A loss of trust

So what then becomes of trust
in the face of self betrayal
is there a way of reconciling
more than one version of oneself
the person who once was
with this new not-so-nice one

Why has time not brought wisdom
or forgiveness, even awareness
having broken with trust
does trust permanently turn it’s face
is there no recompense
or some allowance for redemption

I will put this to one side for now
find a place, some dusty corner
to lay this mirror of introspection
not in denial but in sad defeat
that reconciliation is some way off
but life’s other matters beckon too

Is this it?

And so from a dream world
back to reality
and the reality is
that there is no drama here
only a troubled heart
bruised by my own stupidity

And so a feeling of confusion
this deep unease
I thought I'd resolved
or at least put to one side
treasured without regret
outside my life's usual pattern

I need to learn to listen
not just to hear
and then act anyway
putting you in an impossible position
with nothing to say
that I will willingly hear

And I now think you did try
perhaps too tenderly
to steer me clear
of the danger I myself caused
the damage is done now
and so I worry for your heart

Do you remember telling me once
that women don't break
our strength is like the willow
whose branches bend and sway
the wood is green within
not easily splintered apart

I remember thinking
about re-winding back
to just seconds before
I reacted to what I know believe
was just your attempt to heal
this impossible wound

I guess I mis-understood
in every possible way
in my total astonishment
and wonder at my own response
I lost sight of your intent
and created this interpretation

Thinking you wanted to explore
experience this newness
exhibiting your inherent bravery
which I mistook as your own desire
but here in retrospect
I suspect you were at a loss too

How to stop without causing hurt
trying words here and there
which I heard but didn't
lost as I was in these sensations
never before felt, not even close
but that is no real excuse

For I know better than most
how it feels to be used
to be bent towards anothers' will
so my heart fills with abhorrent shame
at the very possibility
that I could be guilty of such things

But if I don't consider this
as at least conceivable
then I am guilty in turn
of doing what I couldn't bear to do
and although it pains me incredibly
I wonder if this is in fact true.

More thoughts of you

I know why I was thinking about this
re-visiting forbidden thoughts I'd shut away
except they just didn't stay that way
and from forbidden I travelled to suppression
but that didn't work very well either
so I travelled further on towards denial

However adept I become at self delusion
I am still left with the knowledge of you
and however this plays out over time to come
I cannot, will not and don't want to deny this
that you impacted on me so unexpectedly
that I am left here breathless in wonderment

Do you remember me saying some time ago
that I can write words that I just can't say
bound as I am by this all consuming fear
that you ignore and thus help me to discount too
I wonder sometimes if you're playing games
using my inexperience as if I were a novelty toy

If I said such things aloud I would be bereft
because there's no response that you could give
in light of my distrust you'd feel duty bound
to re-assure and thus I somehow betray you too
I wish that I could do as it seems that you can
take it as it is, freely given, freely taken, just free

Does this kind of thing happen for a reason
so many mysteries and so my utter confusion
focuses not on the consequences but on the why
moving beyond repercussions to see if there is more
or less in which case the fallout must be contained
except ... except there's this, how can I describe it

I think of you and it just makes me smile inside
I feel with you in a way my normal life doesn't allow
and yet I must acknowledge some consequences
in living my life with such separateness from others
I am uniquely ill equipped to deal with all this
unable to weigh it's significance in your world

So it is that we're back to the question of games
asking of myself the answer to this uncertainty
at a loss to explain this new duality of desire
when desire itself was hard won in the first place
sullied as it was by the ever present monster
who stalks me even through the barrier of death

But that needn't concern you except I know it does
for in telling you of how it was to be stalked
I risked conferring on you some responsibility
to treat me more gently, and here's the crux
what if it is only me that wants, that desires
and you just haven't the heart to tell me so.

Consequences

I know all about boundaries
truly I do
the lines between right and wrong
the rules that bleach our world
leaching the colour right out of it
I do know about boundaries
right and wrong are writ clear across my soul

I stepped over that line though
without hesitation
without a single second thought
in living so completely in the moment
I lost all sight of the consequences
there's a difference you know
between doing right and going with the flow

I remember something you said about this
that you don't regret it
but that you will if I do
that it was real even though it felt unreal
and still does even in my memory
it seems like a dream event
not something I could've been brave enough to do

Why am I thinking about all this now
many months down the track
I suppose I'm not good at smoothing over
at consigning memories to the archive
where they can sit undisturbed in the dust
I reach and take this one down
from it's high up shelf to look again at me

For this is a me that I don't recognise
who acts without thought
who always puts such store by promises made
and yet breaks one thought to be lifelong
it's like a puzzle and I've lost a piece
the part of me who'd have said no
and preserved the lines between dark and light

It's easier when things are simple I guess
but having done I can't undo
so somehow accommodation must be made
towards the me that breaks these rules
but if I do am I not condoning a repetition
making hidden deals within my soul
persuading myself that lines are just shades of grey

I am not brave, but I know right from wrong
and having done wrong
I can only preserve the illusion of the promise
protecting the status quo with ongoing faith
that even rule breakers can be redeemed
not by unburdening for that burden must be borne
but this new line between truth and not troubles me still

Moments

In that moment there was a sudden silence
senses heightened I listened to your breaths
the change was so rapid and then nothing
seeing you slump and being caught and then held
I am reaching for the phone in the next moment
as you are lowered to the floor, laid out flat

I send out for help even as I make my way to you
I do not remember the words I said from that moment
but I've been told that I appeared totally calm
that I instilled calm determination to act
to do the right things in those next moments
to save what could be salvaged, to at least try

And then more moments as men in green arrive
surrounding you in a huge flurry of activity
as we stand on the side-lines watching, hoping
in the next moment I am thinking of your mother
I am waiting to see what I will have to tell her
I am preparing sad and happy words in my head

I am trying to find a combination that will work
that will give hope without false promise
funny, in all my anticipation of this moment
I somehow completely forgot to envisage this part
where we move beyond helping you to helping yours
and in the next moment I am on the phone again

Talking to a woman I've never met yet feel I know
going through the facts of those few moments
asking if I can come and take her to be with you
finding her on the map but unable to navigate
thankfully you have more friends in this moment
as I am taken to in turn take your mother in

Meeting someone with your eyes but clouded
quelling her worry in a babbling stream of talk
telling me in those next hours the story of you
in those moments I learn of you as a baby
as a boy, as a man, and as a son. I learn you
knowing now what you wouldn't want me to know

I know how you value your dignity and privacy
I've kept my distance not from dislike but respect
knowing your discomfort is disguised with banter
laughing with you, trying to find some ease
and over the years we have found that haven't we?
I wonder if we'll have the chance to laugh again

Your sister arrives and so I take my leave
being taken again to be with your friends
where I explain again the events of those moments
the calm crumbles and I am myself once more
how thankful I am that we thought about that moment
that we planned and acted to give you a chance

I heard this morning that you know where you are
this tells me all I need to know for now
hope surges, the delicious prospect of more
of laughs and some time perhaps even friendship
and when I next see you ... what will I say?
that your friends were with you in that moment.

Farewell to a friend

You say that life changes you
shrugging with a ghost of a smile on your face
and so ends the chat as we begin talking
about the time when the seemingly invincible towers
of your mental strength tumbled into disarray
under the pressure of too many life events
leaving you feeling desolate and so lost

I struggle to understand your gratitude
until you explain that before, friend was a word
bandied about with abandon but without meaning
and that in your desolation came such aloneness
as some fell by the wayside or ran from the wreckage
dawning in you an awareness that friends don't abandon
but that the label is attached too readily at times

So it is that trust having been breached by many
must somehow be re-gained between those few left
and here your generosity of spirit shines through
as you willingly trust, talking of those difficult times
when what seemed like inadequate attempts to help
were valued despite any awkwardness or ineptitude
with hindsight you saw what we couldn't know

That having had your life rent apart completely
you could re-invent what it means to be you
I hesitate to tell you that I prefer the new version
the depth and openness that weren't there before
or rather were there but far below the surface
hidden beneath the ease of superficial chit chat
that no longer appeals and never did to me

It is on this journey that we became friends
leaving behind the trappings of social niceties
to talk of the harder things, the scary edges
that have us perilously close to tumbling down
ever steeper descents into the darkness of despair
of hearing voices not there, of seeing the invisible
and of not knowing how to speak of such things

Gradually though you do learn how to speak
and with it comes the relief of shared burdens
a knowledge that these can be temporary states
from which recovery is possible and even likely
that people change and not always for the worse
what seem right now like the whispers of insanity
might just be warning signs preceding the precipice

Friendship is funny sometimes though isn't it
found in the unlikeliest of places and times
enduring through the transition from old to new
only to be folded up like an old newspaper
and laid down on a park bench in the shade
to be glanced at only in passing by many
as you walk away onto a new path with new friends

My Butterfly Hunter

It's not really the season for butterfly hunting
but I can't say no to such a hopeful face
battered makeshift old net in one hand
large jam jar with perforated lid in the other
a huge confident grin spurs me into action
searching for my old scrappy shoes and hat

Three year olds don't do silence do they
and so a constant stream of chatter ensues
which secret passageway shall we take today
from the kitchen out back to the garden gate
or shall we split and meet by the greenhouse
these things are important in his small world

We decide on the westerly route for this trip
I am keen to instill some sense of direction
a knowledge of the compass points at least
having intrinsically almost no sense of my own
marking by landmarks the trail back home
pointing out the unusual to act as reminders

We skip along the path by newly bare fields
the harvest already in, leaving golden stubble
but along the edges still long tall grasses grow
and it is to the edge that we head net in hand
I am hoping for grasshoppers or maybe a cricket
some small compensation for my butterfly hunter

Can you concentrate like a young child can
his small body so still and yet also so poised
there is gracefulness in children in motion
but there is even more in a child ready to pounce
my small hunter is quiet as only he knows how
stage whispering his progress through the grass

No butterflies to be had or even to be seen
grasshoppers elusive though heard time and again
finally thirst drives us homewards empty-handed
when the chatter turns to where we come from
how does one explain the birds and the bees
to someone already so knowledgeable at three

I needn't have worried for the answer came from him
he comes from the sun, I apparently from the moon
his brother and sister from the clouds or maybe
from the sun like him, mummy and daddy from the sky
granny and gramps from the ocean definitely not the sea
and did I know what happens when we grow up?

Well I was intrigued to learn more as you can imagine
it seems we become grown-ups, then wolves, then tigers
and finally after we've lived in the jungle for many years
we get to go to live in the sky high up above the night
so we can see the sun and the moon at the same time
and that is how it is in the mind of my butterfly hunter.

Knowing

There is some peace in knowing a thing
even if the thing in question is not a good thing
or at least not inherently good or bad
for only our interpretation provides the label
time and perspective change even these

I'd thought there was little harm in my doing
harmless escapism from the reality of now
which over time slowly became a necessity
what was once escape became chain-like
entrancing me, links finally entrapping me

Links that gradually turn a person who knows
into one that has forgotten what knowing means
except you never forget some things do you
thinking is the mental equivalent of bike riding
a provider of rational insight even in trying times

But there is a potential trap even here
pride lurks ever present in the thinkers mind
persuading us that thoughts of such value
provide answers in themselves ... ah yes
but without actions thoughts are meaningless

So although there is some peace in knowing
there is also unease, a pause, a hesitation
where is the effect ... the follow through
what value is there in a thought agreed with
but not acted upon ... stasis is no answer

Fundamentally then this is a form of delay
a case of passive resistance masquerading
as thinking it through, or maybe buying time
to what? ... well, to dance just one more time
or two more times, perhaps even just three ....

Do you see how it goes, thinking like this
it is a part of the lunacy, part of the knowing
part of this strange sadness of letting it go
something that seemed at first to be a friend
but under clear skies shows it's uglier face

A friend no more then, a parting of the ways
acceptance beckons upon our acquiescence
as thought becomes resolve and in turn action
but when a friend has two faces it can be hard
to remember the harsher version of the two

And so it is that reminders must be written
this friend can be nice but only for a short while
the consequences of this friendship are dire
things that feel good are not always good for me
friends that are not friends are in fact enemies.

Under open skies

I walked out onto the plains and stood under the open sky
looking over my shoulder at the fringes of the forest
sensing nothing of it’s sinister interior, it’s dark heart
appearances aren’t everything though are they?
take me for example, to meet me you’d never know
that I am a habitual forest dweller, uneasy on the plains
finding the light too harsh, making me feel exposed
reminding me how I long for the shade, the solitude

Reminding me in turn that the forest draws one in
that the paths all lead to it’s depths, spiralling, circling
taking us away from the people we want so much to be
convincing us somehow that darkness outshines light
without dulled senses this makes absolutely no sense
why then does our internal dialogue argue black is white
why is there such allure to losing any sense of ourselves
is it so hard to live happily under these open skies?

So I sit because standing leaves me vulnerable to walking
and walking right now would lead me back tree-wards
so I hold tight to my legs and then fold them under me
kneeling in an attitude of supplication for I need help
and it is only away from the forest that help can help
I am fortunate in having an intimate knowledge of this
even if knowing is not doing, not knowing is worse
for it’s true that without knowing we do without thinking.

Doing without thinking is the curse of the forest dweller
a habitual need to block out the light of clear thought
without thought for the hurt, pain and problems caused
the forest dweller wends his merry way, oblivious
to his beloved plains lovers, sisters, brothers, others
who don’t understand why anyone would want the dark
when living under open skies is so natural a life
a communion with nature, a communion with one another

Solitude beckons some who would rather not be seen
those doing shameful deceitful self-destructive things
the heart of the forest beckons those and others too
some running from pain, from pasts, from themselves
not all who dwell in the forest want a permanent home
visitors wander into the darkness and then stumble out again
having breathed in their fill of the fetid rotted interior
the attraction is not universal, not a panacea, just a lie

Knowing the nature of the lie should be a potent weapon
isn’t knowledge power, does it not feed the will?
does it depend on how damaged the will has become
can even a broken will be mended, made back whole
by continually bathing it with light and telling it truths
like that the forest is dark but the plains are light
like that living under it’s leaves destroys our very souls
and that kneeling out on the plains is better than that.

A temporary state

Have you ever found yourself in a very dark place
I don't mean one outside the sphere of your influence
but one without the scant comfort of blamelessness
where what is happening is solely a consequence
of action or at least some inaction on your own part

Have you found yourself in such a place as this
where even the walls echo shouts of accusation
this is your own doing ... own doing ... own doing
and candlelight throws flickering shadows of doubt
upon the walls dripping slow tracks of aged tears

I wander among the stalagnites, the stalegtights
I can't remember the difference between these two
but the colours, the blues, the transulscent greens
the channels of deep despair written clear here
beneath the transience of my soft lingering touch

Some places touch you with a sense of such history
a knowledge of ancient damaged broken hearted souls
who wander aimlessly through these hallowed halls
of life's own creation, all those sacred memories
of a time before even the knowledge of time began

Gathering, piled like rustling leaves in a quiet corner
away from the blistering howling then whispering wind
useless is acknowledged knowledge of what should be done
against this self loathing, a raging fire burning bright
consuming will, demeaning any kind of resolution

This is what I mean when I say a very dark place
a desolate destination arrived at by my own hand
and so much the worse for that, for the blame, the shame
of knowing better but allowing this to get the better of me
of a dependance on an addiction unsolved as yet

Smoke and Mirrors

After all it's just smoke and mirrors
scattered thoughts shattered hopes
lost in the tangled twisted branches
found only in the depths of the forest
far from your eyes, from the open skies
almost out of sight of even my own seeing

Why do I wander off the path at all
knowing as I do the danger, the allure
the drawing in to the heart of the forest
where the dappled light has a dark tinge
and the path tapers off to nothingness
leaving me no sense of direction or time

And time is passing in ways not usual
dulled as the canopy hides the setting sun
or the rising moon for I can see neither
as I circle about in the deepening gloom
turning glass into bottle and then into two
with determination to obliterate thought

To run from an awareness of one's self
is a form of madness that takes practice
which is one thing I've had plenty of
arrogant pride in my ability to hide
and indulge again in this wasteful place
back amongst the deceptive lies of my heart

The branches here offer such strange comfort
a seeming embrace, a yielding roughness
a familiar feel of silent recrimination
a smell of rot that reminds me of myself
and returns me to some semblance of sense
seeing clearly despite the inky blackness

That the heart of the forest is heartless
a deep well in which to sink our own despair
thinking that we're leaving ourselves behind
only to catch sight of our own reflection
it seems smoke and mirrors only do so much
fleeing into this heart takes it's own toll

A gloom can seem even darker than it is
the entanglement of branches binding us
and yet this illusion is just more smoke
even reflections can be deceptive at best
this person in the mirror is the lost one
dark eyes speaking wetly into the silence

I have been a forest dweller for too long
wasted many days wandering in the depths
taking myself away from the person that I am
or could be if only I stay under open skies
not hidden away but seeing and being seen
sunrise comes to steal this darkness away

Prayer

How does one find any kind of faith in the hour
of someone else's urgent deepest need
of what benefit are my faithless prayers
said in yearning hope rather than conviction

Is it the futility of hope against the inevitability of fate
or does earnest prayer tip the balance in any way
anyway, I have been re-learning the art of prayer
not hard you might think, after all it's just words

But prayer for me is essentially an act of faith
and faith is something I find I have in short supply
but in the absense of concrete ways to offer help
I resort to applying myself to this simple task

Ambivalent if only because of the deep injustice
of seeing one person bearing the burden of many
of seeing misfortune piling higher each day
eroding hope, despite heroic laughter after tears

Aware once more that lifetimes are so short
when measured against the yardstick of infinity
that my perception of injustice and unfairness
is also my ignorance in the face of omniscience

And so it is that faith flickers on in my soul
enabling entreaty, conferring grace and hope
asking only that the unendurable be lifted
that strength be given to bear what can't be borne

Healing, can I ask this if it's on behalf of another
if I only get one wish it would have to be this
if you can create does it mean you can re-create
actually I don't really mean can you, but will you

Will it be too much to ask that you are where I cannot be
holding her hand and the hands of those she loves
if I cannot be there to share in the fire walk
will you hold them up, provide courage in the flames

