other story.


Last night I saw the sun
And knew that it was calling me
It saw me too
Had been waiting
Knowing that this moment would come
It was destined
Long before time began
Even before the world had been born
This place this time
Before all ages this time was waiting
And one day time shall be no more
All will have passed
Even the sun will have gone
But for this moment
The sun is
And it calls me
To the place that was waiting for me


Sitting by the field of ripening corn
Memories of days spent in the sun
When celebrations were for all who worked the land
I heard the wind dance gently in the trees

Memories of days spent in the sun
Tears of sadness stung my sightless eyes
I heard the wind dance gently in the trees
I knew that one day I would dance again

Tears of sadness stung my sightless eyes
Remembering the times when buzzards also danced
I knew that one day I would dance again
Perhaps beyond the veil when life is done

Remembering the time when buzzards danced
The dance of love up high in summer skies
Perhaps beyond the veil when life is done
The endless blue will swallow up my soul

The dance of love high up in summer skies
My memories of love come back to me
The endless blue will swallow up my soul
That day when Something gently calls for me

My memories of love come back to me
But now my time has passed and I am old
That day when Somerhing gently calls for me
Stands waiting at the door the clock now strikes


Slowly my eyes open to the morning
I rub away the memories of yesterday
The new day drops into my vision
I greet it with all that I have within me

I rub away the memories of yesterday
A blank page sits before me
I greet it with all that I have within me
What will my life write today?

A blank page sits before me
White unblemished stain free
What will my life write today?
All creation sits in my fingers

White unblemished stain free
Nothing to tarnish the life in my soul
All creation sits in my fingers
I hold it now with holy awe

Nothing to tarnish the life in my soul
Freedom fills the space that I made
I hold it now with holy awe
Ready to dwell in this sacred space

Freedom fills the space that I made
My wings have grown strong and soon I will fly
I hold them now with holy awe
Poised in anticipation of the flight

My wings have grown strong and soon I will fly
Though the world hangs heavy around my neck
Poised in anticipation of the flight
I break through the barriers make this new space

Though the world hangs heavy around my neck
I’m light as a dewdrop within my soul
Slowly my eyes open to the morning
I rub away the memories of yesterday

DIARY ENTRT – Out of the Shit

Well, all the people who should have arrived on Monday all arrived at once at teatime on Tuesday! The handyman came to get us out of the shit, and our cleaner came to clean up the mess. The handyman started chatting up the cleaner, who is married and has four kids, but he didn’t know that! I just sat back and giggled at it all. It was quite entertaining. And we didn’t need tickets to get into the show either. So now thankfully we are out of the shit – until next time!


This is a Repost, but the image of the mourning dove has stayed with me since my friend in America told me about them. We do not have them here in the U.K. but I wish we did.

The mourning dove cried out one morn
And I cried too in loud lament
Such grief I knew, my heart was torn
The mourning dove cried out one morn
And as I cried I was forlorn
In agony my garments rent
The mourning dove cried out one morn
And I cried too in loud lament

DIARY ENTRY – In the Shit!

We’re in the shit at the moment!

On Saturday morning the handle broke on our toilet cistern! In the old days hubby would have been able to fix it, but not nowadays. He immediately rang our normal handyman who said he could not come until Monday tea time. A rather long time to wait when you’re in the shit!

So, hubby attempted to do a rather flimsy job on it. It just about held! Howevr, we were very worried in case it didn’t hold. The innards of the cistern needed some work doing on them and so we just had to wait.

At 4 o’clock on Monday afternoon hubby received a text from the handyman to say that he was not coming as he had got stuck on another job. I will not use the words we said!

So, hubby rang up almost every handyman and plumber in our town, none of whom would answer. In the end he rang an Emergency Plumber who said they would charge £125 an hour for doing the work! Ahem!

So, we still have a broken sistern and we are in the shit!


He stood there
Phone in hand
Saying he could not love
Unable even to offer
A “Well done”
Discussing decisions
Made long ago
Then in the weariness of life
In old age
She looked over the edge
Into the nothingness of death
And threw herself

#FOWC. Redeem

All of his life he had waited. Nothing had ever touched him before. Emotionless he stared at the water. What was his life worth? Plenty of people had tried to tell him that his life was worth something. He had achieved so much. Umpteen degrees, a brilliant career. But inside he was empty. The one thing he had never known was love. Life seemed meaningless. In just a few moments he could be free. It was in his power to end it all. For just one more moment he stared at water. Then in an instant he found out how to REDEEM himself


These boots are made for walking
Is what she sang
And that’s just what
I’m gonna do
Just walk, walk, walk,
I can walk no more
Until I achieve my goal
Until I have no more anger
Until I can cry no more
Until someone listens
Until someone hears
The voiceless ones
The pain filled ones
The rejected ones
The lepers
The ones we don’t want to kiss
The ones we make fun of
The ones we have to make fun of
They remind us
Of our own vulnerability
And the old truth that
There but for the grace of God go I
I will walk
I will scream
I will cry
I will drive them out of their man mad temples
With whips and cords
Why not?
It is divinely sanctioned

And so
I drive out
The powerful enemies of the oppressed
The hypocrites
The whitewashed temples
Of the most heinous sins of humanity
Let them go,
Let them go,
These whitewashed temples,
These painted cows
These liars
These foes
Let them go
And build
A new creation
A new humanity
Walk, walk, walk
DO it


It was twenty years ago since my Dad died yesterday. I wrote this:-


It feels strange writing about my Dad, for he is the one my mother did not want me to have a relationship with. Even as a small child, she taught me that he was badl. A bad man. He was scorned and derided by her. She scoffed at him, all of the time. He was of no worth to her. Unless he was driving a car that was, and she was in it. Even after his death she was raising her fists to heaven whilst looking at and intermittently stroking the bright red Fiesta parked outside the house, angry because he was no longer able to drive the car and fulfil her needs, or rather, desires. Even when he was on his death bed she had shouted at him to “LIVE,” and “FIGHT.” She had been told that he could not possibly live, and that he had got too much wrong with him. She wasn’t prepared to accept that, though all of their lives together she had said constantly and angrily that she wanted him to DIE. And she would TELL him to die! I do not know why, but my mother was an agent of death, wishing death upon everyone. Family members, friends, acquaintances, and just anybody whom she happened to meet and take a dislike to. And that was most people.

