Howl at the Dark Horse.

Howl at the Dark Horse.

Ashah ashah ashah ashah….wind rattles
my ears,
my face, my life.
Leather, the reins
as I steam through dark night.
Breath seems so tight,
so determined, so hard
that my howling is cutting,
scarring the world.
I ride through the bracken
not afraid of Dark Horse
for she and me shatter
boundaries with force.
This terror is screaming
in sinew and vein
as my body convulses;
invisible pain.
Ashah ashah ashah ashah…..

* dedicating this to all who suffer with invisible illness.*


Whiteness like snow, hangs once again
opposite my small, square paned window.
Beams of light come in at a morning angle
across piano, music and wooden backed chair.
While all around, the scent of pink Jasmine
mollifies the lingering fatalistic dictum of all
that is not well in this world today…… Yet,
here am I now, gazing on sunbeams as they
dance on and off the petals of the Miribelle bush.
How blessed am I to be relatively safe, that I am
in this moment, free to look upon my environment
soaking up the generosity of our glorious, natural world.IMG_0890

The Thimble


The Thimble

It is a little light going on in my tired, dimmed mind.

Something I have never seen as precious

until this very moment has bubbled up in a ball of soft

white light to the surface of my thinking……

Yet it’s not just my mind with which I think it,

for, as my body buzzes with recognition of Mother

and the gift she gave of her silver thimble,

some other warmth showers my nine year old self.

I felt safe and secure when Mother was darning.

I sat by her, watching her wrinkled hands, those working

needle and thread against the tension of the cloth…..

With thimble behind, breakthrough was sure.

The support it gave to push yet not harm,

to succeed with this quiet and peaceful task

just with herself, an exercise not entirely for herself

yet one which allowed her own, now centred self, the space.

I found warmth bathing me…….
Mother felt safe and …… did I.

Sorting It Ourselves


Sorting It Ourselves

Sorting It Ourselves

I see governments failing,
fiscal plans falling and crashing
and we, the little people, become strong.
I see we are diving in and pulling together.
As one, in our groups in this aching world,
we begin to shine and give with open hearts.
Where one can’t, another can.
Where one attacks, another heals.
Where one hates, another loves…..

Twist your fingers through the ribbons
when they are thrown.
As you go under, another will go over
the weaving of the human safety net
is in our own hands….
The “four hand carry” the “cat’s cradle”
we know how to hold another….
and now, the mighty challenge calls out –
do you/I/we, know how to be held?

Photo: Wikipedia: four-hand-lift

The Haven

The Haven

I said to him last night,
“take my car to work….come back in the morning and rest with me?”.
He looked at me…..
“OK” he said, with a seduction at the corners of his wide, wet mouth …..
There he was in the cold morning rain, at my door at 9am.
We climbed into bed – into clean sheets….
for 10am and radio 4…… The Archers Omnibus….
I fell asleep in his arms, missing most of life in Ambridge…..
yet this little haven of snuggledom
had me purring deliciously with delightfully safe sleep.
Outside this nest, Autumn winds
bumbled against the old, rough wooden door
and rains of dark lit skies
defiantly washed the small paned windows,
as it struggled to come in.
“No chance!” I mumbled…. “n o  c h a n c e.” 

View From My Chair


The View From My Chair

I sit curled in my chair away from the window
and the eyes which come and go.
I feel safe here.
It’s meant to be, a place of one’s own you know.
there are those of us who are too ready
take the swipes and the smiles
as if they were of equal benefit,
to both one’s health and the world.
Oh the ill gotten gains of being a pleaser.
Now I please my joy filled self.
I no longer creek over
to the heavy knock upon the door.
I stay hiding in my chair,
Cardi wrapped tight around me
my self pleasing ‘naughtiness’!