Safely guiding them through the darkest of times
binding them tightly to you and to each other
the faint flicker of faith is still alight here in me
so I hold her in my heart as I say another prayer

I could rail against a God who lets this happen
curse him or her all the way to hell and back
... and I have, far too many times to mention
but when I ask on anothers behalf it's different

I made a promise that I would pray every day, so I do
faithfully praying for more faith to pray for miracles
faithfully praying that miracles happen for these few
wishing it with all my might, with all my heart

Renee I love you too. xx Jos

Hope against hope

Sometimes I can't think what to say, what will help

even knowing the way it is when you're stuck there

under the dark clouds, feeling the lethargy, apathy

the hammering of self judgement knocking loudly

telling you repeatedly that you're useless worthless

and any small effort you make will never be enough

If I tell you positive things you might just raise a smile

but fundamentally the change comes from within

so anything I say can only ever have little effect

except to let you know that despite how this feels

despite the deep aloneness that comes with these clouds

you are not alone, I am with you, right beside you

And the reason you can't see me is no reason at all

I am here and you are there but I am also there

in that I have sat or lain under the same dark skies

feeling the hollowness that comes with the wind

numbing my mind, turning me inwards onto myself

blocking my view of the outer world altogether

Oh god and the tiredness, the bone aching exhaustion

of dragging yourself through the bare minimum tasks

of washing dressing eating walking talking ... doing

wading through the treacle of everyday existence

waiting for the chance to climb in under the duvet

hiding in slumber from the wastelands of my life

There will always be that temptation won't there

to take up again the medication that alters temporarily

these bottles with no prescription label, liquid oblivion

taking you away to a place removed from reality

rocking you gently in it's seemingly safe embrace

come the morning the mirror tells it's own tale

Come the morning comes also the terrible knowledge

of an addiction fed once more, the clouds descend

ever closer enveloping, swirling within our nausea

as the self loathing rears up to engulf us once more

the descent seems almost inevitable from this point

is there any spark of hope in this dark soulless place

And so it is that I come to write to you now my friend

to talk once again of the nature of hope against hope

the wisdom I share is not my own, although I own it now

but passed to me in a time of my own deep need

in the safe knowledge that although it might take time

I would should the opportunity arise return the favour

Perhaps hope seems elusive because it is too close to see

is it possible do you think that the answer lies within

if you consider even the remotest chance that I'm right

you might well stumble across a crumb barely recognised

for this crumb born of my distraction is a tiny kernel

from which I'm sure hope might be nurtured to grow

How is it that I know or suspect the answer lies within

do you not remember the day not so very long ago

when you told me that these things pass, always do

three words then two that I took inside and grew

from five words to this, my inadequate gift back to you

in the hope that you will at least find some comfort here

We talked some time ago about a sunny green hillside

a quiet place just beyond the outer edge of the storms

found by plodding face towards the gale force winds

finding strength on strengthless days for just one step

the next day two, my friend these things do pass

steps that might seem aimless lead somewhere else

Somewhere else doesn't sound all that safe does it

ah, but I can't promise a safe haven or sunny hillsides

but I can wish, I can hope, I can wait there for you

if I walk towards you how close will I have to be

before you see me, before you feel a spark of hope

shall we see, can you see me yet ... how about now?

Notes on the cloud room

Before, how did I say the unsayable?
I guess I just didn't, locked it away
found a secret corner in my mind
to tuck things out of sight, out of mind
and now I say them here
except some things.

You asked me recently about some things
why I have a room of clouds locked away
like that secret corner of my mind
where I still tuck some things out of sight
things I can't say where they might be read
I'm glad you don't ask why.

Do you ever feel disgusted with yourself?
like you just shouldn't be allowed
to mix with decent people
living decent lives
and it's not an act for them
they're clean on the inside too.

Well I'm not. Not clean I mean
and no amount of washing or wishing
can ever make it so
and no amount of turning my mind
changes this fundamental belief
that I am an unclean girl ... woman.

There's a look I see sometimes in the mirror
on those days when I almost can't bear
to meet my own eyes there
darkness gathers in my already dark eyes
and I feel the howling gale within
drowning out the sounds of now.

And so what I write in the cloud room
is stuff I just can't say
or bear to have read even by you
and I'm sorry you think I don't trust enough
but if you knew me like I know me
you wouldn't want to know that about me.

The Shoreline

When I first walked here along our shoreline
I didn't realise that so many years on
I'd get used to this, make it my second home
as familiar to me as my own cloudy horizons
and although sometimes I feel quite desperate
trying to catch sight of you amongst the waves
I am learning, very slowly learning to let it be

Knowing that in time you come ashore by choice
and even if it is not solely just to join me
I can still find a measure of joy in your company
for while no one person can be the reason for another
that doesn't mean I don't wish in my secret depths
that I could be more of a reason for you my love
on days like this I feel almost invisible to you

You wander out beyond the surf, beyond my sight
infrequent visits ashore bringing towering rages
and long lonely silences I can find no way to fill
I am just me, just a person, I can not be an anchor
can not be enough reason for you to try harder
family fill my ears with advice, I should do more
force the issue, make you listen to me, my needs.

I don't think I can shout loud enough to be heard
above the surf, the pounding sound of the waves
and even if I could my love, what could I say to you
how can I reach into the heart of your misery
simply to add guilt to your overwhelming despair
if you are struggling to stay afloat treading water
will it not just add to your weight if you hear me.

Are you beyond the range of even the lighthouse now
if I add my light will that act as an extra incentive
and even if you come ashore will I know what to say
it seems that my every word grates on you somehow
justifying your withdrawal from my inane stupidity
leaving me feeling not just alone but cast aside
a reject would-be rescuer sitting here on the shore.

There are days when I feel like walking inland
leaving the shoreline to find a home in the hills
where the trees make sounds not unlike the waves
where the task of climbing gently calms the mind
and looking out from the summit the horizon unfolds
in every direction, a vista of life lived so far
I'd turn to scent the air for salt even here.

A parcel

There is nothing quite like getting a parcel
reminds me of being a child at Christmas time
a mysterious box arriving from so far away
brown paper, strange stamps, shaky handwriting
all of our names written large across the top

Under the tree it would go to sit for weeks
lifted and looked at, shaken time and again
what fabulous item might be hidden within
almost always a book, my very favourite thing
read without fail by close of Boxing Day

And so this morning I chatted to our postie
whilst removing some stamps for her son
there was a tingle of anticipation and delight
fully realised on opening it up, your gift
such amazing pictures, ah and chocolate

Well, you are right of course when you say
that no day is complete without chocolate
breaking off a piece I indulge, savour the taste
as I peruse these photos, reminding me again
that there is so much beauty in the world

And no more so than is found in your heart
I love them, they are stunning, just stunning
and now I have a small glimpse of your world
but I won't tuck them away, no I will share
jealously though, as they so richly deserve.

Your kindness

There is something about kindness
I can endure hardship and hurt
although I can totally understand
why you mightn't think so
but kindness
well kindness undoes me completely
leaves me sitting on the kitchen floor
holding onto the cupboard handles
whilst crashing waves run through
and over and past me.

I don't deserve such thoughtfulness
having not given enough of myself
and yet suddenly there it is
totally unexpectedly
your kindness
I can write words I can't say out loud
sending them on a wing and a prayer
almost trusting in your understanding
that words unspoken aren't the same
as feelings not felt.

Will you recognise yourself here
think perhaps I'm writing of another
that small acts have small impacts
but that isn't really so
with kindness
I wish sometimes I was braver
and better at putting into words
how some things affect me so deeply
that I am left feeling undone
which is no bad thing.

Reflection

There are many ways to be lonely
many ways to hide the fact
that what seems to be isn't
that smiles are easy to manufacture
slipping behind the masquerade
of politeness and joviality

But towards the end of the day
there are moments of reflection
seeing again what lies beneath
an acknowledgement of aloneness
despite the seeming hub-bub
of others comings and goings

I hate the masquerade really
so why do I keep playing
padding out my isolation
this false comfort of companions
who are here only for now
and who don't know me, not really

I am often lonely through and through
though I spend little time alone
or so it would seem
people fill much of my life and time
but this feeling of separation
this loneliness persists

Except with those few, special few
who by trusting win my trust
time spent amongst these friends
is like slipping into old jeans
rambling under the harvest moon
puddle jumping in the rain

I would that there were more friends
but I am losing the knack
of their making somehow
as distance becomes ever greater
and time drives our lives apart
making me a better letter writer

I am so glad you are there
but I'd much rather you were here
in my sight, within touching distance
words on a page don't mean less
but I prefer the immediacy
of the sound of our laughter.

another debacle

You know that phrase
when you are in a hole
stop digging
well there's a problem
I can't always tell you see
that I'm in some hole

So I blithely dig down
in doing so cause hurt
not intentional
but sorrow can't undo it
and words spoken now
will ring hollow in your ears

And what words could I use
I'll only make it worse
cement impressions
add offence to hurt already felt
this hole feels pretty deep
now I realise what I've done

So I'll retire to the fringes
have another look at it
try to figure out
how intelligence and it's counter
can so blindly co-exist
making me hostage to fortune

This clumsiness of mine
gets me in too many scrapes
blundering about
shattering the silence with idiocy
before that dawning realisation
of yet another debacle

Someone once asked of me
what gift I covet most in the world
taller, richer, blue eyes
none of these things appeal
I want to be able to un-say
to undo and rewind to before

I wasn't thinking at all you see
I was just talking about me
I'd no idea of the inference
that could be put on my words
so in judging myself harshly
you feel like I'm also judging you

That's not at all what I meant
and there's that massive hole
gaping wide, waiting
where is a ladder when you need it
would it help at all to tell you
that it's very dark down here.

How goes it

Can I sit with you
by your side
not meeting your eyes
brother can I be here
will you accept my presence

Are the drugs working
do you feel safe
from these memories
walking through this pain
looking only ahead

Why are your eyes dead
where is your spririt
some kind of resistance
I rely on you even now
to lead the way

But why do I do this
you are not strong
I've known it always
hard wired by decree
much loved always by me

If you don't cope well
I needn't either
I can be a child again
ask for protection
curl in upon myself

I needn't even try
I can just give in
let the waves wash over
feel the ebb and flow
momentarily let go

A poor solution

Have you ever
jumped
leaped off the edge
how did it feel
were you scared
were you aware
more alive

Did you stop
at the precipice
look down
see the depths
feel the fear
tingle of excitement
but anyway


Did you jump
a leap of faith
believing
the outer edge
would miss you
leave you falling
into infinity

I heard the call
some nurse
did I know you
was I related
shared history
locked eyes
killing you

I remember
pain unrelenting
hidden deep within
monster moving
rough hands on us
eyes imploring
can we escape

Not then but now
we are bigger
children grown
bodies beyond desire
of despicable urges
adult form without
child still within

I hold your hand
I will you well
I wish you better
and yet, and yet
healing withheld
waves washing over
buoys notwithstanding

I wait for news
white coated men
who keep secrets
from those who care
who wait outside
seeing these movies
reliving this with you

What resolution
some healing somehow
will you accept
a life half lived
a healing half given
a compromise
a poor solution

New love

I have been trying to think of something to say
something that might just conceivably help
the silence lengthens and with it comes anxiety
if I say nothing, if I skirt around the edge of it
take the cowards way out, offer platitudes instead
what will become of friendship if friends do this

This fear you have is hard to express clearly
implicit in your words are echoes of heartbreak
a deep love lost, and now new love just budding
the possibility of lasting happiness after all
is it betrayal? Can you honour a memory still
but live in the present too, live ... laugh ... love

Does it devalue what was if you focus on what is
how does one combine treasuring a memory
with finding joy in these moments with her
can one love forever, but also love again
would she understand, or is there wrath to come
at infinity's door when lives lived are done

As these implicit and explicit questions whirl
I am struck again by the honesty of your love
not easy to win, but once won never lost
as a friend you are a stalwart of loyalty
such depth of feeling was bound to arise
with the advent of this blossoming romance

Life is to be lived, in the fullest way you can
if that means loving again where is the wrong
how can a soul begrudge the living of comfort
and knowing this particular soul as we do
how hard is it to believe that she would smile
knowing her gentle man now is gentling another

Fear is natural but only through expectations
which are raised within and compared against
a losers game involving far too much thinking
not enough following of your inherent instinct
for being close without threat, opening your heart
do you remember how you won your first love?

With quiet walks holding hands, sitting on the wall
talking into the twilight hours of future dreams
pausing to point out the calls of the night owl
and then home for tea and comfort in holding
building hour upon hour a love everlasting
she told me, never had she been held like that

A man that can make a woman feel this way
is a special person, what I'd call a gentle man
and so what I think is that you should do this
find a slow way to woo that keeps the essence
of your gentle style but differs from the first
creating a newness that honours both of you

The pact

How can I tell you, after so many years of silence
might it not shake what we have to it's very core
undermine your belief in us, our sound foundation
can you separate this one thing out from the whole
accept that in all other regards things are good

More than good, that having you here in my life
enriches me beyond anything I ever imagined
my love, when I say I love you it's no small word
it is a form of surrender, a total giving of myself
to the point where I try to give more than I can

And therein lies the problem we come to here
if I tell you that I sometimes dread your touch
that will hurt you in a way I have no right to do
the hurt lies within me, this ancient damage done
years of being taken from make it hard to give

How I wish I could travel back to those early days
I should have told you more, given you reasons
but trust is slowly built and secrets easily kept
the passage of time creates a sacredness in silence
where keeping the pact is an act of faith in itself

That by my silence and continuing endeavour
all will be well, giving will become second nature
but time is passing and the ease is not there
if it were a matter of sheer will, I would
without hesitation I would welcome your touch

I love you my love, I do with my whole heart
will you believe such words, will the years count
faithful committed years, trying always trying
or will it be that if I open this door, let you see
that you will withdraw once more from me

And might that in itself solve the problem
could your absence create the longing not there
I fear not, for you have been long absent before
many months pass at times without touch
whilst you wrestle the dark waves of despair

I ponder this question from time to time
trying to tease out a way forward without hurt
seeing this tangled web of needs as yet un-met
I see trust in us in your eyes and I value that
above any need to break my long kept pact

Ritual blessings

Peace be with you (and also with you)
words from my radio reverberating through
reminding me of so many Sunday masses
of gloriously coloured dresses on men
of parades with candles, song and incense
filling the air with that distinctive smell
smoke drifting past stained glass panes
shepherds and sheep, deep reds and blues

The message buried beneath layers of ritual
standing sitting kneeling in fixed intervals
flipping through our leather bound missal
distracted by pages of ceremonial verse
words never used in my everyday language
epiphany, annunciation, transfiguration
pronouncing them this way and that
trying to find meaning from their sounds

Meanwhile going through the motions
watching the phases of habitual ritual
I caught no inkling of The Maker here
nor even a whisper of The Giver either
just men in robes with candles and smoke
somewhere separate down at the front
by an alter which really any fool could see
was just a big table with fancy tassels on

But one part I can always remember
the lead up to the finish, the final blessing
the main man would stretch out his arms
mirroring the pose on the cross overhead
and in solemn tones after a long pause
would come those sacred words so familiar
"peace be with you", and in my gratitude
an end at last, I'd reply "and also with you"

Outside trooping past the robed old men
shaking damp hands, exchange of smiles
then on to the long walk home in silence
a further continuation of the holy hush
the sky gradually drawing my gaze upwards
watching the clouds scatter white on blue
seeing evidence at last of The Maker there
a hint of The Giver gentle on the breeze

I remember Dad repeating his blessings
a sad tradition after far too much to drink
may the Lord bless you and keep you
may the Lord make his face to shine upon you
and be gracious unto you, may the Lord
turn his face toward you and give you peace
I prefer simply turning my face windwards
whispering to the breeze, peace be with you

Family

There is such comfort to be had laughing with you
sharing a joke and a smile across these many miles
visualising you hanging backwards off your chair
phone tucked neatly under your chin, shirt and tie
how did we become almost proper grown ups now

I look at your photo sometimes, stern upright man
you hate having your picture taken and it shows
so too does the love you have for your daughters
arms resting lightly across their small shoulders
one with your smile, one with your nose and eyes

What few could ever suspect is your humour
gentle teasing escalates to laughter rip roaring
which must make your work colleagues wonder
at this so serious man with the contagious giggle
reserved only for wives, little sisters and daughters

I see you now behind your big desk, corner office
visiting you there is like landing in alien territory
where doors shush closed, and people talk quietly
serious money being dealt through leveraged deals
golf days, I have no clue about what it is you do

But fundamentally I know you, 46 years of knowing
from small children spitting out angry words
to sneaking out to smoke dope on the back porch
watching the moon rise over the maple trees
keeping an ear out for raccoons raiding the garbage

Moving on and then years of not knowing so well
time passing, career building, family making
and then started the phone calls, every few months
then letters interspersed with calls, monthly chats
and onto every other week tea and donut time

You closing the office door, an early morning call
me rushing home from work to make it on time
the phone often ringing just as I walk in the door
sinking into our battered old blue sofa, bare feet
talking to my suited and booted biggest brother

Planning our next gathering, renting big old houses
filling them with laughter and love, happy times
relaxing with three generations of our kin
carbon copies of features seen again and again
softly spoken words on a different back porch

We're holding our family together across the ocean
creating something of the nothingness that was
weaving a web of ties that should always have been
building a bridge over the treacherous past
you bringing the donuts and me bringing the tea

In the end there's something about family though
even one dismembered of some of it's members
a lingering core, a remnant of almost wholeness
a joy in seeing a breaking in the endless cycle
a newer generation now unencumbered and free

The shadows

Can I tell you something
do you want to know
what it was like
have you ever been scared
I mean wet yourself scared
shaking uncontrollably scared
wishing you were dead scared

That's what it was like
making desperate deals with God
promising everlasting goodness
a lifetime in the nunnery
a life of pious prayerfulness
of doing only good deeds
gladly repaying an eternal debt

Didn't fuckin' work though did it
prayers so earnestly prayed
and for what, to what end
did it stop the monster man
hold back his evil desires
no, my prayers did not suffice
and so what became the sacrifice

A life lived amongst the shadows
an endless quest to heal
a hope against hope
that all will eventually be well
that striving is not a waste of time
that prayers might yet yield
a solution, a final way to heal

My memories are hard to deal with
the pictures, sounds, feelings
the shame, which I know shouldn't be
but how do you tell a small girl
that the secrets she keeps are wrong
that the pain she feels is real
she is not quite a woman just yet

I'll tell you what it was like
it was terrifying, knee trembling
want-to-run-away-from-this fying
this man knew what he was doing
knew what he was taking
fumbling with his zipper
such a strange expression dead eyes

And then in and on, thrusting now
but I'm mostly gone into the cloud room
where this can not hurt me
the monster man has his way
whilst I'm gone from this moment
in my own place where I can play
where fear is but a heart beat away

How can I hold that young girl
reach back through time with comfort
saying even monsters die in the end
and when they do it's the time
to put aside forever guilt and shame
learn again to hold tight my gentle man
who hears no whispers in my embrace

Storms

How can I explain this, this slipping
sliding into an old uncomfortable groove
of drowning out the rage, dull ache
slicing through the constructs
built in feeble defence, walls tumbling
ruination, piles of rubble at my feet

I build these structures each time
in forlorn optimistic hope of longevity
that they will hold against the onslaught
withstand the battering at memories door
splintering cracks appearing each time
suffocating images come flooding in

Can I take your hand, will you stand
with me here in the face of such storms
facing this all alone gets so wearing
and yet how to ask for such help
how to admit to my desperate need
can I, dare I, risk rejection yet again

This really is after all my fight alone
I can't build defences based on your help
not that I doubt your honourable intentions
but reliance holds no lasting solution
I must find a path through the morass
a lasting solution, some finality at last

Pointless wishing what might have been
a past free of horrors, to have it unseen
undoing the undo-able is beyond my doing
a way of living with the fallout must be found
that doesn't involve a trip through dependence
through to further stages of addiction

No answer then at the bottom of a bottle
no way to cope with the everyday stuff
I wish ... oh god how I wish, but why
what is the point. I am who I am right now
a survivor, I fought the monster and lost
it seems I'm still losing this battle today.

