The crocus on the frosted green
for six short decades I have seen.
I’ve gathered treasures to my store.
There will not be so many more.
My troubles are not any less,
I still have reason for distress,
and yet I feel my spirits rise.
This sudden light, a sweet surprise,
As spring reveals a summer sky.
Hope returns and does not die.
It’s raining now again today
but I remember yesterday.
I feel the spark of life within.
It trumpets loud – begin, begin!
Like most people (I suspect) I was brought up knowing that there were rules about eating food. One of the rules was not to run your finger round the plate afterwards. Nor should a person sneak out to the kitchen and carefully run their fingers around bowls, saucepans etc.
I grant you that it doesn’t look charming, and ups the risk of getting food on clothes. But at the same time, it’s a manners system that tells us it is preferable to waste food by washing it down the sink, rather than run a finger round the pot and eat what’s there.
Every morsel of food out there exists as a direct consequence of the death of a living being, except perhaps for milk and eggs, where the death of living beings is indirect, but still part of the equation. Anything that had seeds in tends to be the death…
View original post 252 more words
her mind is passed beyond the door
her body, feeble, hovers here
she feels no fear as once before
her life is nothing more than dreams
she seems at peace, i ask no more
I dreamed there were thirteen treasures in Britain, Not the wealth of feudal kings, nor yet their power, No weapons of war, no tools for control. I saw the generous loom Taking but a small handful of threads To warm and clothe a humble back. The log that burns and yet remains. Come […]
so accustomed to hospital corridors,
the creams, gentle blue, pale greens
that define and encompass my days,
the outside world, full of colour, no longer seems real
am i even here?
nothing is clear
the light and the cold and the roads I pass through
are only ways and directions to you
where you lay in your bed speaking strangely
muttering in distant places, one hand in another world
you passed through a door and don’t know it
I watched your determined and turbulent ride
you returned to this other side
i feel sorrow but never show it
you are not really here any more
my heart is an empty void
the well is too deep
i sit here beside you
not who I want to be
not hidden
but partially dead inside
– this waiting is killing me
full moon
high tides
she rides
she survives
her eyes have a twinkle
in touch with her stars
she smiles
and nods to her nurses
seeing their happy amazement
i wait for the turn of the moon
and the next step of her journey
Sitting beside her hospital bed,
Holding her hand as she sleeps,
I close my eyes for a moment,
Tired. Only tired.
Nothing keeps.
I must look as if I am praying.
I wonder if I should,
But before I frame the words,
The answer makes itself heard.
It’s up there, in the title.
It’s the magical word.
I know it.
I hear it all the time.
I submit. I accept.
I bow low.
I follow the path of the flow.
The fairy tales tell of sleeping Princesses,
Awoken by valiant Princes.
All comes aright.
They live long and inherit the Kingdom.
All very predictable,
After so many tellings.
But what of the poor Knight,
So long lost in his constant vigil
And a quest that is never completed?
He thinks he is faced with defeat.
He lays down to sleep,
Alone in a wood,
His tired horse stands drooping beside him.
The things he most trusts,
His sword and his shield,
Are laid down to rust.
He denies them.
He has come to despise them.
The woods have a sparkle.
The dawns silvered shine has a twinkle.
The air sets the leaves all a-tremble.
Soft steps are parting the branches.
Wings like a butterfly flutter.
Larger than life they keep spreading,
Bowing, caressing, enfolding.
When the morning light comes,
Tender and bright,
The fresh morning dew has moistened his lips.
His eyes closed,
Deep in a dream,
He feels the touch of one sweet long kiss.
One kiss.
That’s all it takes.
It’s a kiss that strengthens,
A kiss that inspires,
A kiss that heals and sustains.
He has no more need of his armour.
Now he can arise
And become a true Knight.
Only a true kiss can do this.