However, upon being told by the hospital Consultant that he would die, she suddenly wanted him to live! She even put her fists up to him then, angry at him for daring to die!

I do not know why my mother did not want me to have a relationship with my Dad. He seemed affable enough to me, and he was very funny. When my sister was born, when I was ten years old, she was a “crying baby.” She NEVER stopped crying and, whilst my mother was totally frazzled by it, my father laughed his head off at my sister, thinking she was wonderful for crying like that. He found it funny, and he used to mimic the advert that was constantly on the television at that time for a toothpaste called Pepsodent. It went like this:

“You’ll wonder where the yellow went when you brush your teeth with Pepsodent,” sung to a very cheery tune. My father used to call my sister “Old Yeller,” after the dog in the film “Old Yeller.” So he used to sing,

“You’ll wonder where Old Yeller went when you fill her bottle with Pepsodent.”

My mother did not laugh! I did! Much to my mother’s disgust!

I think my father, inside himself, was saying, “Whatever have we got here?” when my sister was born and as she grew up, STILL yelling! On his death bed, he looked at my mother and said,

“Look after Yvonne won’t you.” My sister was his favourite. My mother used to say it was because she was like him. Yvonne always used to call my father “Lunatic,” but as she was quite loony too, I guess I would say,

“It takes one to know one.”

As a child, I longed to have a relationship with my Dad. It never really happened though. My mother just made me believe he was a terrible person. I could never understand it, but she indoctrinated me. Something inside me told me that I could not go against her and like him. But he was my father!

I can never forget that my mother did not allow me to like my father, or to allow me to have conversation with him as a child.

I was there at his death bed though. She wasn’t. Well, maybe that is a bit of a lie, as she was for about the last three minutes. It was a Sunday morning. I had been with him most of the night, up until three in the morning, holding his hand (for the first time ever) and stroking his forehead. Then I had gone home to catch some sleep, and I returned to his bedside at 9 o’clock that morning. When I first got there he was conscious, and the nurse told me how she had gone to him to shave him that morning and had said to him,

“Come on Charlie. Let’s have ‘Dancing Queen.’” When we knew he was dying my mother had brought a tape recorder into the hospital and an Abba tape. My father’s eyes had lit up as it started playing “Dancing Queen.” He looked very approving, and I took his hand and said,

“Come on Dad, let’s dance,” and I danced with him at his bedside. That was the closest I had ever been to him. He loved a party, and I wanted to give him one hell of a party at his bedside. He loved to dance too, just like me. The tape was played almost constantly, right up until that last morning. He soon slipped almost into unconsciousness. I continued to hold his hand and stroke his forehead. The last thing that I wanted him to feel was fear. I loved him SO much in those moments. In those moments, when he was in his seventy sixth year, I claimed him as my father for the first time. I was 53 years old. Shortly after that he slipped deeper into unconsciousness, and his breathing changed. I could hardly believe that this was it. I had only just found my father, and oh, how I loved him. But his breathing continued to become slower, and his breaths further apart, so I knew that this really was it. At around midday my mother who had been largely absent, popped her head round the door and announced that she was going to get her dinner in the hospital restaurant. She was totally oblivious to what was happening and I don’t think she really cared.

Very soon things deteriorated even further with my father, and I was saying gently, as I stroked his head,

“It’s alright Dad, it’s alright.”

My mother eventually re-appeared, having satiated her desire for food and she took one look and I shouted at her, kind of silently,

“Where the hell have you been?” She immediately barked back at me,

“Well if you can’t stand it (meaning death) then GET OUT.” And she pushed me out of the room. I leaned on the wall outside my father’s room because my mother had pushed me out at that vital moment. Once again, just as always, she pushed me away from my father, taking complete control of everything. The father whom I had just found and with whom for the first time in my life I had shared tender moments, had been taken away from me. Suddenly a nurse was beside me, pushing me back into the room, saying,

“If you want to be there get back in there NOW.” My mother had no say in it then. The nurse shoved me forcibly right back in the room!

My father had stopped breathing, and a beautiful nurse was taking his pulse with SUCH a beautiful smile on her face, then, suddenly, she said, still smiling comfortingly,

“He’s gone.”

I screamed and fell onto the wall again. The father, whom I had only just found, was gone!


In evening’s breeze You come to me
Caressing my face with tenderness
Cooling the passions that none can see

From all earth’s pain I would be free
And all of my soul’s heaviness
In evening’s breeze You come to me

I sit beside the willow tree
For You to fill my emptiness
Cooling the passions that none can see

I wondered if truly I could be
Given light in my distress
In evening’s breeze You came to me

My soul was healed, together we
Entwined our hearts forever blessed
In evening’s breeze You came to me
Cooling the passions that none can see