Sea of tears

I am not sure how it happened really
must have left the back door open
or something like that anyway
looked the other way and didn't see
the sneaky way you have of re-appearing

Turning around and suddenly there you are
and there's fuck all I can do about it
the people who live in our minds
they can't be shown the door so easily
sometimes things just have to be endured

The resurgence of memories not faded
glorious technicolour surround sound
sensational sensations, small girl sounds
big monster man groans, small boy moans
background music, shadows on the wall

Spinning, the movie reel turns, speech
lights, camera, action zooming in on me
small frightened me in my fluffy pyjamas
wanting only an end, a return to my bed
curling tight with my back against the wall

Why are you sitting here in my head
with your bad teeth and beery breath
pipe smoke on your jacket, calloused hands
small dark piercing eyes, glimmer of a smile
plotting new ways to deaden our souls

There is a sea of tears shed by children
old and young subjected to monster men
the moon turns the sea silvery smooth
reflecting the endless sky there on its surface
the sheen barring any sight of the depths

Under the surface lies pain undiminished
an inability to heal the fundamental hurt
of being robbed in a way where recompense
becomes completely meaningless to us
children in grown up shells upon the shore

A troubled young woman

If only I could just figure out a way, I would
I would venture tiptoing into your head space
walk with you through those vaulted echoing halls
looking at all of the changing hanging galleries
taking time to share your thoughts such as they are
I remember so well the intensity of teen years
those changing times with such uncertainty
where much too much changes much too fast

And whilst reading the likes of Nietzsche
may well set you apart from many of your peers
it is not perhaps in the way you surmise
it indicates the bleak desolation of your outlook
well, that coupled with your incessant withdrawal
which is the cause of those worry lines appearing
on the forehead of your mother my friend
if only you knew the deep pain she keeps hiding

The nature of parents is to worry, that's true
and you give some cause with the way you are
so smart, so articulate, so very condescending
of a parent who can not appreciate philosophy
she just wants you to eat and stop hurting yourself
your ideas of the pointlessness of existence
are of little comfort to her as an explanation
if only you knew how much she does understand

You aren't the first person to find relief in pain
a way of gaining control through slicing in
watching the lines appear, turn red with jewels
a silken string, shiny deep coloured hue, calming
quietening the the deafening tumult within
she knows, but I can't tell you anything of that
batting instead ideas of master and slave morality
searching for a chink of light, some small bridge

Any small chance to build some kind of rapport
cutting through the loneliness of a child woman
to reclaim what is left of a childhood shed too soon
Nietzsche says god is dead and that may be so
but you are very much alive despite your fear
that you won't be good, bright, beautiful enough
that measuring up will always remain beyond you
you forget there is no scale for distinctiveness

There is no way of measuring the uniqueness
of your individual worth, but take a look here
look at the love in the faces of your parents
the doubt you have is natural but unfounded
no-one is forcing them to love you as you say
and you can of course keep pushing them away
easier than taking another look at your actions
evaluating again your fears against the reality

I look at your dark eyes skimming all ways
not resting except on your twisting hands
I can almost feel you wishing me from the room
so I pick up my copy of Ecce Homo and leave
coming into the kitchen to find your mother
with her not quite invisible scars, inside and out
shutting yourself away is a natural response
I wish I could tell you her story, what I know

History has an awful way of repeating itself
the scars passing through the generations
the pain weaving itself around each new soul
creating a sense of complete and utter isolation
that subsequent years fail to quite unravel
and so the channels of meaningful communication
are snuffed out by guilt, shame, and denial
a perpetual willing blindness fed by fear

Hopefully nothing dramatic needs to be done
a gentle word or two each day ... drip drip
stoically putting aside ones own needs for now
pulling down the walls, showing vulnerability
and strength, love, hope, purpose in this life
in time healing comes to those who persevere
a mother needs her daughter at such times
perhaps then the healing can run both ways

Rifts

Walking with you has it's own distinct rhythm
there's an ease that closeness brings of course
the knowledge that whatever is said will be OK
and even more precious are the comfortable pauses
the silences that neither of us rush to fill
the swish, the brush of hands, exchange of glances

The talk runs from surface to deep and back again
following each others thoughts with instinctive ease
so many times I could complete your sentences
and I know it is the same way for you too
the depth of such friendship lies in the unspoken
and yet if I could name it, what would I say

I'd say that it's invaluable to have someone close
who knows awkward stuff but never speaks of it
who sees your blind spots and lets you off the hook
or not, when doing so reeks of looming disaster
who is brave enough to risk the hurt of truths
whilst wise enough to gently blunt the sharp edges

Who gives much and confidently expects much in return
knowing that words said can be counted upon
politeness has no currency, is no exchange for meaning
care is taken, not caution which is quite different
but care to say what we mean, what we want or need
and it's OK to be specific, spades are shovels

Even so the art of allusion is deployed at times
there are things we talk of by skirting around the edges
not diving in as the depths look too dark and murky
I can swim, but can I hold you up should the need arise
I wouldn't want to risk it, and I sense your reticence
there are things even the closest needn't know

Do you ever think about the years of our separation
how strange it felt not having you here in my life
there is nothing I have ever done that I regret more
than those moments when we both broke all boundaries
and in doing so nearly shattered something I'd believed
would be everlasting, a cornerstone of both our lives

Despite the hurt caused on both sides we circled
or rather spiralled, for reconcilliation was inevitable
funny how forgiveness is easier to give than accept
and no more so than when both sides are equally guilty
so true that two wrongs make matters far worse
a lesson learnt well, not so well that we don't fight

Mistakes are funny things though aren't they
good and bad can come out of the most unexpected events
and though I regret breaking those barriers long ago
I do find some comfort in knowing that extremities
can be breached, can be repaired, can add knowledge
an awareness of danger at the outer edges of our friendship

Your grin

I got your photo today ... looking good there bro
so much to celebrate in such a simple picture
there's you of course, lounging, ever the cool dude
there's your little boy leaning in, looking up
what's so arresting to me is the sight of your grin
that exact expression has me tumbling back in time
to so many scrapes you talked me into, infallible logic
up against gullibility on a scale rarely seen

I remember the way your arguments were built
the circles and spirals, your utter conviction
that the unworkable could in fact work if only
I'd not just say I believed, but acted upon it
like the time you told me I could fly, defy gravity
with the power of my mind, jump you said and I did
bloody knees, scraped hands, stains on my dress
disbelief, then more rough justice at parental hands

Did that cure me of my incessant gullibility
not by a long chalk, I am given to it still
to the point where friends laughingly tease me
and tell tall tales watching carefully my acceptance
right up to the point where they pull the rug out
slipping it from under my feet, leaving me wondering
where the truth ceased in reality and the lies began
we all know that truths are hidden in such games

And therein lies one of those strange conundrums
gullibility is a surplus of faith in others' goodness
and as such I am quite happy to be guilty as charged
yet despite all this I have this sneaking feeling
that the good outweighs the bad in almost everyone
in other words quite typically I still think I'm right
and the label has unfairly been given a bad name
cynic or gullible one, I know which one I'd choose

And whooshing back from remembering I look at you
at your grin, at your relaxed happy stance, your grin
I keep coming back to it as I smile at you there
feeling again the excitement of unexpected happenings
that any number of disasters never fully cured me of
my willingness to at least try, to give it a go
you instilled in me a sense of adventure that survives
and very occasionally even now defeats my shy reserve

Some days

Some days are good and some are not so great
it's funny how sometimes you know right off
you open your eyes and the sun is shining
the birds are singing the flowers are waving
all the outside things are looking as they should
but inside things are jarring, jumbling

Where is the rhyme and reason in this
why should the sun shine despite the darkness
and why is it so hard to keep the night at bay
with its mumbled murmurings of impending disaster
which create endless cycles of anxiety and doubt
if I look to the sun why see only dark clouds

The answer to this lies beyond my understanding
that much has been clear for many a year
as the clouds roll in and out at will, not mine
but perhaps the will of some universal designer
arbitrarily deciding which souls can withstand what
which are more of Job's ilk and which not

I remember reading of Job in the black leather book
of hearing what an example he was to us all
that faith untested is of little lasting value
but tempered by pain and suffering it becomes gold
what I remember was thinking what an awful thing
that God bet with Satan over the faith of a man

Such omnipotence is beyond me, this I know
and in times of trial there is much comfort
to be had in the many cadenced verses therein
the eloquent description of unceasing despair
the steadfast insistence that there's always hope
but still I am appalled at the nature of the bet

Appalled too at passing judgement in my ignorance
what know I of matters weighty only in infinity
if I can't even plan to negotiate past these clouds
to get from the morning to the evening of a single day
to edge past the seductiveness of doing nothing
to refuse crawling into yet another hibernation

Some days are are full of a sense of foreboding
knowing the clouds are gathering on the horizon
knowing that action in defence is useless
that the clouds come at a time of their own keeping
and disperse again only at an imperceptible signal
from who knows what, and from who knows where

Some days are not in any way like this though
awakening to the reassuring buzz of everyday concerns
turning on my pillow to see my gentle man snoring
padding off to make tea, to look out over the garden
planning, scheduling, juggling time and tasks
I forget to pause and be thankful for some days

My first glimpse of Charlotte

I remember you every day
the awakening knowledge of you
my fear, and yet also joy
a fluttering inside, changing
the flittepy flop of movement

The realisation of you
with your tiny arms and legs
the blurry image of you
your shape upon the screen
your heart pippity papp

I saw you, your bum, your head
your teeny tiny nose
the perfection of your fingers
the sound of your heart beating
your life waiting

Indigestion, the need for a pee
oh god, am I really going to be
a mummy, a parent
a person to be relied upon
are you sure, is it to be

Every night awake feeling movement
an ever growing belly
a tenderness, milk filling
changing shape, making room
a growing excitement, anticipation

Making plans, drawing close
looking at your picture
thinking of all the possibilities
the person you might someday be
loving you, even now

And then pain, a flowing, bleeding
a rush as we try to get help
and then dark blankness, lost time
a holding of hands, a whisper of words
Charlotte is gone, she's an angel now

I try to hold on to that thought
as tight as I can
I search for your mourning
but it's buried deep inside you
a place I'm not allowed to go even now

I have a place like that too
buried deep within my heart
and Charlotte is there
growing, living, dying, transcending
becoming something more

Oh Charlotte I wish you'd been born
been allowed to breathe, to grow
to give me grief on a different level
I'd have waited up on graduation night
I'd have sat through your first heartbreak

Better that than the heartbreak
of losing you before having you
of seeing only a picture on that screen
of never holding you in my arms
of hearing of you from faceless blue suited people

I remember you every day
I think of the girl you might have been
the woman you might have become
the daughter I would have loved
if time had blessed me with your care

I named you Charlotte knowing
that had you grown
I'd always have called you my Charlie
so you could choose to be
blokey or not as the case might be.

The look

There's a certain look that tears at my heart every time
evokes in me a desperate need to reassure, to stand alongside
it's that vulnerable expression speaking of the fear of rejection
a fear so many of us have and one I share wholeheartedly

So when I saw that look recently unexpectedly upon your face
I was torn by a need to keep my distance yet also draw near
you taught me I must learn to conceal my emotions like a weakness
that crying was an activity to be confined to solitary privacy

For too many years you have shown little care for my fears
creating a false note in every interaction, refining the act
and having learnt to act my part I must now shed the mask
show my hand at last, but there is no succour, no triumphalism

However many unresolved issues of anger there are between us
where there is need I feel the need to help, to comfort even
but breaking down the barriers between us, learning a new honesty
I have to say I do find the prospect of doing this quite scary

For I risk that feeling again but with a much increased intensity
knowing I have never been the daughter you would have wished for
never been made of the right stuff, too weak, too emotional
too prone to tears, to saying how I feel, to telling the truth

Perhaps it's easier to tell yourself these things than to see
that we are very similar we two, experience carving the difference
creating the schism ... the mirror is such an uncomfortable place
yet for me there is some comfort in seeing you in my reflection

I have learnt to curb my behaviour when I'm with you, act the part
speak more carefully, choose my words, avoid upset at all costs
but the sands of time are shifting and fracturing the game
we may have to learn new rules, new ways to be around each other

Until I met my gentle man, I had no idea how it felt to be safe
to be cared for, to know that with all my faults I am loved
your withdrawal from all the chaos and hurt during our childhood
left no room for the simple acts of love, a gentle word, a hug

Lost to us in your own world, protecting yourself, shutting us out
I wished I'd known then what I do now about the dark clouds
about the despair and fear you felt, the need for any escape
the deep lasting hurt that even now has such a strong hold on you

Did you think I wouldn't understand, that the passage of years
wouldn't at some stage awaken in me some measure of wisdom
some degree of compassion for a woman in such desperate straits
that survival depended on a willingness to shut everything out

For all we never speak of it, I love you still, as you do me
and I suspect that these shifting sands scare you more than I
to admit to the need for help is a hard thing to learn years on
another part of coming to terms with the late autumn of your life

With age comes fear, bred from seeing your growing undeniable frailty
an understanding that there will soon be the question of dependence
will you be able to depend on a daughter whose faults are clear to see
I wonder if you feel undeserving of care, having cared so little

No that's not right, it's not a lack of care on your part is it?
more an inability to unwind enough to speak this foreign language
a fear that you've left it years too late to start all over again
and that's mostly my fault, I should have never bought into the act

I should have started years ago to show you the person I am now
should have led the way, hugged you, said words despite your unease
caused upset, shown my emotions, taught you this foreign tongue
I should have done everything to stop you having to give me that look.

the turning tide

It has been a bit of a mixed bag these last weeks
some days spent where you're here with me, the next not
but then the tide turns and here you are again smiling
so I try to bury that old resentment and smile back
there's no point in resenting an illness, no point at all
and yet the fact that you refuse to acknowledge the tide
or the length and depth of your absences, it scares me

It speaks of the breadth of the distance between us
what you call being a bit down has lasted some months
relentless days of silence interspersed with raging fury
but when I mention this you deny, refute and anger builds
I'm being over dramatic, trying to make it more than it is
if only I'd leave well alone things would be just fine
it's like an old tune that one, I've heard it many times

The temptation to continually avoid confrontation is huge
but the knowledge that silence makes me complicit in this
drags me almost against my will to suggest discussion
I am met with a hard stare and a trip to the wine rack
a sullen silence ensues as the wine is drunk, one glass
for I am in no mood to dull my senses further, to drown
this has proven to be a false alli in such endeavours

It's pointless having this discussion now the bottle's done
your eyes glaze as you stumble off for more, so I retire
knowing that the new day may bring a change in the tide
may see you on shore wanting to walk in the shallows with me
holding hands, laughing at the spray, enjoying the day
for the tide turns both ways although silence beckons you I know
wrapping you in your inner thoughts far from my knowing.

But I do know that you're emerging, the undertow is less
and whilst you still look wistfully out to sea you stay
more and more days here with me on the shore, warming me
keeping me company, lessening the resentment slowly
rebuilding what we have, reassuring me that you're here
but somehow this seems largely on your terms not mine
a fear of discussion does not seem a sound basis to me.

Timing is so important though don't you find? I do
to avoid things escalating into another towering rage
that leave me feeling frightened and child-like again
not scared in the physical sense although a bit I admit
more this knowledge that things said can't be unsaid
and things heard likewise although I try not to hold these
I try to let go, to give them flight into forgetfulness.

This illness robs us both, though you can't see that
your lack of acknowledgement does not negate the facts
this tide that drags you out to sea is not of my imagining
it is like the dark clouds that come for me sometimes
but I don't deny them, I tell you of their existence
although the telling makes you uncomfortable I need you to know
when the clouds gather I leave unwillingly, but I will return.

I wonder how it would be if I did what you did to me
spent weeks unspeaking, not acknowledging your presence
not washing, rocking, sitting in the dark, drowning nightly
and then daily and nightly, consumption spiralling upwards
and with it withdrawal, an ever increasing distance, coldness
if I did this would you then call it being a little bit down?
I suspect I'd find myself resident at the local funny farm.

And just as I think I've got the hang of this letting go
this shelving of the the resentment caused, there it is
in all it's bitter glory. I hate what this illness does
I hate that it takes you and makes you almost unrecognisable
turns your gentleness into something altogether harsher, harder
as the despair sinks right into the pit of your being
god I'm glad to see you back on shore my love, please stay.

