Two for joy

The Fires of Hell are hanging on the washing line,
And I am waiting for it to rain.
I can hear the angels whisper in the cupboard under the stairs.
Life will never be the same again.
If you give them a board they will iron out your soul.
If you lie quite still, they will dig you a hole.
Life is a game of waiting,
of standing in a queue.
Take your ticket........bide your time.
If I could take you, help you, wrap you, condense you
I could keep you, like you were mine.
There is the light, now walk towards it.
No need to be afraid.
The grass and trees are calling out your name.
I am sure the door is open, yours wings just inside.
The pieces left will be tidied up, we will keep playing the game. 


Time passes in a most erratic manner. It will be 3 years tomorrow since my mother died....last year I was sure it was 3 years....like a breath and a lifetime.
I haven't spent much time in the abyss, too frightened by it's enormity to venture in. I have peered in, consequently been debilitated by sobbing and my bed was the safest place to stay.
Most often it's the sense of displacement that overwhelms me, the feeling that what is and always has been is somehow not anymore.
I am lucky, in so many ways, but in this that when I have needed space to cry I have had it, grasped it and embraced it knowing that its ok, more than that, essential.
3 years and life goes on.......tomorrow I will remember......tomorrow I go to a wedding!

One for sorrow

'Today and yesterday I saw one magpie and I can't shake off that feeling of sorrow.

Something sad is going to happen, if not today, then maybe tomorrow.

Making lists to order your mind...........being kind.

                                                            Feel the sun on your face,

                                                            try and remember that place, 

                                                            where you felt happy last, 

                                                            or when you lost that in the past.

                                                            Put the rubbish out,

                                                            Try and get out of bed,

                                                            Always live in the present,

                                                            Never just in your head.

Here and now I feel just fine, but the future is full of uncertainty, something sad is going to happen and I just hope you will be there to look after me.'

Three years ago, almost, my mother died of cancer she was 66.

In the 9 months she was given to live I visited often, most weekends towards the end. During this time my life had an ominous undercurrent to it, I saw symbolism in inane objects, wrote strange words and jumped when the phone rang.

A big black hole opened up in my life when she died and it was too scary even peering into the abyss for fear of falling and losing myself, when my children needed me.

Grief is a journey, one for which there is no guide or map. I am lucky that I can express my feelings through creativity and as such make sense of this unchartered territory.

Untold Story is one of many ways I am travelling through my loss......I know there will never be an end to this journey but I can try to take rest stops on the way, this is one.