Sorry, it just came out that way…

Oh dear, I am sorry about this. I don’t really know where this came from today.  I was in the mood for writing a bit of verse and just came up with the first couple of lines and, well, it kinda gathered pace from there.

Sorry, no accompanying picture to cheer things up either. I did have some beautiful dark velvety tulips last year, but the bulbs were severely trampled on by the man-fence men when they installed the man-fence a month or two ago, so I think I might be tulip-less this year…

Anyhoo…sorry again for this bit of quite depressing verse!!


They asked why
I chose black tulips for his grave
The petals
Unforgiving to the touch
with fragile strength
cloak a secret centre
Their elusive lustre
glimpsed for but a moment
then quelled in this perfidious place
How earnestly they droop their sombre heads
As lifeless they lie limp on burnished wood
And they asked why
I chose black tulips for his grave


Writing 201 Poetry – Day 3

Today’s prompt is ‘Trust’ and we’re charged with writing an acrostic poem, using internal rhymes. I enjoyed writing this, but I do find my writing becomes much clumsier with such constraints.  However, it’s good practice and I’ve given it my best shot!


Drugged high, I watch and wait for your touch
Entrusting my life to you, your
Presence has become my essence
Existing in this space where only your face
Needs to be
Desolate, I lay shivering and sheet-bound
Expecting the cold breath of death
No power to move, yet
Caresses of your warm hand calm me
Escape is futile, still, in you I trust.

The Final Path

cuba cemetry for poem

Slowly, slowly,
advancing with tender steps,
emitting clouds of scarlet
with each tremulous breath,
the golden child
humbly crept

Brazenly her locks tumbled,
shrouding her shoulders
in a champagne veil
and the dusky angels
turned their heads In envy
as even the spiders silk seemed coarse

Heavy shadows blurred
the silvered path she trod,
where startled dandelions
puffed their clocks,
though time stood still
and sunrise never came

In the placid grove
where soft grasses
solemnly bowed,
the lilac air filled
with the songs of souls stirred
by an unfamiliar beat

And as they watched
that unknown child,
her iridescence faded,
turned to pearl translucence
as, with grace, she slid
into their ethereal embrace

When death do us part

If I go first
don’t weep and reel
or let sorrow fill you.
Keep your tears.
place my picture on the mantel,
remember summers in the sun,
and smile.
Though I won’t see it
it’s comforting to me now
to know you’ll remember me
with joy.

If you go first
I will not cry.
I’ll be dry and dusty.
like a forgotten room
in winter.
I’ll keep your photograph
on the pillow
where your sleeping head should be,
and dream of when
we were young and smooth
and love was all we knew.

Prayer to the Reaper

Death creep quietly to my side
smooth the life lines from my face
let the darkness rest my eyes
and wrap me in your cold embrace

Lift the troubles from my soul
soothe the ache from weary bones
I will submit without recoil
‘til but the shell of me remains

Stop my heart from pumping blood
so lips no longer crave the kiss
Tears will dry upon my cheeks
the scars of life to turn to dust

Then teary eyes remember life
and turn their gaze towards the light.

The Marriage

Her, with her white-veiled smile, looking up at me.
Him, with his unlikely carnation. Shifty eyed.
The football-shirted pageboy,
flanked by two pink princesses,
sulkily kicks an invisible ball

The mum and dad wouldn’t come.
Too young, they said through tearful, pleading eyes.
I pray to god to bless this union,
Though secretly my heart despairs.
Friends cheer as they briefly kiss

Back down the aisle in the meringue inspired, empire-line dress
To the waiting limousine,
Back to the waiting council house clothes,
and the soon-to-be occupied nursery.
To the terraces of silent acceptance.

Five kids and many beatings later,
before she’s even 40, I’ll see her again in white robes.
Nicotine stained fingers betraying her killer
as surely as any pathology could
Friends sigh, and turn their faces, as she glides away


As time goes by

I can barely say it out loud, but I’m facing one of those big birthdays this year.  You know, one that ends in a  fat ‘ol zero. In my case, if you were counting your fingers you’d have had to go on to your second hand. Yep 60.  Big fat 60.

Of course, I’m not really 60, I’m really about 23.  Well, that’s how I feel (most days… Sometimes I feel 103).     The funny thing is, that I’m not thinking ‘my god, I’ll be 60 this year’, no, I’m thinking ‘my god, I’ve been eligible for saga holidays for ten years already’ and worse ‘my god, in ten years time I’ll be 70’ .  And the one sure fire thing about getting old is that ten years is most definitely not as long as it used to be.

I remember, in my youth, seeing a science programme where James Burke talked about the ‘relativity of time’.  And its true.  We all know that the ten minutes at the end of a working day can seem to drag on for hours, and yet, ten minutes lie-in under a snuggly duvet flies by in what seems seconds. Time can drag when you’re bored or race when your busy.

I can be blissfully unaware of time passing when I’ve nodded off on the sofa (a sure sign of advancing age, or perhaps too much partying??), waking up not knowing whether I’ve been asleep for five minutes or two hours.  Often the TV channel has been changed and I don’t realise it until half an hour later when I say ‘where’s that baddie bloke gone?’ and am told that that film had finished and we’re way into the next one now.

The other time when you are blissfully unaware of time, or anything else for that matter, is under anaesthetic.  They can move you about, prod you with instruments, cut you open and sew you up again, and you know nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  No pain. No discomfort. No timescale.  I comfort myself that that’s what death must be like.  A void in which you are unaware.  Completely.

Going back to the year’s going faster, I found this explanation on the Naked Scientist website, and although I agree with the main reply, I think the far more likely explanation is discussed further down in the responses, and it tally’s in with what James said all those years ago.  A year now, represents a 60th of my life, whereas when I was 10 it was only a 10th. Little peeps are almost living in dog years compared to me.

Well, I guess doing nothing so time goes slower is not really the answer.  Rather, I should cram as much in as I can.  Don’t waste a single minute and try and fill the next thirty years with wonder.  I listen to the Chris Evans show on Radio 2 in the mornings, and every day he speaks to a child who is doing something for the first time that day.  The next day he speaks to the same child and asks them to mark their new experience out of ten.  Almost without exception they say something like ‘a gazillion and twenty five’ even if its something as mundane to me as a swimming lesson. That’s the sort of enthusiasm I want to regain. Of course, its much harder to find new experiences when your older, but I’m going to do my best to be Adventurous, Brave and Curious.

What was the last ‘new experience’ you had?