Fun

Shhhh, she might still be sleeping, thump crump fumble, but why?
stage whispering is not a skill learnt at aged three it seems
and neither should it be, freedom of speech being all important
and no more so than when asserting your right to seen and heard
regardless of tender years and we all know this might end in tears
and anyway I can't very well enjoy a visit if I carry on sleeping.

I'm awake I call, for if I rely on my speed to get up they will go
so up comes one of my very favourite small people bearing treasure
a slightly crumpled paper airplane, and it's for me, super duper
it just can't be beat that feeling of receiving a homemade gift
one that's been carried with determination, presented with pride
what can one give in exchange? A cuddle with no hint of a grimace.

And of course admiration as the plane takes flight ... kind of
there is a tendency to spiral and dip, but a fold here and there
a slight straightening up and we're away, luckily it works a treat
and so pride is restored and my young aeronautical engineer is happy
as am I, for a bit of paper plane maintenance is a welcome diversion
to hear laughter, running feet. Three year olds don't walk do they?

And then a spot of tea and cake. Of course this involves soft toys
of which I confess to having a small collection; a rabbit called Fuzzy
a bear called Chomodeley which has a very odd spelling indeed, anyway
there's a small mouse called Harriet, and an orange "thing" called Bug
all these are arrayed for the tea party with plastic plates and cups
and water of course, but only a tiny dribble, floods have been known.

If there is a phrase that three year olds are mostly immune to
it is "be careful" followed by "not now", I try to avoid these two
and almost without fail this leads to mess, floods, splats, smears
but you see I have the supreme luxury of a limited time to endure this
and however shocking, really most mess can be sorted relatively easily
I hide away anything likely to cause stains, I'm not that stupid.

But I'm determined that good times should be allowed whenever possible
with the fewest constraints other than those that safety dictate
for fun is something we've forgotten the value of, busy being adults
and whilst of course we can't play all day every day, we can sometimes
we can shed the shackles of grown-up-ness and rediscover playing
and in doing so we might discover something amazing, we can have fun.

Such a simple word and yet if you pause for a second and ask yourself
when did I last have fun? For too many of us it has been far too long
life is being lived on the run, no time for such simple pleasures
no time for pausing for thought even, well isn't that a bit convenient?
a bit of a get out of jail for free card? I'm too busy leave me alone
how long does a game of tiddlywinks take, do you know? It depends.

time off for napping

It's torn ligaments apparently that's all it is, what a relief, well of sorts
this doctor who looks about fifteen years old helps me down from the table
and whilst I'm standing wavering slightly in my agony she talks of Pilate's
all I'm interested in is effective analgesics, but there are hoops here so I wait
and armed with a mighty cocktail I creep home hand on wall, old lady walking.

And safely home I look at the goodie bag, reminding me of candy at Halloween
I take my first dose of everything prior to reading the contra-indications list
in the end it's all about priorities and pain ranks up there big time at the mo
seems like I could keel over from any one of these meds for too many reasons
so I figure not too worry overly, at least the pain will eventually subside.

So time is passing in a slightly muggy fuzzy daze of drinking tea, dozing
wondering why my incidental eye infection rather than clearing up has flared
so that looking in a mirror I look like my face has gone all squishy and puffy
but at least I can navigate the stairs quite safely, albeit at a snails pace
and the trip to get another cup of tea requires careful planning and a nap.

I am so seldom laid up for any time at all so it's quite a strange experience
a little peak into the lives of people who disappear for months from work
re-appearing completely changed, gaunt, or quite the opposite, but changed
talking more quietly, moving less certainly, thinking perhaps a bit more slowly
and looking out of place, the pack has been shuffled whilst they were away.

And work is like that don't you find? That those who turn up without fail
find themselves being shuffled due to the temporary absence of colleagues
who on their return hold them responsible for not learning to juggle quickly
and in choosing which balls to drop without fail drop the most critical of all
leaving plenty of scope for the blame game, the game apparently no-one plays.

So instead of resting up and enjoying this time away I am worrying about this
for I know my fellow jugglers in this case all too well, and skilled they are not
well, not in the keeping of many things tumbling through the air they're not
they're bloody good at letting it all crash down and pointing fingers elsewhere
I suspect it'll be a shambles. Must ensure I get more nap time in before then.

now he's dead

Are we defined by what we do, or by what is done to us
if we are whole people surely it is at least partly both
so again we come to this matter of balance, of re-alignment
if everything truly has an equal and opposite reaction
there should be an equality in the effect of things done.

So we return to the thorny issue of abuse, and of surviving
of kicking back against what was done, but only to the point
where further kicking achieves little, diminishing returns
and somehow this time has come round and I'm not ready yet
which seems a funny thing to say after nearly forty years.

Having spent less than a year finally facing up to these things
of actually trying to find some form of resolution to all this
to then have the monster up and die on me has left things open
hanging there in a way I've yet to find some way to figure out
how to bring some closure, what kind of a word is that anyway?

And what does it represent? Is closure acceptance, quiescence
since nothing can be done ... nothing can be undone in any way
so should I quiesce? Bow to the inevitable, accept my fate
accept that as damaged goods I must carry this damage within me
I keep hearing these phrases... work around it, live with it.

So waking with a feeling of him on me, inside me, is that OK?
feeling his hands pushing me this way and that, forcing me
forming me, creating his fantasy, destroying me, is that also OK?
and feeling this when my husband has love in mind, wants intimacy
to feel a connection with only me ... not me and my memories.

I know I should stay grounded in the present, breathe in and out
for fucks sake ... haven't I have been breathing my whole life
but not like this ... out with the dread ... in with cleansing hope
I try to suspend my cynicism, I do ... I so want this to be true
that peace can be gained even now, and so I practise my breathing.

Well, and thinking, I really wouldn't be me if I didn't think some
I can almost hear you groaning, but even so, we're nearly done
I read what you wrote about breathing, about cleansing breaths
learning to live in a monster free zone, healing my inner child
it's a big ask. I want to ... far more than you can ever, ever know.

Your faith

You have such a gentle humour it passes me by sometimes
but then other times it niggles through the outer morass
to tickle me for days at a time, the way you see life
the way you can separate the essentials from the rest
your insistence that you're probably talking rubbish.

But you know you aren't, there's no real uncertainty
perhaps a slight lack of confidence a peculiar diffidence
it all adds to the gentleness with which you say things
compels me to listen in a way I seldom find myself doing
peeling back the layers of meaning to discover the core.

Can you imagine having The Givers power? ... a deep well
and trawling the depths of such questions can't be rushed
so you sit quietly, your head to one side, looking at me
I can see by your smile that you think I'll have no answer
and whilst answers are not at all what I have I still reply.

The Giver features quite a lot in my thoughts, always has
since those long ago days when I called out for help
but none arrived, repetitions, petitions, promises to be good
there was no end to those early negotiations and pleadings
I concluded that The Giver must be deaf because I wasn't good.

It never occurred to me that the lack of any response
was due to the absence of The Giver, I was so very sure
that if I could only find the right promise and keep it
could find the right way to be good then I'd be answered
that The Giver would then come and whisk the monster man away.

So I have come to realise that the rage runs both ways
towards The Giver for leaving me to deal with monsters alone
towards myself for not being good enough to elicit help
... how else to explain to such a young mind that absence
the allowance of unutterable deeds done far from prying eyes.

If I had that over-arching power? I'd use it to re-shape
to go inside the minds of monsters of all kinds to re-wire
to make whole all those fractured tortured twisted parts
I'd go inside the bodies of those inflicted with illness
reclaiming all the damaged cells, making right what's wrong.

I can feel the possibilities spinning through my mind
an endless list of needs ... an endless list of neediness
would I feel overwhelmed, would I balance needs differently
if The Giver is also The Creator does her heart not bleed
does she not despair at the sight of such bitter desolation.

You smile your pensive smile, your faith shines even now
I would never presume to question something of such value
faith is an intrinsic part of what makes you so unique
in my experience you don't just believe it, you live it
if all believers were like you, would I, could I believe?

I just might you know, might find it somewhere in my heart
to forgive a Giver who can bear to allow the unallowable
balancing the present against the vastness of all eternity
throwing the present to one side, disregarding it altogether
forgiveness in exchange for the forgiveness of my many sins.

What you want for me is what you have, I know that too
I do not mistake your generous spirit despite how we differ
you are an ambassador of a faith I may never subscribe to
but I would never shut that door though, not completely
faith may yet one of these days steal into this old soul.

dark clouds

That's the problem with feeling like a waste of space
these feelings of worthlessness follow no rationale
they are not easily confronted in such a weakened state
and of course weakness comes from far too much drowning
too much dulling of the present so as to avoid the past.

It does seem an endless loop of making a little progress
only to slip back, feeling the strength of the undertow
giving in to the tidal force, being swept out of my depth
and even seeing the shore receding doesn't matter enough
to make me want to ... even try to swim. I want to be lost.

I want to disappear and become the nothing I feel I am
and the strength of this wanting is quite scary in a way
the handholds I rely on seem less certain at times like this
the things I've learnt about positive thinking seem puerile
the dark clouds gather and some part of me welcomes them.

For this is familiar territory to me, a known landscape
of featureless days followed by stretches of sleeplessness
where my minor concerns grow to huge, massive proportions
in those long lonely hours between the darkness and light
where sleep descends but too late, a new day must be borne.

The gradual weakening escalates further with the continuance
of what-he-did dreams making nightmares seem like child's play
and which leave me shaking in damp sheets come the cool dawn
when I try to gather some semblance of the normal facade
something to hide the distress, attempt to keep it all at bay.

Where the dark clouds come from I can't really say for sure
but even seeing them building I haven't yet found a way
to run away towards the sunshine, I can't sense the direction
I can't turn the right way, when turning I see only clouds
anyway I don't have the energy to run so I lie down and wait.

In the background is this relentless feeling of not rightness
and even on the sunny days there is an element of it there
but in the darker days and nights it feels an inevitability
that this pattern will never really be broken regardless of me
so hopelessness descends to keep company with worthlessness.

All seems dark and bleak, if I trust my feelings here I'll stay
and this is where feelings are not to be given free reign
this is when choice becomes such a potent weapon against despair
if only one can work up the tiniest spark of the energy needed
to light that small flame of hope, of patience, of perseverance.

The dark clouds can be pushed back, they do not have to engulf me
or if they do, I don't have to do nothing, I needn't submit
despite the lure of slipping once more into that inky black water
I do have choices, there are things I can and must try to do
and there it is .. that spark .. the very essence of my struggle.

kissing you

I didn't know that being kissed could feel like that
or that kissing you back would feel even more so
I didn't know I had such intense feelings within me
and yet I did wonder at times what you had in mind
but this deep fear of intimacy takes all its forms in me
I would never have dared to without a drink drunk
I would never have dared at all if you hadn't first
You are the brave one, the thrill seeker of us two
I am the plodder, the thinker, the boring slow one.

I often wonder at your patient forbearance with me
why stick with a friendship you get so little out of
you are not fooling me with the "my life is so dull"
nothing is duller than someone who takes without giving
how did we get to a place where you are the giver anyway
is it safer for you if the trust runs more one way
does it allow you the grace of not thinking too much
I know you get fed up with me thinking the whole time
you want me to break free, be me, whoever that might be.

I'm not brave, I'm not really a grown up at all you see
I can put up a decent show of it at work, with these men
where pretending is so easy to do, everyone is complicit
in the everything's fine thank you game, we play it daily
but however fine I feel in this moment that can change
suddenly and with almost no warning signs I'll be gone
triggered by the turn of a head, a suggestion of a smile
a flick of a hand, an adjustment of position, so many things
staying grounded here now is a constant challenge you see.

What has this to do with kissing ... I see I have meandered
from the delicious memory of you, your face, your sighs
never in my life have I been the cause of another's sighs
it awoke in me a response I didn't know was even possible
and left me feeling a conflicting sense of wonder and woe
for I know that this can not be repeated, it must be lost
packed away in the cloud room where only daydreams go
where only I can know of the broken promises lying therein
I can feel you still, the softness of your skin, the glow.

It scares me because it calls into question my nature
in my inexperience this has an altogether different feel
despite my fear of being close I want to be close to you
and because I tremble you pause take time to re-assure
yet in the next second you astonish me with new sensations
a feeling that all things are possible in these moments
if I can just stay here ... in these moments with you
holding back my fear I give in to this, this sweetest embrace
I would again if the situation arose, should you so desire.

disagreement

You tell me that my approach is too academic, too intellectual
what? ... me? are you having a laugh here at my expense maybe?
I look over our exchanges of ideas and I can see your view
where you are direct and to the point I try to draw analogies
trying to find a way of agreeing to disagree, avoiding conflict.

Then accusations are thrown, not from my side, not intentionally
but there's a misunderstanding of our fundamentals, our differences
I strongly abhor the results of intolerance, you see no danger
you think you are right and have confidence, arrogance in a way
your attack stings .. gives me pause for thought, am I so wrong?

You say you speak from the heart from the wealth of your experience
I say there are dangers in using solely our own world view
that we paint our own mental pictures to validate such views
but that doesn't make them true, is that so hard to understand
that truth is not in every single situation an absolute thing.

You say that I speak not from the heart but from dusty books
that my insistence on using such knowledge gained is unfeeling
that by not trusting my instincts I am missing the vital core
and I do agree that there is that risk, I believe it's true
but collective knowledge and experience must count too surely.

Where I believe that tolerance patience forbearance are the key
you tell me that straight talking does a hell of a lot more
you say my approach allows, almost advocates self indulgence
and I see your point, I do, but I have to disagree to some degree
however much you think I'm just being stubborn let me just say.

Respecting an individual involves respecting their right to choose
allowing for this requires us to give space, patience and tolerance
whilst the process of respect involves allowing for other choices
choices we would never have made for ourselves in such situations
but our journeys may yet still at some point coalesce in resolution.

I hate confrontation I really do, but I won't be bullied by you
I will stand up for what I believe is true, I will be counted
alongside people who are being subjected to such intolerance
but how to do this without causing massive offence again to you
is it really beyond us to work towards a compromise understanding?

same old same old

I've been visiting that hard dark old place again
you know the one .. the muddled fuzzled one
the place that too much drowning takes you to
and once there, shutting the door softly you sit
gazing inwards and backwards, same old same old.

Holding on to the glass, watching the level drop
and with it your own spirits plummet lower still
you know you are doing again what you shouldn't
but the web of dependance is such that some days
it translates through warped thinking into wanting.

The wanting builds as the days of giving in pass
they start piling up as the mind and body weaken
as progressive drownings take their inevitable toll
and yet despite the bleakness, the deepening gloom
there's such familiarity here so the way out is clear.

It's right there in front of me, just a step away
and part of that first step is this ... this writing
acknowledging once again that there are things I can do
decisions made in bleak times can kick-start resolve
resolve leads to action, leads in turn to redemption.

All too easy to say in the cold light of a new day
hours until the time that siren call will be heard
but a start must be made even so, and so I choose now
no drowning for today, today is for swimming, floating
taking back the reins, closing that old familiar door.

A weekend breakfast

When you crawled into bed beside me early this morning
you were about as surreptitious as a gigantic elephant
it made me laugh that you were so surprised when I woke up
to tickle you and make you squeal, hopping down again
I whisper, go and get your brother let's all have a play
since I'm awake anyway and it's just about getting light.

I can hear my brother-in-law snoring when the door opens
and two wide grins appear, and so a new day begins here
with laughter and hugs, squishing three to a single bed
which is perfectly possible as long as everyone holds on
or rather if I hold on to these two small squirming bodies
which is not that easy when we are all laughing like hyenas.

Tumbling onto the floor totally out of breath to be found
in a heap by a very sleepy and not overly pleased parent
so I make shame faced .. well kind of shame faced excuses
but my semi, not quite straight face is not to be trusted
to be fair poker is not my game and joy will not be held in
so I agree that we'll go downstairs now and play quietly.

So off we go down the stairs with much smothered giggling
when breakfast is suggested by hopeful young appetites
into the kitchen we stroll, shutting the door very softly
a quick look in the larder yields the makings of pancakes
with over an hour til "real" breakfast we have time to kill
and cooking really is just the perfect activity for three.

One person for reading from the Big Cook Little Cook book
one person getting stuff out and measuring to instructions
and one mixing and stirring, making a humongous big mess
which we will have to clear up before the grown ups appear
oh, and I'm in charge of removing egg shell fragments too
that takes a special skill only given to those over the hill.

Then there's heating until smoking and flipping which I do
aided and abetted by a lively cheering, clearing up squad
who do far more cheering than clearing up, which is fair
as it's another thing specifically suited to my set of skills
once the pile of pancakes are safely stacked in the microwave
when we've de-floured, de-egged, de-milkified the cheery boys.

A thumping can then be heard overhead so number two dashes up
taking orders for tea in bed, the clearing up isn't done yet
a massive amount of headless chicken-like rushing about ensues
with flour being suddenly accidentally tipped over everywhere
queue mum coming to have a quiet word about quietening down
I can't hear you I yell as we pale ghosts fall about laughing.

my step father

I have a wonderful father whose name is not Dad
I didn't meet him until my late teenage years
when he met, then dated and finally married my mother
joining two different families to become almost one.

I gained a new little brother, a big brother too
and a new sister making quite a crowd in the new house
I was stonked by all this, it was really such good news
seeing love at home, their home for I had left already.

But coming home on weekends and holidays still
and getting to know this man who had won mum's heart
over late night chats with the others gone to bed
I found unexpected friendship in the midst of change.

Years have passed since those long late night chats
and yet we ocassionally still indulge when we can
you tell me of dreams that you've never fulfilled
and how empty old age is with all its aches and pains.

And the feeling that everyone has no time for you now
to just sit and look out at the garden drinking tea
and the sad truth is that I don't have much time
to fill the empty hours you are faced with each day.

But I will make more effort to be here more often
taking time to spend with you has never been a burden
perhaps I haven't made my feelings plain enough to see
but you are much more than just a step father to me.

Who was it taught me to mend old ripped oil paintings
to use plaster and gold leaf on sculptured gilt frames
to build a wall with studwork and beams, to lay carpet
to hang signs, to re-upholster a sagging old chair.

