I've read poetry since I was nine and have written creatively since I was fourteen (probably long before that). After writing book reviews and social comment, I decided I wanted to write poetry. I have no formal training, but I surround myself with poets and their writing. I am honing my craft.
I have two published collections which I don't feel good about, but have been published by madswirl.com and other publications. I live on the south coast of England with my daughter. I am seriously ill.
Today the stars align, sun, moon, earth
a ring of light to the Earth from the Heavens
occasion rare but beautiful
to those who care to look upward
Skies hold hope, never changing
the movements are a pattern
since before time began
Sun and Moon light our paths
Published in The Lark
I used to love waking in the morning because I would be pain free and relaxed.
It seems that is over now. I wake with painful spasms. My neurological disease is progressing fast.
My appointment in Southampton is on 1 September, so that seems far off and also suggests the end of summer, and reminds me that winter is not a good time for me.
A friend came over yesterday. We had a good chat and watered the garden together. I have more beautiful flowers opening. My garden is a pleasure to be in, despite all the weeds left by Benn Jackson.
Yesterday, when I went to water the garden, my breathing deteriorated quite a bit. When I came in, I felt I was suffocating – I literally could not get air in. It is terrifying, as the feeling is so visceral. So overwhelming. It is not like energy being sapped away.
My body fights to get air in. I can’t stop it. My lungs crave air. So now, I am loathe to do anything. Any exertion seems to result in suffocation.
No appointment from Southampton as yet.
In dreams there are no shadows
only daylight and everything is
understood
There are no questions in dreams
no need for asking
all is seen
Reality is clothed in shadow
a questioning of how this is
how did it start
is there blame to blame
A no not said
misunderstanding
hidden
clouds pass over
Light flickers bright, dull, bright
darkness creeps
questions clothed in shadow
In the darkness
hiding in daytime
but it is truly night
Questions dim our eyes
dull our hands and mouths
cannot speak, cannot fight
in dreams truth is fully known
no need to explain even to ask
Understood
whilst within the dream
no need for waking
all is seen
Published in The Lark
I had to call out paramedics tonight. I felt a bit rubbish even though my blood oxygen was ok-ish.
They could hear a wheeze, before a stethoscope came near me. They nebulised me and then waited for my blood oxygen to settle. I felt a whole lot better afterwards. I’m just a bit amped up from the steroid.
This new phase of my journey with my respiratory failure is still a mystery to me. My sats have been better than before becoming a retainer, yet my heart is working harder.
I will work it out.
Most of us have a fairly good idea of what others perceive when they are around us. Well mannered, dressed a certain way, kind or otherwise, easy to laugh with or not.
Some folk notice somethings we don’t. A nervous laugh, twisting a ring, that we kiss the air, that we frown a lot.
A mirror does not show our true image either. To see that, we must hold two mirrors at 45 degrees and look at the join. This is what we really look like.
In order for us to know our true selves, we must lose our inhibition. Loss from a brain injury does not count. Brain damage causes all sorts of problems, and can include loss of hibitions, but does not reveal the true self.
Chemicals of a certain nature do show ourselves for who we are. Some people are terrified of using them.
The two best chemicals are alcohol and morphine. If you have ever had surgery, you probably had morphine included in the cocktail that anaesthetised you, or it was administered just before you awakened to prevent post-op pain.
After I had an operation, I found that I felt love toward the nurses in the recovery room. Later I learned l told two nurses that I told two nurses I loved them. This made me feel a bit embarrassed, but not overly so.
I do drink alcohol on occasion. My man likes to get me slightly tipsy. I become more readily to laugh and I am more complimentary. This is the true me. Veneer has dropped, society’s demand for proper behaviour vanishes.
Someone I knew, when drunk, climbed into an ambulance and drove it away. Another person assaulted another drinker in a bar. I have seen drunken women brawl like angry cats.
Of course, there are many others who become loving and laughing like me. Quite a lot cry, or become needy.
The dreadful thing is that some people commit domestic violence when disinhibited. Mostly men but some women too.
Other men seduce women or video call them to masturbate.
Since alcohol is not prohibited, how do we prevent the negative results? I believe that anyone convicted of a crime while drunk should go through detox and made to get support for the future. A future of sobriety.
Nothing else will stop negative disinhibition. Although it will always be retrospective.
Published in Know Thyself, Heal Thyself
Brighton Beach, the Russian Jew’s idea
Of what Americans think Russia is like
The little Odessa
On the Atlantic shore ten or so miles
From Wall St
A place for bathing and beach life
Cafes and restuarants, food from all the world
So many nationalities are melted here
And everyone smokes, even the waiters
In their breaks will find a bench to smoke
Old couples in big hats put up umbrellas
Against the sun and light up
The Mermaid Parade on 23 June
So scantily clad on the floats
At night you can dance with seafood clothed girls
In Brighton Beach the only thing
That will set you apart
Is to vote for Obama, for although
They all live most liberal lives
The fear of socialism from their past
Haunts them, even though they know
America is not like that, their fear lives
And drives their vote
While being scantily clad on the beach
Published in The Lark
I so wish I had refused when CT Meek messaged me ”’From now on I am your editor”.
To be honest, I felt intimidated and did not a scene. Well, there is certainly a scene now. When I saw that friends were in his group, I told them of his theft. The one who reacted most strongly is the one who is now libelling me on fb. All the others left his group or blocked him without a murmur.
I got more uncomfortable while submitting my poems. He is not a kind man. There were threats. The only good thing about it was his foreword, which was very complimentary and in line with other reviews.
It is hard to stand alone when you know someone has done wrong, stolen, deceived. And then to find out that someone like Syd Meats doesn’t hesitate to jump in and speak badly about some post where he was the only idiot.
Courage to stand alone is the motto on here, my blog. Alone in my health condition, not understood symptoms, let alone anyone having heard of it. It is amazing how doctors respond. Some treat the symptom only, some want to know more, and others are arrogant and think they can ignore what they don’t know.
I do feel alone. Even my closest friends don’t understand my illness. I can’t expect them to. As far as I know I am the only person in the world with my health condition. There are a few with my disease, but not the intervention that now cause respiratory failure.
I had a very stupid fall some days ago. One second I was standing, and the next I was draped over the bath.
My shoulder and sternum are painful. My sternum is very painful indeed. Everything I do seems to cause the pain to be noticed. I take painkillers but there’s only so many one can take.
Watering the garden seemed like agony.
A wonderful poppy is in bloom. I was awe struck. There are so many flowers. It is truly lovely in my garden. Bees bumble around and butterflies are fluttering.
My strawberry plants were looking a bit droopy. There’s lots of fruit.
I still have some plants to plant. I don’t feel up to it with this pain. So I keep them as healthy as possible, and will do what I can when I can.
Some poet friends have blocked Colin Meek, my so called editor who edited nothing. A thief, a con-artist but he is neither an editor or a poet.
These trees are old and cover my path
a canopy of leaves and branches
edging the schoolyard, the gate also covered
I hear children laughing, carefree play
running, chasing, catching balls
through the seasons the canopy changes, like me
Now, in summer, leaves are green and cool it is below
when Fall comes many colors adorn my way
and I tread on leaves of gold
Published in The Lark
