Hard Ground, Manic and Endless

I am thinking
about you
looking out my window
watching spring
wishing I hadn’t forgotten
how to laugh

watching you
even now
can still
make me smile
and stumble
reaching
for empty air
that rush
of soft voices
home

Thinking about you
I give up
sit down
on hard ground
let my teeth
slide into soft peach
trying to remember
the sound of you
manic and endless

5 April 2019

 

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I Must Remember

I want
my life
to be more
than hospitals
and doctors
and nurses
and chemo drips
followed by
antibiotic drips

Outside it is Spring
Inside I monitor
my body
for signs
for omens
for the rustle
of black raven’s wings
for deadly infections

Two days ago
the Moon was heavy
and full
fertile with longing
and need

Tonight
as we walk
exhausted
and empty
out of the
hospital
into
the cold
night air
the moon
is golden
and growing
smaller

I am
overcome
with quiet
bleak
empty
car parks

until a gull
screeches
forlornly
at the Moon

Without thinking
I search
the black skies
for signs
and I shiver
with the cold
shut my eyes
against
too many
tomorrows
against
not enough
tomorrows

and dream
of the feel
of hot sun
on pale skin

It is Spring
outside

I must
remember
that

Day 2 of GloPoWriMo/NaPoWriMo

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2 April 2018
Sussex Coast, England

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Day 2 of 30 poem almost didn’t happen. I spent the day in the hospital with septicaemia (one of the joys of Chemotherapy) and intravenous antibiotics.

Winter into Spring

So yesterday was the 8th day after Chemo and the first day I felt relatively human.

I still had a few moments where I had to sit down or fall down in a dramatic faint but definitely more stamina, more clarity. I can’t tell you what a relief it is to be able to think again.

Where I live this Easter holiday is experiencing its last gasp of winter flowing off the Siberian plains. In fact, it’s not that cold where I am, just damp and gloomy.

Today we took both dogs to the vet which is always exciting. English Springer Spaniel’s can be a handful and so very wild and free and happy. Well, mine is anyway. We rescued her from an abusive situation so I spoil her shamelessly. I feel no remorse for this at all.

But… winter is turning into Spring. I found flea dust on The Spaniel. Unfortunately with breast cancer the normal flea remedies are out of the question for us. Chemical fumes are out of the question. Chemicals in general are out of the question. So we’re moving to tablets.

Winter is turning into Spring.

It’s been raining. The ground is wet.

Just outside of the vet office is a small red post box stuck on a pole in the ground. At its base yellow daffodils cheerily bloom their hearts out.

Winter into Spring.

Dark gray skies and cold damp air and bunches of bright yellow everywhere. I love living here.

I read a post written by someone who is sitting with an old love as they go through the final stages of their terminal illness. She was requesting recommendations for the beautiful and uplifting as she sits with her loved one in her last days.

A friend recommended William Ackerman which reminded of a cold, wet, not quite Spring day in Oklahoma. I was tired and bored and brain dead from poverty when I stumbled into a record store and said, “Turn me onto something new.”

I can’t even imagine doing something like that now. Online social networking should be a godsend for introverts like me but it, in fact, it has increased my social anxiety and feelings of isolation. However, I have learned to spot the sacred in the profane and the music in silence.

Winter into Spring.

This punk rock guy in black leather and a Ramone’s t-shirt turned me onto Winter into Spring by George Winston, an early Windham Hill artist.

Honestly, I was sceptical at first, eyebrow definitely raised at a quirky angle but I liked the title. I bought it on vinyl. It was the 80s. I used to be impulsive. I’ve been listening to it every Spring for decades. Of course, now I have the mp3 version.

Still…

Winter into Spring

Maybe you would like it too.

Namaste

 

 

 

 

dancing in the rain

I love spring anywhere, but if I could choose I would always greet it in a garden. ~Ruth Stout

Every spring is the only spring – a perpetual astonishment. ~Ellis Peters

Fairies are invisible and inaudible like angels. But their magic sparkles in nature. ~Lynn Holland

The rain fell
Leaving magic sparkles
On my sadly neglected garden

As always
the loyalty of a flower
surprises me
My daffodils continue
to dance for me

Even when I forget to dance for them…