Who was it who sat for hours on the river bank with me
talking through how to create water flow onto canvas
who taught me to write poetry, who was that then
did you think that I would or that I could ever forget.

You taught me to look at paintings with my heart
to use feelings in a new way to gain an understanding
that what rages in others hearts can be expressed there
in short strokes, in vibrant colour, in dark rolling skies.

Trips to galleries that's what we must find time to do
for sitting here in your old arm chair isn't much fun
I don't mind walking slow, I can help with the stairs
I'm sure you have much to teach me from the old masters.

Yes I know about the need to plan carefully for trips out
ensuring level ground, close parking, trips to the loo
a nearby pub with decent real ale, a secret to be kept
shall we set off then, are you ready to have an adventure.

nothing

I didn't recognise myself in the photos you sent
I've never seen quite that expression on my own face
it was the same on the face of my bother, same eyes wide
same vacantness, same grim forebearance of pain

I look at the girl who was me holding his hand
with absolutely no understanding of that hurtful desire
which was inside people who should not look so normal
it was my undoing, a part of me is stuck there

Stuck in the never ending loop of their doing
it makes me not want to ... well not want to be here
what was done long ago makes me want to be nothing
and I am really, in the overall scheme of things

Except I'm not, for I am a loved person now
and since that's true there's something worth it here
worth pushing on through the treacle of the dark days
to enjoy once again the sunshine when it comes

Sending those photos was a low thing to do
I was wondering, trying to anticpate your next move
and seeing your writing there on the letter you sent me
I knew I shouldn't have opened it, I was right

I put them in the fire burning up, making smoke
no-one here which is a good thing as I need solitude
time to shed yet more tears over a parent who sends hurt
creating children out of adults and the other way

A father, it should be such a simple thing to be
an easy relationship involving laughter, love, safety
a port of call to be sought out when life seems harsh
not you though, always were quite the individual.

missing her

You miss her because she is gone
she won't be coming back ever
and the finality is just brutal
for your love didn't just stop
when she did, when she died
you love her still I can tell
and telling you that you're OK
that these things take some time
when you say it's now three years.

It doesn't seem that long ago
since holding that frail hand
talking of hopeful things as if
but she went along with it too
easing us into the idea of it
of a time ahead without her here
and here we are still missing her
holding back tears until later
sparing each other that sight

Or we would've except we didn't
seeing the fullness in your eyes
and taking your hand we leave
to walk under the trees nearby
a few minutes away from everyone
moments to honour her memory
a much loved friend, a dead wife
a wonderful remarkable woman
who did the impossible it seems.

She it was took your broken heart
and made it completely whole again
healed a wound so deep inside you
that few were trusted to know of it
her kindness was really your undoing
for there was such fire in her too
she was the real deal that one
a mender, a giver, a taker too
until she herself was taken away.

Leaving you with such emptiness
with plodding through dull days
in turn marking time, waiting
without really knowing in any sense
what it is you're waiting for
you can't readily describe it
the daily realisation of absense
of others togetherness all around
where now even hand holding hurts.

If I could impart healing I would
I would recall her from death
re-instate her into all our lives
but especially yours, I miss her
but my heart doesn't break
at each awakening, each new day
this grief is hard to express
when people keep inferring somehow
you should've gotten over it by now.

Some people move on quicker I guess
but surely it's individual
reliant on so many factors
to have waited so long to trust
never believing it would happen
not trusting at first even then
even with her standing there
putting her heart on the line
yes of course you still miss her.

a nap

So what is going on right now then
thoughts are whirring through my head
rock's blaring from the sound system
the wine is open, husband's passed out
looking like an old man lying there
on our very ancient faded blue sofa.

I'm looking at a video of The Band
they're looking very young, very fit
if you know what I mean by that
thin scarf jauntily hung from his neck
cigarette hanging from his lip
he talks of stealing food of starving.

Of strolling on into a Wallmart somewhere
and stuffing sausages into his pocket
and walking back out with bread rolls
to make an impromptu picnic there
in the back of some rickety old bus
in an anonymous car park in the USA.

Touring might seem quite glamorous
until you've been starving out there
far from home, living on the dream
trying to break into the industry
making a big name for yourselves
becoming the famous ones some day.

But don't you sense the emptiness
the lack of a true grounding
like something has passed them by
a meaning that remains elusive
a feeling there's something missing
the core of what this is all about.

It's a circular argument, a recursion
a dream within a dream, a wish perhaps
a hope to hang on to in bleak times
an acknowledgement of the void
but hope springs eternal, and youth
which seems everlasting at the time.

But which is in fact so ephemeral
temporarily granted to the almost mature
until wisdom can overtake us with age
it tells us what exactly, that we're old
a glance in the mirror is sufficient
a look at my gentle man confirms it.

And that's what makes me smile again
the lines on his face speaking to me
of our history, of our shared past
for these lines are something we share
they came upon us whilst we were together
binding us in a shared remembering.

When you wake eventually you look for me
I am your anchor in life's stormy seas
and you are too, well you are for me
I say hello my love don't worry I'm here
and smiling into your face so familiar
my kind gentle man who's still young to me.

time off

I'm looking at four days off
four days to fill with what
with waking in silence again
walking through each day alone
finding things to do without you.

Four days is enough time isn't it
enough to do something useful
must try to decide now though
before I'm totally overtaken
by all the gloom at home with you.

It's been a while since I played
well anything at all really
might try that beautiful Satie piece
fill the void with melodies
talk to myself through the notes.

I should be glad of the time off
all around me are happy people
anticipating their own festivities
I'll be coming home to silence
a slipping back again from you.

But not this afternoon at least
for I've eggs to dip in chocolate
boys who would happily dip in there too
smearing fingerprints everywhere
licking, laughing, kind of helping.

No not kind of, actually helping
really and truly keeping me sane
offering solace without even knowing it
accepting that I'm here again
so let's have some fun then auntie.

I have sources of joy in my life
it's just I keep on forgetting
getting caught up in the negative spiral
when all the turning I need to do
is just away from myself for a bit.

a call

And then like a bolt out of the blue you call me
as if everything wasn't finished that last time
I'm pretty sure I made myself abundantly clear
are there so many ways to understand a word
a word as simple as no, not in a million years.

Your voice on the phone betrays that you know
that this is not what we agreed, nothing like it
and yet you think you can persuade me now
that the passage of time will have softened me
how little you know, and how much you took.

You took someone I love better than own my life
then over years you belittled and betrayed her
took the shining optimism, the strength, the joy
and snuffed it out through your need to control
and giving her a daughter wasn't fair exchange.

Although by extension as I love the mother so too
do I love the daughter, she who holds the spirit
of the mother I once knew, and will once again
for the damage is not as deep as first it seemed
she has an unquenchable light, a fighters heart.

I listen to your voice as you attempt to find words
that will break down the wall of silence I put up
But I'm not my sister, I feel no compulsion to reply
to waste breath, to waste emotional energy on you
your threats have no impact, little meaning to me.

For I haven't been subject to many years of you
leaning on me, dragging me down, pulling me under
you have this insistence that you are the victim
that this is all a misinterpretation of your needs
don't you get it? Your needs mean nothing to me.

Let me make it plain. I have no time for you
I have no intention of ever meeting with you
the day you left our lives was a happy one for me
the only sadness was on the face of your girl
who is very much her own person now, not yours.

You throw her well-being at me like a weapon
knowing that my commitment to her lasts
remember when you failed her I stepped in
for love and stability are far more important
than any rights you demanded in exchange.

I'm not interested in helping you re-establish
a foothold in their lives, not despite you, no
but because the potential for harm is so real
so very present still, I can hear it in your voice
that edge of command, of violence, good-bye.

a work day episode

People are looking puzzled when speaking to me
and I know what it is, I sense my withdrawal
from my sense of then re-connecting with now
but I feel this crushing anxiety building up
awful shaking, images start gearing up so I leave
and rushing down the corridor I get to the Ladies.

I lock myself into a cubicle shaking, weeping
hoping that I am alone for I forget to check
in my rush for privacy how stupid that was of me
but he's here inside my head doing those things
I can feel it happening even whilst I wrestle
to get back to the present, back to right now.

I remember what I was taught so I try to breathe
I try to keep the breath coming in and out, and in
calming, quietening my panic, the shaking subsides
and as I quieten and listen I realise I'm alone
it's OK no-one is there, so few women here anyway
I wonder how to go back to the meeting after this.

As it's all men I could says it's ladies problems
a handy excuse I have never yet found a use for
but the teasing would be unbearable after that
it's the same for anything making them uncomfortable
bloody women I hear them mutter, silly, stupid cow
all lads together then, it's to be expected I suppose.

It's the least of my worries really but offers focus
a distraction from the aftermath of another episode
Breathing, must remember breathing, start that earlier
I can feel the tension lessening the fear receding
time to get a grip, to face the music once again
smiling is so hard to do some days don't you find?

hurt

Do you think one can really heal from deep hurt
in which case what form does true healing take
is it possible to make whole what was broken,
because when a person breaks it's on the inside
although there are sometimes outward signs too
if you know where to look ... or rather how to.

Talking to you about this some time ago now
I remember thinking that you would turn away
that such pain is too difficult to respond to
and yet you used such simple language
knew the word hurt would be easier to cope with
much gentler and yet still contains the core of it.

Hurt is exactly the word a child uses, I used it
and looking back I see that it was too gentle
"he hurt me" could be anything from a scratch
to what it was instead, which was so much more
and that hurt was planted deep into my soul
so deep that trying now to dig it out hurts too.

If I leave it instead, will it eventually heal over
is this digging perhaps the wrong thing to do
let sleeping dogs lie, forget, put it behind me
except I keep turning around and there it is
it doesn't go away through simply ignoring it
it roars back into my dreams day and night.

It robs me of a sense of myself here and now
drags me back there over and over again
and breathing can only do so much to help
it calms me, it gives me space to hold myself
reminding me that I am here and not there
which sounds stupid until you've been there.

Sleep, oh god elusive rest free from all this
but sleep brings tossing and thrashing about
upsetting my gentle man who doesn't understand
that nightmares are not only for children
but for people re-visiting long ago haunts
where monsters lurk and do such dark deeds.

This won't last of course, it will ease again
the intensity and frequency will gradually fade
it will once again form the background hum
like white noise machines found in some places
where normally you can just ignore them except
once you notice, the hum seems like a roar.

And mostly that has been what it's like
an ever present hum in the back of my mind
a knowledge that this isn't going away ever
so an accomodation must somehow be made
a way of living and knowing but still living
a way of knowing and yet it being OK to know.

You ask why I can't just forget about all this
why cling to the past with such determination
and it shocks me to think that you might be right
that this is my doing, or perhaps my undoing
that I am actually causing this hurt to myself
by not disciplining myself to focus elsewhere.

And you know, you may just have a point there
there may be an element of self inflicted harm
of failing to do more to heal myself and move on
yes that might indeed be true and I'll take time
to think about that, see if I can bear to believe it
see if it holds the key to some final resolution.

The dollhouse maker

I like what you said ... about peering into my soul
it brings us even closer in a way don't you think?
the fact that there are many things only we know
trust between us is absolute, a thing I depend upon.
I remember you saying about being a listening angel
and about wanting to be the same thing for me too.

Do you not still trust in the depth of that feeling
do you think the distance makes so much difference
was it not that very distance that helped us at first
to open our hearts, to take such incredible risks
and who could have ever foreseen the consequences
the discovery of such compassion, a kindred spirit.

Which brings me to your most recent letter my friend
and those first few lines, which spoke from your heart
well they tore at me, woke me up, made me think of you
and of our abiding trust, our willingness to say truths
that might be hard to do with anyone else, but not you
for you are brave enough to make yourself vulnerable.

You showed me how to do this, you pointed out the way
and I love you for it, as I do for so many other things
and I feel the same as I did all along, nothing's changed
you are still someone I'd trust with my deepest fears
you are still someone I escape to too, my dear friend
a friend in the midst of all this faceless internet age.

I read our early outpourings too. I see your heart there
I see the person you were and are and still yet will be
and I see how friendships based on such knowledge
can never fade, despite the lengthening intervals
between our letters. Never fear, should you need me
I'll always strive to be here. A listening angel again.

I don't know how set a value on what we share
I don't think there is a scale to which I can compare
and the beauty is that this carries on through life
I know you are there, know too that I am always here
and that one of these days, I might even be there
to have a good look at that new dollhouse of yours.

you know

The words you wrote are just perfect
they say as much as any gift, more
for you send your thoughts and wishes
and you put yourself inside my head
seeing the strange mixture of emotions
feeling the fleeting elation, the dark edge.

Your words are there when I wake up
right there when dark thoughts descend
reminding me of the value of friendship
of your kind thoughtfulness and care
filling myself with breath like you said
and out with the darkness, until it's gone.

And you know, I think there will be
a time coming when the dark thoughts
recede and are put back in that box
it will be just as you said, thank you
well for everything really, your time
your listening ear, your huge heart.

We laugh a lot we two and I love that
the freedom to giggle and to be silly
to lark about and still be comfortable
so sometimes I might forget to tell you
just how bloody marvelous you truly are
I'll shuffle, look at my feet, but you know.

making a start

April has just got to be my favourite month here in England

there is beauty everywhere you look, oh, and the colours

there's the freshest, the most delicate green of new leaves

just bursting from the buds of the willow tree by the river

and the quince, my word have you ever see the like of it

it's blossom petals are a colour I've no descriptive word for.

I went for a walk at lunchtime, time to get outside for a bit

time to breathe fresh air and walk thinking my thoughts

and looking, looking, there's so much to be seen by looking

and it helps when I'm trying to stay in the here and now

which besides anything else is a great way to spend a day

as spring time is when fresh starts abound all around me.

I look at colour swatches here at work as it's Friday afternoon

and skiving seems the only thing to do, a way to kick back

at the new Draconian regime of buzzers and clock watching

the colour nearest to it that I could find is called Carmine Red

so I take this colour and spread it about all over my memory

and it totally matches the beautiful flowers on the quince tree.

If I am not going to drown then I will have to learn to swim

I will have to learn to keep holding myself together regardless

well regardless of anything really, for drowning is no answer

and too many years have been wasted to that pursuit already

maybe if I keep acting whole it will make it happen some day

and I will look back and remember that I started in this way.

Well you never know do you I guess anything is worth a go
do you believe at all in the power of prayer, or is it chance
design, destiny, are deep truths contained in simple words
how simple is love, hope, faith ... as simple as fear, hurt, hate?
Somehow dark words resonate and that will have to change
If I have to choose one bright word, only one, it'll be HOPE.

stay here

Can I talk about this rage? Can I find some way?
can I speak with any kind of coherence on this?
that's where writing helps, you can't really shout
it's a safe way of emptying out, but it seems so slow
which is probably good for really what's the rush
it's not like we haven't been living with this forever.

I guess it might sound pretty stupid, well it does
but it is the unfairness which still really gets to me
the fact that someone without even a by your leave
can take something irreplaceable and just crush it
just stomp on it and tear up our precious innocence
which can't then be mended, can't be re-made whole.

I look over my brothers life and see destruction
I look over mine and see quite a lot of that too
and that's not right, that something that happened
so long ago should define much of the here and now
I can't let that be, well, I can't let it be for me
I'd like to help, but I must heal further first to see.

If I can heal further, start seeing a way through
then I can take steps by showing this way to you
and then maybe we'll both make some progress
both have a hope for the future without this stuff
it seems to me that we've spent time enough now
healing can start through acceptance I've heard.

Accepting the things you can't change is the key
letting it go, I mean really letting it just rest and be
turning your mind and staying here in the present
where there is life, love, such rich fullness to be had
and if we ever feel that dark sadness creeping back
we can turn away, we can look at what is right here.

These pictures and sensations they aren't even real
they're memories, so if we keep telling ourselves that
and reminding ourselves just how safe we are now
our little me's can be protected by our adult selves
little me's need never again feel that old pain and fear
our adult selves can keep them safe, keep them here.

The present is a guard, a protection against the past
learning to stay grounded here will help us heal
and that's what I wanted to say to you, forget rage
forget trying to change what cannot be in any way
if I go first will you follow, will you allow me to be
finally someone who can be part of both of us healing.

what was lost

It's something that's not supposed to ever be said isn't it
it's taboo but I am so glad that the bastard is finally dead
even so, so he is, and yet the finality of it hasn't really hit me
it's like I'm sitting here waiting for something more than it will be
I guess I'm still wishing, hoping for some way to truly break free
to leave behind what he did to us in the dust of old redundant memory.

There's something about living a life that's not quite complete
and I know there's loads and loads of people in the same boat as me
I'm forever coming across these souls in almost unbelievable pain
which sometimes makes me feel a bit like I've no right to feel this way
and yet the problem with pain is there's no measure of it and so anyway
even if my pain is really worse or not worse what difference does it make?

It makes a difference only if we compare, do we really want to go there
no me neither, I've been there already and it doesn't help either
it's tough to empty out this kind of thing, like bailing in a boat
to stop it from sinking and however frantic the effort, water rises
and feelings are so like that they wash over and they seep underneath
the guard we put up, the face we put on, the ready reply when we lie.

It's tiring too, it's exhausting to have this continual backdrop
this background movie running on through your mind, whirring whirring
waiting for your attention to swing in it's direction for when it does
the volume goes up the colours sharpen it's a smellivision feelathon
a trip down memory lane with full colour graphics, full on sensation
if you could sell this but without the experience, an instant fortune.

There's a shopping list of possible cures, some aren't that expensive
there's talking talking talking, there's shocks, there's drugs, time
there's always time isn't there? Except how much more will I need
for I'd like to have some left over, some left where I can just be me
whoever that might be, I wonder what sort of person I would be now
well I'll never find out, for the past is over with, it's gone anyhow.

I'm glad that he's dead, I wish it had been sooner, much much sooner
for now I can sense the wasted years in a way that I didn't before
too caught up in just getting by just trying to live some sort of life
not hoping for freedom, well that's not quite true for I was hoping
just never believing, never anticipating, which turns out to be good
because the person I turned out to be is fine, but I'd like to be free.

I'd like back what he took, and yet somehow I couldn't quite define it
until I read a story about a scary bad man who stole a boys childhood
and that's what happened, that's exactly how it was, what was taken
which can't now be given back, anyway what use is it now to an adult
or at least so I tell myself as there's really no point in wishing
for what can never be, I can't travel back and reclaim what was lost.

Gone

The monster man breathed his last and now he is gone
he had a nice long life, a mostly peaceful time in death
but he is still gone, he is no more, so, now am I free
can I find a way to break down what he did and rebuild
but without what he did, no of course I can't do that
nothing at all about the past can be changed as such
only the way I look at it, only in the way I look away.

It doesn't matter how bloody unfair any of this is really
it doesn't change the facts, nor any of the damage done
it doesn't alter the memories, the pain, the fear, the hurt
it changes nothing except he is no more now he's gone
so can I now laugh and sing that the monster man's dead
shall I twirl madly with exhuberant joy, howl at the moon
if I do will it make any difference, no, I don't think so.

See the monster man was already dead a long time ago
he just lived in my memory, and not even the monster I knew
because I am no longer the little girl I was way back then
my memory was faulty, although I didn't realise this was so
he seemed big because I was looking at him with her eyes
I was too little to feel anything but the hurt, fear and pain
and if I looked at the monster man right now what would I see?

I'd see a small dead man, shrivelled and grey. A tiny man
dressed in his sunday best surrounded by shiny blue satin
with cracked shoes, neck tie, would he still have his teeth in
and would they still hurt ... see that is the problem right there
thinking about the monster man brings pictures and flashes
of being there all over again, of feeling him and seeing him
of wanting to run away, but wanting too to stay for my brother.

Anger, rage and grief, how to explain these powerful emotions
it feels like inky black darkness, with strobe lightening strikes
like sinking into a nothingness, a faded separate foggy place
feeling weak, alone, helpless, frightened, yet muted, dull
and trying to forget doesn't work, these images, sensations
they ambush you and drag you off at barely a moments notice
to where the back catalogue of re-runs are continually looped.

I want to go and dance there on top of your monster man grave
I want to dig you up, to open the lid and spit on your familiar face
I want to show you what real men look like, they look like mine
real men do not take very small children for their own pleasure
only monster men do things like that, only inadequate men like you
but you're gone now aren't you, you've escaped through death
and on the other side is a darkness to match your own dark soul.

the deer, the spider and the robin

A deer was in the garden this morning, eating, browsing
completely unaware of me gazing out from the kitchen door
this isn't my garden but his .. hers ... his ... who knows
what I do know is that we don't own outdoor space at all
and even indoor space is shared much more than we imagine
as with the very large spider who lives behind my toilet
giving me the heebie jeebies when I get up nightly for a pee.

I have to stay very quiet on the subject of spiders round here
for if the existence were to be discovered death would follow
my secret spider is doing no harm at all, I quite like it there
except when I can't see it in the middle of the night
and sit there thinking it might creep up my leg any second
which just adds that frisson of tension to what is ordinary
and I thought about giving it a name but that's a step too far.

But I share my space willingly and happily for this is not mine
my castle remains on the inside where sharing is not required
but it adds to the richness of life if I do, so I do that too
but there remains the question of whose garden it truly is
and there I'd have to vote for the robin who lives on edge of it
and daily sometimes hourly makes the flight to perch by the door
to look at me standing there and to remind me that this is his.

thinking

I know it scares you this thinking bizzo
I know that you don't really want to know
and yet without thought only instinct prevails
are our guts so infallible do you think?

Do you think that we really don't need thought
that it's a pointless exercise in introspection
that we're better off not knowing the truth
which is what exactly, I feel your frustration

Which I share for I want to know too, I do
and yet even if you do suspect I somehow know
I won't let on in case I might be so very wrong
how disappointed will we both be should that be?

So I offer you yet more limpid platitudes
and wait here on the freezing sidelines to see
if you will take the plunge and let yourself be
a person who finally connects to their self within

Which I know is scary and not at all what you want
but healing takes so many forms that we don't expect
like learning we are who we are and yet we're still OK
and that we're lovable even though we're made that way

So although some resolution must yet still be made
we can take comfort in the knowledge that this will be
and even if it's not expected we can somehow yet find
a way to explore it and still arrive at peace of mind.

And isn't that really the point of all this wondering
to arrive at some conclusion however disconcerting
that we really are all right no matter how we appear
that we're OK as people despite how we aspire to be.

This journey we're on may have so many stages and yet
I don't feel so lonely and I'm hoping you feel it too
that however difficult these revelations might yet be
that it's not a foreign land, this is still just you and me.

a daydream

There must some way of truly drawing a picture with words
taking the person reading to a place they can actually see
and seeing, experiencing, almost finding themselves there
like how you get totally caught up in a movie sometimes
where you lose a part of yourself for just a short time
and take that part back at the end for it was only on loan.

It's the part of you that travels in daydreams perhaps
the wishing part, the whimsical, believing, searching part
the bit that wants things that can't be seen or touched
the piece of us that makes us more than who we seem to be
and that's the part of our heart we can take on this journey
so put aside your cynicism for a few moments if you can.

Sit with me in the gentle breeze and look out over the sea
the reef is close by to shore and so the breakers are clear
and near, and the sound is washing ebbing flowing crashing
overwhelmingly noisy and yet the power is in no way frightening
and there are no people here, just you and me, so there's no danger
and no risk of being over-run by our normal everyday concerns.

There is just breeze and sea, and you and me sitting on the shore
and all is calm to all intents ... but the clouds look ... see
the way they build and billow, bubbling up, storming the sky
the presence of the incoming storm need not alarm us though
you see we are here and not here all at the same time
this is the stuff of every day dreams and can take us any time.

angels can be tall tales

I was reading the most beautiful poem earlier on today
It was about how angels fall which sounds about right
it seems that even angels might have feet made from clay
now that is something we don't often think about isn't it?
it reminded me of an incident from my irresponsible teens.

I travelled to a city 3 hours away to visit a good friend
but somehow we got our wires crossed and so he wasn't there
and having nowhere to sleep I headed out to a nearby farm
as I had some stupid notion that haystacks might be warm
They are damn prickly too, but still I lay down and I slept.

Waking in the morning I saw a man, obviously a traveller
who had arrived whilst I slept but who kept his distance
and who on seeing I was awake asked me if I had ever seen
my guardian angel who stood over me as tall as you like
and who warded me against the dangers of the dark night.

Which made me shiver and thank the man before I ran off
for he was not a small person and I was too scared to trust
but I remembered what he said, and told my friend about it
which almost made him crash the car, we skidded to a halt
and he turned and looked at me with a very odd expression.

He told me that he too had seen this strange apparition
some kind of shape, some ghostly presence nearby to me
and had always thought that it was just his imagination
which made me shiver all the more for I can't sense this
I can't see or feel it, I would love to catch a glimpse.

I wonder if we all have an angel in our lives, it may be
but what is it that allows some stranger and some friend
to see what I would so love to see but can't really believe
therein lies the problem maybe you have to believe to see
for an angel must have better things to do than to ward me.

There are people who believe, is it true only they can see
well seeing is believing, but believing without seeing ...
well that is the stuff of faith. And faith just isn't easy
believing on scant evidence might indeed be a fools game
after all one person's hallucination is anothers vision.

take a look ...http://slcpoems.blogspot.com/2009/03/angels-fall.html

a rock

I was thinking about you just now, pondering
remembering what we talked of last night
when the lights were low and the wine open
about how distant you sometimes feel from others
and particularly your family whom you so love
but yet somehow seem to keep yourself apart.

And I wondered about the fear the consumes us
that stops us from connecting with others
especially others we love and care about
maybe it's that care that stops us from venturing
into murky waters where hurt might be caused
so the fear perpetuates but someone must start.

I thought about the person who is most brave
in my family, the one who takes these hard risks
to connect and start conversations with meaning
and I realised that right now that person is me
which both suprised and depressed me in a way
for I have the least to give in so many ways.

You on the other hand have many gifts to share
although I suspect you're totally unaware of this
I ask about how it was that you were there
in the dark days with your father slowly fading
how you managed to convey to him through care
what you could never say out loud in words.

You see a separateness that may not in fact be
for the people around you may be totally aware
of your deep abiding commitment to them all
I suspect you are like a solid rock in their world
someone they always know they can rely on
so you are actually at the core of your family.

And this sense of separateness afflicts us all
although with some there is an even deeper despair
a longing to convey to those we love that we love
that we hold their hearts dear. Such simple words
such a simple message, can it be so difficult really
and you said no, not if you can bear to say it.

And what struck me then is how little you say
even after so many years of friendship between us
and it's always been OK that you don't say much
for when you do it makes for interesting conversation
and the fact is that what you do say has extra meaning
the ones you love love you too, I bet they listen.

light and shade

There's a duality in all of us to some degree isn't there
black and white, light and shade, laughter and tears
I've been thinking about the transition through grief
how to move on after all these years and lay to rest
things that happened to someone who is now no more

The person we were then is not the person we become
and learning to tell the two apart is part of this I hope
a separation and acceptance that the two are not the same
and a deeper realisation that nothing changes in our past
and no amount of willing or wishing can ever make it so

Closure I've heard it called and I guess it's what I'm after
just some peace from the general whirl something lasting
something to hold onto whenever these storms rage within
some way of just walking away into that tranquil place
where nothing hurts and where pain is just some word

Where time stands still and so there is no real transition
just a gentle dawning drawing me back from there to here
an acknowledgement that such feelings can be endured
and in the endurance comes a deeper understanding
that life may not be fair or good or sweet, but it is there

And being there it must be lived rather than just endured
for this gift is undervalued if we miss the important meaning
of the relationship we have with everything around us
we are part of a whole, and although we might not feel it
a speck in the universe we might be someone elses world.

Old grief is sometimes right bang square in front of us
it is stuff we should have dealt with a long long time ago
but without the tools, with too much drowning it wasn't so
preferring oblivion has meant that this has all been stored
and so back to the prospect of finally dealing with it all.

It's like being asked to grow up when I'm already grown
just not in every way well certainly not in this way anyway
I would rather retreat back into oblivion than grieving fully
completely, going through the stages, learning how to heal
learning to deal with reality rather than what I wish could be.

Being a grown up is not appealing when it means all this
why can't I stay in my oblivion, is drowning really so bad
compared to facing up to truths I've spent so long avoiding
there's no transition, no healing unless I take these steps
it needn't come in leaps and bounds, and I will get there yet.

My luthier

I was watching earlier as you carved out new patterns
it's interesting seeing the deepening lines in the wood
the gradual refining as the edges sharpen and rise up
creating channels in which to lay down new colours
I can see how luthiers find such joy in their creations.

Wood and music, it's almost the stuff of a good marriage
for whilst one is solid, can be held and seen the other ...
well music is a balm against life storms, a safe harbour
but at other times an enhancement of the tempest within
an celebration of joy, a reflection of grief, a melodic stroke.

I am someone who is easily lost in the rages of crescendo
whose heart responds to the whisper of a softly played tune
who conjures vivid images from the melodies in my minds eye
who cries hearing the soaring beauty of Faurés requiem mass
there is something about music that speaks to our very soul.

It's a common bond between us two this love of music making
of losing ourselves in the sounds ... in the crashing intensity
and then lightly gently softening to a whisper on the last note
and coming to to find ourselves where we were before we started
and in the sudden silence that ensues we find peacefulness.

So I'm looking forward to seeing this guitar when it's made
will it have that sweetness of tone, the mellowest bass notes
the warmth in the mid range that carries through the scale
and when we play it will it somehow have that extra meaning
because it's the instrument of your heart, of your own making.

a safe haven

I guess I didn't realise that heartache physically hurts
I always figured it was just something people said
but I was wrong, as in so many things of late it seems
for this is a feeling like no other I have experienced
despite having had a share of grief and loss over time.

Coming up to the anniversaries of two very special deaths
and I'm wondering how it is that I feel one way about that
and yet quite another way about this, which makes me realise
that I have totally lost a sense of perspective which helps
for that's something else about heartache they don't tell you.

That it's a form of madness that spins out in your mind
taking you on flights to places you didn't know existed
and robbing you of the sense you were born with, which is why
you have to sit tight with these feelings ... wait and see
what perspective time brings when madness eventually recedes.

So I'll turn my mind to memories that it's coming time to honour
as the anniversaries approach, this year will I hope be different
for in years gone past I've made this time one of immoderation
found in this season a reason to drown myself night after night
to avoid feeling what should be felt, for grief is also healing.

So to honour a memory is quite a different thing from using it
and that realisation is part of the transition towards wholeness
I read somewhere recently that feelings are just feelings, how true
but what struck me was also what a complete misunderstanding
are we not driven by our hearts response to almost everything?

And yet rationality remains and can quickly become a safe haven
when the storms seem to rage and the waves crash in on our minds
we can turn and look ... step outside the feelings and see it clear
catch a glimpse of what has until now been hidden from our thoughts
part of life is death, as is learning to live with some heartache.

A dream stone

As I hold this smooth round stone resting gently in my hand
I can feel a sense of timelessness and history long gone
A stream of thoughts through ages past reaching out to me
A girl with golden hair whose dreams I can almost see
for fragments of those dreams are still warm upon the stone
I can see her dancing, skipping, whirling on the beach

I smile now as I hold the stone and think of that young girl
who asked that it might be given to one who truly understands
that giving honours the giver .. someone who just might know
that dreams are dreamt with determination and concentration
so in a way dreams need not come true to be experienced
thus maybe dreaming and living can intermingle in our minds

There are such risks involved in opening our hearts it's true
but by not doing so we shrivel within and a part of us dies
so that as time passes it gets increasingly hard to resurrect
that part of ourselves that makes us us, that very unique soul
and in losing that we lose much more than we perhaps imagine
for it's that part which has the makings of re-creating the whole.

Sometimes you receive a gift of almost incomparable value
something you can carry in your heart as well as your hand
the knowledge that there are people out there who really know
and whilst knowing understand .. and it's in that understanding
lies the essence of the gift .. the saying of one soul to another
this stone has helped ease someone so might it also help you?

a recurrence

I dreamt of you which was different yet the same
I have been having a hard time of late with dreams
so it was nice to find your cheery self in my sleep
smiling and laughing ... shuffling yourself about
in that funny way you have when you get talking.

I love to sit and watch when you talk you know
your voice sings and your eyes almost dance
you have this endless stream of things to say
so with little prompting from me you're off and away
and words upon words, your talk washes over me.

I do listen as well you know, it's not just sounds
it's not just that I enjoy watching your face either
there's something so compelling about enthusiasm
it's in the flow and rythm, the cadence somehow
making me smile knowing how you usually are.

It's this way you have of intensifying a thought
of putting some new idea under the magnification
of your mind and creating something altogether new
like an explosion from the tiniest firework rocket
your ideas burn bright and stay long in my mind.

We talked about the Giver, you know who I mean
that all powerful being who despite whatever I say
looms large in your mind, and just won't go away
although we both know that no Giver worth their salt
would ever have allowed to happen what did even so.

It's here that we almost part ways for you won't give up
you assert that the Giver is real and within our hearts
but I can't reconcile that idea with what we've seen
and with where we've been, which just can't be said
so this once I hold my peace and let you win.

Which is how I came to know it was just a dream
for the reality is you don't normally talk that much
which is fine by me for I like some kinds of silence
But when I wake up and remember you in my dream
I feel sorry I didn't take this one chance to say more.

I think of you often and wonder how you are
especially since the palace of white coats
where they tried again to use electrical wires
to wipe out things that should never have been
Maybe the Giver could step in, wipe the slate clean.

an exciting prospect

There's something so elusive about contentment
why is it that we feel we have the right to be happy
is it not in the contrast that appreciation grows
so that when contentment does steal upon us
will we only know it's presence through an absense

Is it to be found in the lack of any sense of crisis
a feeling that nothing sinister is looming ahead
if so it's not dramatic and could be easily missed
something unrecognisable if not consciously sought
maybe it's something we can cultivate from within

If it's a whisper we might have to listen carefully
learn to hush our minds and softly quieten to stillness
perhaps in the stillness we might discern at last
that fragile temporary state we so long for ... and yet
might there also be too little excitement there for us

An understanding must be reached if both are desired
for whilst contentment and peace are easy bedfellows
excitement is perhaps something that robs us of both
do we crave exhilaration knowing it comes at such cost
or is it in blissful ignorance that we pursue our thrills

Can we develop a fuller appreciation of contentment
even if we can attain such a state can we retain it
is it as ephemeral as it is elusive, this whispering
and if so then the capturing and holding of this feeling
does seem to be an altogether exciting prospect

Perhaps it's in a circle of meaning as described here
that truths might finally be teased out of the morass
and it may well be that we must come to finally accept
that contentment shouldn't be an absolute aim in itself
although it has an alluring element difficult to ignore

I guess I'm saying that it seems entirely selfish
to pursue something as if it's our over-riding right
when those we profess to love need something from us
and yet I can't help hoping that somehow sometime
I'll learn to listen carefully and hear that whisper too

On reflection

On reading back today I can see how dark some of this writing is.
It can be so hard to articulate the relentlessness of despair,
so when we do it does have a rather desperate feel to it.
What can be so useful about writing is it's a way of emptying,
of facing the worst excesses of those darker feelings.
Learning to feel without necessarily responding.

And so it is a form of learning what should already be known
that feelings pass and the edge recedes when we turn our minds.
Thus learning to turn our minds becomes the crux of it I suppose,
a part of what distinguishes genuine maturity from the immature,
an understanding that in reacting as we do to the general whirl,
we are choosing and in effect abandoning rationality altogether.

I wonder how it would be if we were able to taste the bitterness
of the troubles we can’t even begin to see in the lives of others.
What perspective would it grant us in a fundamental understanding
that life is ferociously hard on many of us in one way or another
and what feels like a very individual struggle is actually universal.
So perhaps the reason we respond as we do is that pain calls to us.

Where then is the role of healing in all this bleak despondency.
How do we learn to travel a new road through the mire of despair.
How can we acquire the necessary discipline so foreign to us,
after so many years of increasingly self indulgent tinkering.
How appealing does the serious practise of discipline seem
in comparison to yet more rounds of the cycle of destruction.

quiet hours

Two in the morning has again become my best friend
Well I say this in that perky tone but the reality is
We are old aquaintances of many years standing
And the only difference is that there are now church bells
Which in years gone by I might have enjoyed
But now only serve to mark the hours of wakefulness.

I could get up and wander about, make myself useful
Or even just sit and read a book, but no I do neither
I lie in the dark and look at the bright moon shining
I draw the curtains back to enjoy the magical quality
Of a light that in ages past was the object of worship
And you can see why as clouds race across the silvery face.

It’s a quiet time, perfect for reflection and for introspection
But what I’d like to do is to find a way to stop the tumult
I would like to slip into the sea of tranquillity and dive
Searching for a deeper peace that doesn’t just dissipate
In the harsh light of reality, or in the noise and bustle of the day
I’d like to find a way to be here and there at the same time.

As the church bells chime four I am still looking, still awake
And I wonder at how the time passes in such contemplation
It’s the lack of rush, the acceptance that thoughts will drift
That there is no need to constantly be of a practical mind
I would like to know how to switch this all off though
I’d like to find some peace in the quiet hours of the morning.

A walk to Stonehenge

How do you fall apart exactly, do you know
is it something obvious and quite dramatic
or more akin to a silent crumbling within
a gradual overshadowing of despondency
a cracking or perhaps a thinning of the facade
an overwhelming sense of can't-be-botheredness.

Is it in the unwillingness to face anything at all
the insistence that nothing matters anyway
does sitting hour upon hour in the darkness count
or should I look for more gravity in the signs
is there more to come, more doom and gloom
is falling apart even possible unless left alone.

And how tiny do the crumbs have to become
how wide should the cracks tear us apart
do we really need to tumble into the abyss
launch ourselves in complete surrender
can I do all this very quietly do you think
I'm not sure I want to be noticed like this.

What are these thoughts that crowd my mind
when I could be drawing comfort from the silence
as I walk slowly towards the ancient stones
standing tall on the summit of this gentle slope
I fight back the urge to surrender just yet
and walk on turning my mind to enjoyment.

In the face of these stark alternatives
I am still in a place where I can choose
where whatever I choose I'm not saying forever
I'm saying for now and that will be enough
oh god I hope so, for my strength is waning
and the prospect of the abyss is almost persuasive.

There's a way of playing inside your mind
toying with might be's that seem quite terrifying
but in playing such games there are hidden dangers
for thoughts precede action so we mustn't proceed
we must exercise caution and take extra care
to play these games away from prying eyes.

I wish I could lean against these ancient stones
drawing strength from the generations past
who've been witness to the endless stream
and whose solidity and unwavering presence
remind me that life really can stand still
and so the edge recedes into the blur once more.

Clarity is a gift I've heard it said and I agree
that in thinking things through it can be a boon
it's just that the flip side is this unstoppable flow
which whilst it helps also draws me away
from the very things I need to focus on
so I stop my rambling and head for home.

Sounds

I am trying to capture a meaning
Trying to make some sense of it all
I am watching your mouth move
And I'm hearing the words falling
clanging hard and sharp, jarring

It's almost at the edge of my vision
Do you ever see or feel sounds?
I do, and I know that seems strange
I can't think how else to describe it
Except to say that sounds have shape

Well not just shape now I think on it
but texture too, smooth, prickly, undulating
and so listening is more than it seems
and works on different levels for me
But that won't help me now, as I crash

Jarred back to the present I'm caught
by the silence of you awaiting my reply
can I re-wind and listen to what I've heard
or must I admit that my thoughts just then
completely crowded out what you were shouting

It's the harshness of your tone maybe
perhaps the volume too, the abandon
the very real risk that this will escalate
into one of those ... you know what I mean
yet another time of saying the unsayable.

So I turn inwards and walk away inside
to a place where the sounds are muffled
the edges taken off and wrapped in light
so I can carry the weight of meaning
when it finally does emerge into my mind.

Because when you're done we look away
for we both know that this shouldn't be
It really can't be allowed to happen again
the fallout last time was almost enough
to see us walking through the door of no return.

When I finally capture your meaning
I swallow hard and looking at you now
I remember to smile, well almost smile
For such a simple gesture on my part
Speaks volumes of what is in my heart.

A bit of help

When you feel the darkness
seeping deep within you
When you feel like you are becoming
fainter to the point of being invisible
When you feel the essence of who you are
fading into nothingness

Sometimes it helps to stand up
Throw your shoulders back
Look upwards and outwards
See the blue sky and the bubbling clouds
Hear the whisper of the wind through the air
Sense the sweetness of being

When you feel like life can't get any better
than this moment right here and now
When you grin so much
that it's making your face hurt
When you can hardly walk straight
for the exuberant feeling inside

Sometimes it helps to freeze
Open yourself up
Store this feeling somewhere safe
Put it on a high shelf out of harms way
But more importantly ... most importantly
Open wide, enjoy, laugh out loud.

The present is so transitory isn't it
Gone in a flash and taking with it
The extremes of all life has to offer
Often leaving us with a dull sense of loss
For in so many ways this moment
Is also full of what might have beens.

An evening off

I got in last night and kicked off my shoes
wandered through the shambles to our kitchen
where I found a neatly written note on the table
dear you it said, I have borrowed your beloved
he will be safe with me for a few days
please come and join us when you can

Thoughts start to clamour in my mind.
how did she know, was it something I said?
for if it was then I shall be held accountable
for a breach of this kind is viewed dimly indeed
my beloved guards and values his privacy
to what I think is almost an obsessive degree

I stand by the back door looking at the garden
there is peace in just standing and looking
I let the trees soothe me with their solid presence
and consider what to do with my evening off
it seems like quite some time since the last one
and the thought of breaking loose appeals just now

The bottle is sitting on the draining board
cork sticking out of the top, just waiting it seems
I camp out by the back door, standing, battling
how will it help, well it won't but still ... I know
I know because I've learnt so often this lesson and yet
I take a glass through to the garden and walk

Drinking and thinking at these early stages
after a glass or two, there's a softening I guess
an easier acceptance of things I often find too harsh
the insulation and warmth are temporary at best
but I'm left with something, a lightness I suppose
so an evening off once in a while is no bad thing.

The river

Sitting here in one of my favourite places
Watching as the river's waters flow past me
There's something so restful about flowing water
The sound, the currents visible on the surface
The swirling of debris caught in the eddies
Even the nearby road sounds fade as I watch
As I sit and look down almost without seeing

For this is one of my favourite thinking spots
And I come here for it's peace and solitude
Away from the worries and cares of my life
Even a twenty minute break is often enough
To see me re-balanced and ready to go
For I need some time alone with my thoughts
And since I found this spot it has to be here

So meditating one day sitting there as I was
I slowly became aware of a person sitting near
Just from the corner of my eye I caught white hair
and a cane, thick ankles and sturdy looking shoes
A softly shaking voice asked me if I was all right
So I looked over and asked why what do you see
And then I realised that my face was wet with tears.

You can go two ways in a conversation like this
Should I this once dare to say what's on my mind
Should I mention my beloved and how low he has been
and the troubles of my work, money and other things
Would she listen or perhaps turn her face away.
She spoke of swans gliding by, had I seen the moorhen?
And so she brought me back to why I was there.

Talking

Why isn't it enough?
I mean, I know it sounds simple
I know it sounds like no answer at all
but beneath some of the simplest words
lies so much more, what can I say?

I can say that I love you still
I can say that I won't leave you
I can say that we will get through this
I can say that I'm doing what I can
I can say that we will work this out

You look away, it is not nearly enough
bloody hell, what am I missing here?
What can't I see for the want of looking?
I can feel frustration fusing with anger
and I can see too the edge of despair

I walk out of the room and downstairs
Because I cannot lose patience now
Now that you are finally here again
I must find a way to be clearer, more direct
My promises are always more than words.

How can I demonstrate what you already know?
By telling you things you've heard before?
By acting in ways you've no right to expect?
Should I shout, rage, rant, yell, or scream.
Should I become someone different altogether?

But how will it help you if I am not me?
I can not promise what I can not do
I just can not be someone like that
How often do I have to show you
the constancy of my solemn promise?

I will find a way you know, I won't give in.
I will break this wall down to reach you
and offer once again the same old deal
and that is just me, for I've nothing more
Nothing I can give you but more of myself.

So I climb back up the stairs to find you
and we sit once more amongst the guitars
I look into your face and say simple things
of love, of hope, of the worth of promises
and I wait shivering inside, will it suffice?

I feel like such a child in the face of this
I try to make sense of your long diatribe
I feel your distress so keenly, it's loud
and harsh and the edge of your voice cracks
as my vision narrows in onto your face.

Fear prickles as I see your face contort
Withstanding hard words hammering down
and yet looking, for I will not look away
I will not buckle beneath such truths
I owe you always this level of faithfulness.

I will not un-listen when you so need to be heard
I can do this, I am this person, this is me.
I will not break faith now, see? ... do you see?
And when tears start to flow I see you once more
the you I know, the you I have been waiting for.

Warmest hugs

It's not far off a year now since that first letter
and what a journey it has been my dear friend
we've had some real ups and downs haven't we?
What a voyage of discovery into another's life
I suppose I could also say into another's heart
and since I'm here I might just say thank you.

For in these letters I have been able to express
things I just can't say out loud and yet you know
now after almost a year of sharing our inner thoughts
I don't feel quite the same kind of fear as I did before
because now I have all your answers as well as mine
and so often it's a combination that is compelling.

I hope that it's the same way for you my friend
that my answers have melded well with your own
to provide that quite unique blend of perspective.
I was trying to think of the words to describe
the very special gifts you have brought over this year
but they are all long words, much too long really.

For it is in the simplicity of being able to tell you
that the reason we are friends is not to be found
in words long or short, but in the way that we feel.
The way that seeing you in my inbox lifts my day
the fact that I look at your picture often and smile
and look forward to another chapter from your life.

I was looking for something last night at home
and I came across an archive file of our letters
I sat and read and read again, it was breathtaking.
Like re-discovering our friendship all over again.
and I will reply to your latest email this weekend ...
warmest hugs to you as always my dear dear friend.

Trust

Did you want to say more? Have I missed the most important thing?
There is something in your stance, in your voice, an uneasiness
A shifting of weight from one foot to another and a downwards glance
Even I can't miss the signs of such discomfort, dense as I am.

I trawl through our conversation looking for clues as to it's cause
But I just can't see the wood for the trees, the forest is too dark
and the feeling of foreboding builds as I see your eyes brim over.
Oh god, more tears, more time to be spent here listening to pain.

I feel unable to find the level of patience and compassion you need
It has all gone you see, I feel used up, washed up, totally alone
and yet your eyes drive me to try, for my concerns are not yours
and what sort of friend can't even take some time to sit and listen.

When is it my turn? The thought came into my mind some time later
and though the selfishness struck me at once, so did the truth.
That this friendship is something of real value but also of inequality
for what you tell me I would not tell you, which makes me the coward.

And thus the inequality I perceive is not so much a lack in you at all
but rather a lack in my ability to match your trust, your expectation
and this about-turn in my thinking has led me to an unexpected place
somewhere I recognise, a place of vulnerability and overwhelming fear.

If I open this door and let the light shine in, will I die? Is it so bad?
Why does the level of fear build to such a degree that I lock up inside
Next time you ask "and how about you" I really must try to say more
For I know that only along that path does true friendship lie waiting.

The sea

I've been looking out from the shore for a while now
Looking for signs of you out there amongst the waves
Sometimes I think I see a splash of colour, your arm perhaps
Or maybe your hand waving. Are you waving or signalling?
How can I tell from here where I'm waiting in the silence
This is just no good at all, worse than useless in fact.

I take off my shoes, never mind about getting wet, wade in
Strike out from the shore in search of the gentle man
And should I find you out here, what then my love, what then?
Will you and I learn to float on our backs and look at the sky
Will you laugh when I ask you to try such childish things
For in acting like a child we can come to a place of healing.

I see you here far from the shore, it looks so distant right now
I make my way over and look for signs that you know I am here
The look of your despair washes over me and I feel the undertow
But I can not, will not sink here into the depths of your misery
I will find a way to offer more than my company against this thing
I won't let it be that you must learn to swim such distances alone.

I must strike for shore, I won't try to persuade you right now
I can see that your focus is too far within, your energy too low
I will try to build something of use, some kind of raft maybe
Something to float out to you next time, some way of staying
For I know that this loneliness must be killing you too out here
The simple things I have to offer aren't enough, but I miss you.

I miss the way you look at me when coming out of the shower
Eyes squinting through the steam, is that you, you ask ... as if ...
I miss giggling under the covers and making up jokes in the dark
I miss feeling that you are here, I miss feeling there is an us
I feel my reserves depleting and know I must stop looking inside
I must find a way of fighting this darkness before it takes us both.

Or shall I just leave it as you ask. Shall I walk alone along the shore
Knowing you are out there, knowing that the undertow is so strong
Is it enough that you can see I am here, shall I light a fire?
Mark the place of safety with light, heat and the warmth of my heart
Shall I swim out and float near you to show you again how it's done
The undertow scares me too, but I will fight it, please try too.

My Valentine

Sometimes I look over at you with a completely detached stare
I know it un-nerves you when I do that, since you told me so
But it's not like I don't see you doing the same thing is it?
You know that song .. the one you belt out when playing the strat
Neil Young has such an incredible voice which I know you relate to
Am I imagining the extra emotion you give to it when you sing
how does it go now, that song ... Love The One You're With?

And that's what I wonder about when I see you with her still
it seems there's a quality that isn't there when you look at me
and the way you are when chatting on the telephone,
even without looking I can hear the smile in your voice
and so the lyrics unbidden pop into my mind and resound there
"there's a rose in a fisted glove, and the eagle flies with the dove
And if you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with"

I was starting to think that this might in fact be the case for us
and that the reason you stayed isn't deep abiding commitment at all
More a realisation that the options are no longer what they once were
and since she's gone you might just as well make the best of it with me.
But does it lack passion, zing, an edge of excitement and of uncertainty
I can never be the person she is, if I'm honest I can't even get close
Is the person I am so very at odds with the dream you hold so dear?

So when you said "will you"? I was more than a little shocked I suppose
I had been thinking once more that your plans lay elsewhere altogether
and I was beginning to resign myself to the prospect of our separation.
Imagine my suprise, my joy, my fear, my uncertainty, my doubt, my love.
For in the end after all we have and continue to be to one another
one thing holds true for me, and that is the love I have had from the start
I don't know how you did it, but that day you rocked up you stole my heart.

And so this Valentines Day feels odd in a way, well more so this year
as you have withdrawn and are now elsewhere whilst seemingly also here
and I am waiting to see your return. I am waiting to see if you want to even.
And that sadness that I felt before is back, that same old doubt and fear.
I'm wondering if you almost prefer to stay there in the shadows of your mind
than to be here with me. It lies heavy on my heart these long silent days.
Would you rather I just left you alone in your self induced solitude my love?

Meetings

Angry faces looking at me
Resentment boiling up
I don't blame them
This is just shit news
And so I keep my calm face on
It's the very least I can do.

Meetings all day today
What a joyful prospect
F*ckwit Fiona no doubt with me
Telling me how tough she finds it
to deal with so much aggression
and so I really must stay calm

She needs my false confidence
that everything will be OK
I haven't mentioned the punch
or the egg throwing incident
Christ if she's scared now
She'll run for the hills if I do.

So take some deep breaths
and away we go again
on the frightful merry-go-round
of meetings, tears and grim faces
it won't get easier any time soon
so settle and let battle commence

And so here's the first lucky one
sitting looking at his shoes
I know this feeling, so calm face on
It's not good news I'm afraid, I say
We'll be cutting hours and also your pay
and on top there'll be no paid holiday

Since you are down and almost out
I must also tell you
that you have been selected as at risk
of losing your job in the redundancy round
Take some time and think it over
Would you like to go home now?

Up he stands I won't shake his hand
Made that mistake already
and ended up sprawled on the floor
and I shan't risk that outcome again
so out he goes and I turn to see
tears streaking down her face.

Confidential

Having coffee one evening with someone I don't know well
she looked over at me and asked if I knew whether I was loved.
It was a strange turn to the conversation from safe to perilous
and my silence was not as she suspected, of offence taken at all.
I was thinking back to the early days with my kind and gentle man
who still spent many a long evening with his old flame back then
and I remembered just how that feeling of incredible doubt felt.

I'm not sure that I said the right thing at all that night
It's hard to know how to respond to such an immediate risk
of saying too much .. or more likely listening far too little
The instinct is always there to read solely the surface meaning
and shy away from what lies beneath .. huh .. what a coward eh?
I wasn't really much help as I couldn't think of much to say
so I just sat and listened to a long tale of serial infidelity.

I guess sometimes you get so desperate to talk about things
that once you start you just can't stop, and so out it all poured
and the tears flowed and the only thing I could think of to do
was to open some wine and talk about the things that actually matter.
And that evening I learnt something of a new form of loneliness
and so the wall between aquaintance and friendship tumbled down
and I saw how a fundamental breach of trust rots into your very soul.

There's a problem being a trusted person, and I felt it that night
as I lay in bed and reviewed what I'd said for I needed to ensure
that I had not broken a confidence from a conversation I'd had before.
I know the man concerned as we have been sort of pals for some years now
and he has on the odd occasion alluded to his "away day" activities
to which I've said nothing at all, for who am I to judge such things.
Still, keeping two sides of essentially the same confidence is awkward.

snack attack

Since you started working in this office
my snack habit has started to escalate
God .. do you never ever stop eating?
Shuffle shuffle crinkle crackle
sweet wrappers, biscuits and cake
that ruddy drawer keeps opening and shutting
So I take another trip to the snack machine.

You take the bloody biscuit you do mate
you tell me solemnly of the diagnosis
it's diabetes apparently and you can't imagine
how such a thing could have befallen you
as you eat so much salad and fruit these days
I walk over silently and open the drawer
we gaze down at the evidence. 'nuff said.

A slip of paper

Did you see that? No ... over there.
Yes her ... bloody hell .. what a state eh?
There's a woman staggering along the High street
on a Saturday afternoon when I'm out for a walk
she kind of falls into the road and stops a car
hurling abuse at a somewhat confused driver.

I'm thinking of passing on by, none of my business
but then she turns towards me and I meet her eye
or I think I do, but it's a bit hard to tell
she's quite far gone this strange woman in blue.
I call across to her "do you fancy a cup of tea"
and she sneers but still she stumbles over to me.

I say how bout the cafe it's just over there
and so off we wander and I feel people staring
I am looking for a piece of paper and a pencil
as I know what I say now will mean so little
and I'm not that great at chatting on the whole
but I want to help in some way if I can.

See this strange woman in blue could easily be
someone I know, christ it could even be me
I've been known to overindulge myself at times
and I don't always completely remember things done
So I want to give this woman some glimmer of hope
So I scribble down how to get on to Bright Eye.

I saw her again the other day .. same street funny
No-one was staring this time, nothing to see
Just two women walking along and she saw me
and said do I know you? So I said no not really
I just helped you out a while back and we drank tea
She hadn't a clue who I was and that was fine by me.

Next time I saw her was in the food shop
when we were hunting through the bargain shelf
and she looked up and smiled in a bleary kind of way.
So I smiled back and handed over a slip of paper
Because I've learnt my lesson and keep some on me
as you never know when you'll see someone drowning.

To me back then

So this is where I have to write a letter to me then
... as opposed to me now. I am looking at my photo
which is supposed to help and I've chosen a nice one
of me from pretty much when I remember all this began
but you can't tell just by looking at this little girl
who is standing by a dog grinning up and that's a clue
because later on I became and am very frightened of dogs.

I sit here looking at this photo of me back then
and I'm trying to think about what I can write to her
that will in any way undo even the smallest measure
of the damage done by the scary monster man
I try to think of all that I've learnt in my sessions
but my mind refuses to do anything but look and cry.

Well this carries on for a few days which is sort of OK
as my other half is away on business so he can't see
this totally shambolic attempt to get it together
and make steps forward instead of .. christ I need a drink
And I wander to the kitchen to look at the wine rack
Full of stuff that will only make the tears run more freely.

Back upstairs in my special writing place I sit once more
looking at me from way back when the monster man first came
Dear little me ... this is big me talking to you now
and I know just how scared and lonely and bad this feels
but you know what? This is not happening because your are bad.
So what can I say it's because of then, she's waiting to hear.

Well you see there are bad people who want to hurt kids.
And they tell them that they must never tell and you know why?
Because what they are doing is really very bad and naughty
and if somone told on them do you know what would happen?
They'd go to jail and have to stay there for a long time.
I think there's special jails for monster men with high walls.

But I can't say those things to little me, because she never told
well except Daddy who got all funny and strange and called her a liar
She didn't remember seeing him there at all until later
Back to little me, I was telling you about bad people wasn't I?
And how this isnt your fault and little girls are never to blame
for this kind of bad thing happening. Will you trust me?

I must tell you some stuff that is hard to understand
about scary things that happen when we're too small to stop it.
I know that he hurt you and made you do things that made you cry
and that the hurt bits inside you still don't feel right
It was him that was wrong and not you at all, you're beautiful
and clean, bright shiny girl. I want to hug you right now.

When you grow up in the future and look back to this time
I want you to know that this was what a bad person did
and you are still a good girl even if you don't feel it's true
and what happened does not make you less than the person you are
or the person you would someday wish or even pray to be
I love you me from way back then, and I'm sure we'll be OK now.

sudden anger

Boom .. up up up comes the anger
I want to hit something
throw something, anything
I pace around the room counting
10 won't cut it this time
I could count to a sodding million
and I'd still feel this burn

Who the fuck do you think you are
to talk to me in that way
I am going to do some serious damage
to you, oh christ no ... to me then
if I don't start breathing soon
whoosh ... and in and out and in
look away for gods sake don't stare

If I don't learn to get a grip
I'll be just like they were
and I can't allow that, I'm a grown up now
so I'll breathe in and out
focus right now only on that
as the panic recedes at least
I haven't done anything stupid yet.

futile thoughts

Being a daughter isn't easy either you know
don't tell me how tough being a parent is
what sort of bloody parent were you anyway?
The words burble up and almost break loose
but thank goodness I just turn and walk away
can you imagine the fallout if I say what I think
and the hurt from finally facing the truth of it.

It's too easy to have an ideal view of this
the wish list is so long and still growing
the kind of parent I wanted to have
well it's like those letters to Santa isn't it?
I wanted someone warm who knew how to play
and to cuddle and make the bad things go away
and knew that a bandaid was for more than just cuts.

I wanted someone who'd come to school plays
and walk with me slowly just watching the trains
or possibly stand still whilst I held your hand.
I wanted to feel you were even sometimes there
and not gazing off in that medicated stare
that spoke of depression and deep dark despair
I wish I'd known where you went in your head.

I guess I should forgive you time and again
for I know you aren't strong and weren't back then
could you know what was happening to me or to him.
And no amount of soul searching can ever deny
that you are my mother but a parent hmm not sure
If a parent is biology then it's certainly true
but love, protection, I hardly think so .. do you?

And as I help you to bed and find your pyjamas
I think how strange being a daughter is now
for I am trying to be for you how I've always wished
you had been for me those many years ago
A time we don't talk about still, but never mind
It's time for you to get into your bed now
I'll sit here and read while you drop off to sleep.

Having a soak

I've been thinking about peace
and of tranquility too
and wondering how one finds it
and if having found it once
can the same path be used again
or is it somewhere new each time

I've tried looking at flames
and at clouds drifting by
it works to a certain degree
I've walked by rivers and under trees
I've thought and I've not thought
Not so good at it though

And turmoil's not easily slain
it rushes back into my thoughts
I push back but peace is gone
such a fragile thing it seems
but I think I caught a glimpse
of what I was looking for just then.

I was sitting in the bath
sometimes a bubbly soak
can be one of the possible ways
as long as it's very quiet
and I empty my thoughts out
and float .. just drift away.

Bang on the door shit fuck
what is that? Phone call for me
and with it, that's that
Climb back into my skin
and tee shirt and jeans
got to face the dread again.

Sisters

I remember you giving me your mittens
still warm from being on your hands
and I remember you looking out for me
coming home from kindergarten school
I remember the games that we used to play
and when no-one was looking we would whisper.

We developed a secret language based on looks
and little coughs, throat clearings and twitches
so that even now I look up when you do these.
And the look we exchange makes no mistake
I know that even now you remember this too
There's nothing quite like a sister is there?

It seems my whole life that I've known you
and no-one has been a better friend
it's not just based on the memories we share
You're incredible in a way I just can't explain
It's in the way that you instinctively sit
right next to me when I need to feel close.

And it's in the way you tease me about stuff
my obsessive need to follow instructions
or when I build lego although the boys aren't home.
And you sit on the sofa and chat whilst I do
as if this is the most ordinary thing going
or the extra hugs you send down the telephone.

Sometimes you ask if I have a minute to chat
and I know when it's my turn to listen
so I settle myself down close and silently wait
to hear you talk of what weighs on your your heart
No, don't you worry I won't write even here
what you shared with me on that somber day

But I want you to know that my promise still holds
and I meant every single word that I said
and if you ever need ... well you know what it is
Having a sister means you need never be scared
To tell me exactly what's needed just now
if it's humanly possible I'll do it, I will.

I won't go all mushy and soft which I hate
but I might just take this moment to say
as a sister you rock and as a best friend too
When you tell me you don't know what you would do
without me well the same goes twice for you
For you will always always be my little sister.

Just one more

I love to get pissed
I love to get high
I love to wander off in my mind
I really like not being here

So don't look like that
when you come through the door
with that serious expression
I'm just having some fun

Well sod off then
if you don't want to drink
I'll carry on there's some left
the wine rack is full again

And then turns the mood
and the clouds roll in
tears fall and I just want to die
why then do I keep doing this?

It's that feeling you know
after a bottle of wine
when I feel almost normal
I really feel fine.

But I drink too fast
to see that point coming
and then it's behind me
I'll have just one more.

Draft letter (1)

This blank page has been staring at me for hours
I just can't think how to start
Dear Ron ... Dear Uncle Ron ...
Hello monster man, remember me?
Or if not me how about my brother
my quiet, oh so quiet brother
who locked eyes with mine to guard against
what you were busy doing
and who even now suffers such anguish
that you planted way back when
in those dark days we call childhood.

I remember you, yes remember very well
so don't look here for solace
mister monster man, remember me now?
A little girl who didn't understand
this game of secrets and pain.
Or why daddy was sitting there
and the music was on so loud.
But what you did I won't describe
in case it gives you pleasure still.
May you never have peace in this life
God have mercy on you, for I never will.

Family Ties (2)

After a glass or five of wine when I had had just one
I thought I might just try and talk to you about this
See if maybe what I recall also affects you too,
as it seems to me that you weren't there in the nightmare stuff
but I need to make sure for my own peace of mind.

Do you remember dads mate the one with the ...
Oh Christ no ... I can't say that, let's start again.
You remember when dad used to drink in the basement
do you remember much from when we were kids
and that mate of his who used to come over sometimes.

My heart stands still as I hold myself I hope casually
and I look not quite into her eyes as she pauses
and mumbles what are you on about, do you mean Ron?
Yes that was his name did you ever play games with him
Do you remember anything of what he was like?

Well I remember him coming to babysit us after school
I remember him stinking of pipe smoke and ... was it beer
I never went near him he was too crazy, said he hated my eyes
I remember that. You sound kind of funny, are you all right?
I am more than all right I am over the moon. Yes I'm good thanks.

Some months later I talk to my biggest brother after too many beers
He looks kind of shifty and then blurts out that he does remember
The big bad monster man who took me and Brendan downstairs
And he cried and said how bad he'd always felt for not helping us
He was my big biggest brother and yet he was still really small.

I hold his hand while he cries and I think to myself how sad all this is
That to talk I have had to make us drink to this point of drunkeness
But still it is what it is and I must make ammends I can not leave him
thinking that even the smallest bit of this is in any way his fault,
my big biggest brother who I love, for I know he will have tried and tried.

I look into his face and tell him as much as I can bear to just then
And he sits there and listens as quietly as only a brother knows how
and the sadness and sorrow overtake us again so we drink some more
He tells me that his memories of this time have always been quite hazy
Which I say is probably for the best, so lets now talk of other things.

Neither these two mention our father and that's what I needed to know.
For whilst they might strongly suspect the bad monster man in Ron
they've no idea that he lurks also in Dad, a man they love even now.
So it's an ongoing gift that I have for years by my total silence
Given these two people the illusion at least of a loving father.

Hypnotherapy

I'm sitting in this chair and she says to relax
and think of a safe place that I know
somewhere where I have been truly happy
so I'm thinking of that maple tree I used to climb
where I'd hide up high in the top branches
shielded by the leaves waving in the wind

I'd go right up as far as I could climb
with my books in a bag and my carton of juice
and stay there reading and just looking around
knowing Mum would never think of looking up
which is good as she would have a hissy fit
to see me ruining yet another home made dress

So I'm as relaxed as I know how to be now
and she say it's all OK we can start to look back
because I am only looking, I'm here and not there
and we start stepping back and first it's OK
but when Ron appears it all starts to whirl
I try to stay in my tree and just look, but I fall

Whilst falling something strange occurs I get stuck
Between here and there and also the chair
which causes some panic to come into her voice
so now I feel scared and not at all secure
and that's what happens when your safe place
is too high up and you forget to hang on tight.

So it's not just about having a safe place at all
and she wants us to have maybe one more go
this regression can help in ways that I need
but to do so will require a huge leap from me
and I'm starting to wonder if I'm up to it at all
especially if the after effects carry on like this

The dreams are back and oh how, they are
and the night time is something I dread
the days aren't much better when I think on it
is all this really the process of getting well?
I'm not so sure, you know, I think I might stop
and try to stick the lid back on ... tight.

Family ties

I remember that evening when after all these years
I had a glimpse of the true person you are
When you aren't being a mother or a wife that is
And it shook me a bit I must admit
Because beyond the politeness lies such sorrow
And the loneliness you spoke of moved me to tears

I looked over at you, and at your familiar face
I wondered how I could have missed all those signs
Of the terrible depths of aloneness you feel
Especially when spending time in our family
And there I can totally catch your drift
Because I feel that too when I'm not ignoring it

You said something about how sad you feel
When talking to me since you see him too
I can't help I look like him to a certain degree
Or that he hates to talk of deeper things
He is so comfortable with what can be seen
But emotions are not like that unfortunately.

So later on I take him for a drink
And gently try to broach the subject of talking
But only women do this and so I should just stop
And leave him to carry on as if all is well
But I must meddle further in order to try
And justify the trust of ... well both of them.

So I talk of myself and how hard it sometimes is
And he looks so shocked to be talking like this
But I persevere and take these huge risks
Because I love them so much and it's enough
I can almost see the light dawning in his eye
The knowledge it's not me I'm talking of at all.

Early awakening

There's this funny way you look
when you are trying to make me laugh
you twinkle your eyes up at me
your nose crinkles and I notice freckles
your lips go lopsided and I see laughter
bubbling up although the punchline is far off.

It staggers me how the humour you have at 5
makes me laugh uproariously at 45, and at 5.05am
which is much too early but still I scoot over
and let you in under the duvet where I hold the torch
while you make shadow animals for me on the wall
which I guess at and too often get so wrong.

Then we whisper of hurricanes and tornadoes
your latest in a long long line of obsessions
and I try to introduce monsoons, but you won't have it
they really aren't the same thing at all apparently
which I won't have so we creep down to get
the big science book to check, what do you know?

But somehow creeping back up the stairs
we make just a little too much noise
and there is rumpled William ready to play.
Let the mayhem commence clear the duvet to the floor
make room for jumping and leaping
have you danced at 5.30am with 2 small boys?

And even as we dance and sing I look over
and you shrug your shoulders at me as if to say
well there's so many ways to have fun aren't there?
And I know just what you mean, for in that moment
I see something of the wonderful man you will become
to let your little brother dictate what was just yours.

The noise builds as laughter ensues and what fun
looking at play as it should be done with abandon
and yet the wildness is somehow tamed
by the knowledge that these are loved boys
who know that fun can be had pretty much at any time
if you can just be persuaded to jump and laugh

All too soon it's time for work and I must leave
but not before gigantic cuddles that knock me down
and more clambering around to get back up
for kisses and smackeroos done with great gusto
and waves at the window which set me up
and feel better than any prescription medication.

Work

It's just not true, I really can't have it
I must object most strongly
and yet
I do sort of get where you're coming from
and I would kind of almost agree
if it weren't for the fact that these priviledges
are not for you but for me

It's a sacred trust, and I must emphasise
that to be found worthy
it won't
be enough to just try your very best
that won't in itself be sufficient
if trying and succeeding were equals well then
nothing is as it seems

If I do my calculations wrong it just won't wash
that the workings are almost right
no brakes
that's what will happen if I don't pay attention
and focus on what needs to be done
these lorry drivers don't know me at all
but I hold their lives

Last night

I wake up to feel the residue between my legs
and frantically search my memory to find you
and yes there it is, that moment before
when you press your body towards me
and whisper urgent words of love and need

I left you then to carry on the journey into me
but outside of me at the same time as I'm not there
I've had to go you see and leave you to it
And I do know how unfair that is on us both
but really I'm not sure what else I can do.

When we argue and you allude to this
I can't think what to say that doesn't sound
like the same old reasons, the same past shit
that has nothing to do with us two at all
Should there be blame in this delicate question

How can I tell you that the woman I should be
was lost long ago by actions I've hardly explained
only in passing, those first dates when I was scared
of being rushed and hurried to do the very thing
that we are now having so much trouble with

I say it's not you, and take all the blame
and yet in my thoughts I feel a complete lack
of any will or desire to make this right
if it means going back there and fighting my demons
all over again, I don't think I can bear this

To feel like a non-woman and yet it's true
that when closeness is desired it's only by you
and that is so fucking unfair that I make the attempt
I try once again to make my body do
while my minds screams of dangerous waters

It's you and somehow him still at the same time
and I try to separate the two
but my body can't tell and sends out distress
which pisses you off and makes me retreat
from even attempting to stay here with you.

So I shut down completely and that's easy for me
it's something I'm good at still years down the line
Hiding within and waiting for you to be done
And knowing in the morning I'll feel once more
worthlessness knowing I wasn't here for you.

A late evening

You make smoking look quite glamorous
and that is exactly the right word
that I used to describe you to a friend
There's something about an eastern european accent
that makes everyday conversation more interesting
and when you talk I am listening to more than the way you talk
Honestly I am

We stay up very late in your kitchen
drinking coffee which is odd in itself
as I almost never drink it when at home.
But it fits so well and we can't drink wine we two
as we've both discovered to our individual cost
yet it doesn't halt the flow of thoughts or words between us at all
Which is nice

The ideas you have about life and it's meaning
escape me at first as I'm looking from here
and really I need to wander around to the other side
and look from quite a different perspective
and not just look but also trust my intuition
which is something I've learnt to mis-trust over these many years
Quite unlike you.

I say that some of these ideas are borne of charlatans
masquerading as Givers and yet they're empty
and use empty words and promises to suck us in
to a world where promises are made but not delivered
and people's vulnerabilities become currency
to be traded and trampled on in ways I find treacherous
which makes me sad

My lost man

There was once a time
and I do remember this quite clearly
when you and I didn't argue
or if we did it didn't last
not like weeks months long silences
where I cease to exist for you.

I wonder when that started
and I cast my mind back to see
if I can remember how it was
and more particularly
how it all finally changed forever
is it forever do you think?

I used to be quite sure
that we would always be like we were
if not happy then at least content
but I'm sitting here right now
dreading coming home to you
and that was never meant to be.

I bought into this not knowing
that these dark black clouds come over you
and stop you from even considering
the desperation I feel reaching out
the risk I take doing so
to pull you from those depths.

I do know about dark places
and I understand all too well believe me
been down that path myself
I can wait as long as it takes
so long as you come back to me
and don't lose yourself down there.

This waiting is a killer though
it eats away at me from within and I wonder
if it's me you are hiding from
or do you think hiding is correct
sounds deliberate which is wrong
are you lost, or is different

Is it more like quagmired
stuck trapped within your spiralling thoughts
of utter despair and frustration
and total can't be botheredness
a place far beyond mere apathy
which leaves you, us quite where?