Category: poems

No, Not Meatloaf!

When our childhood memories stay with us through our lives, it is often attached to music. A song can transport us to another time…..

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And the Bat has rested…… May he Rest in Peace…

I first came to hear of Meatloaf when I was 13 years old and he touched my soul….. I found him, specifically the album Bat out of Hell, to be exciting, deep, crude and and also so romantic that it has to be my all time favourite album, from my all time favourite musician.

I have played this album a million times and continue to do so. I have blasted out his songs when driving, when hoovering, when celebrating and when on my knees in grief and pain.

My kids know his songs, they too love him and I am sure my grand children will come to love him too, through them.

He is a legend and I am so so sad at the news of his parting. If only Heaven could wait and leave him with us a while longer.

I had written a poem inspired by Bat out of Hell a couple of years ago which was published in a Magical Moments publication. The publication included poetry and stories inspired by music. Of course, my big inspiration had to be Meatloaf.

So, Rest in Peace to him. Condolences to his family and fans. He will be a big loss but he has left such a legacy for us all. He will be immortal.

Heroes are remembered, but legends never die

Babe Ruth

Magical Moments –  Meatloaf – Bat out of Hell

Promised kisses….

Transport me back to another time

Dance in tune to the perfect rhyme

Youth club days in a purple haze

Beginning to blossom, still reserved,

taking risks and losing the nerve

of going too far, with promised kisses

spinning the bottle and classroom hisses

full of hope yet insecure

will it last, who knows for sure

paradise day and night

crossbar rides, taking flight

now dancing round my living room

hoovering up this adult gloom

beating out my heart is screaming

long lost kisses leave me reeling

warning sirens in my ears

take away my mundane fears

heaven can wait, but oh can I

like a bat out of hell, I want to fly

fly and soar and do it again

by the dashboard light, I will abstain

The minutes…

The Minutes…….

And as times slips by

And they don’t see me cry

They think all is well inside

But the thing is with loss

You pay a high cost

You just bury it deep down to hide

When they’re far removed

From the love that you knew

They don’t understand, they abide

So the tears now are silent

And hidden from view

But all the minutes of the days

Are still full of you.

Carnage……

Pain and suffering, especially in grief is sometimes so complex that no matter what you do, you cannot seem to get the balance and so you just have to wait it out……

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Sometimes you just have nothing to say, at least not out loud. You have plenty to say, in your head and the incessant talking doesn’t stop. You may want to say it out loud, but you can’t, or you won’t for fear. Fear of letting go of the hurt and the pain and letting the emotions take you on a journey where you do not want to go. Fear of causing hurt and pain, to others because you just can’t articulate it properly without emotions getting in the way and muddling it all up.

Like the force of a tsunami thrusting, pushing and propelling at swift unstoppable speed, relentlessly, ruthlessly and causing so much destruction and damage, but it is impossible to stop it. The carnage it will cause, is unthinkable, and so, you keep it all in, hold it down, squeeze it, suppress and restrain it.

The pain will dull woefully , the hurt will scar deeply , the emotions will become emotionless and as the carnage unfolds within, so shall you carry the burden of being the source of their misery…..

That time…..

A time of good cheer. The one day when all is good and well and the whole world is happy….. right?

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Tick tok, tick, tok……….

it’s nearly that time when all should be fun

and children are laughing and no one is glum

where people are frantic and rushed off their feet

presents to buy, people to meet

buy all the groceries, prepare all the puds

get on that list, on the side of the ‘good’.

just stop for a minute and look all around

see whats in front of you, and who’s on the ground

the homeless, the needy, the battered and bruised

no christmas for them, do not be confused

the lost and the lonely, bereaved and bereft

those without faith or an ounce of hope left

so yes it’s that time to share some good will

offer a hand, don’t let time stand still

help the downtrodden, do a kind act

lets stick together, lets make a pact

share out your good fortune, offer it with grace

see dark sad eyes brighten and lift up their face

let the magic of christmas truly begin

open your hearts and let kindness in

teach to your children the magic they have

by accepting indifference to their fellow man

the beauty of giving with a simple pure heart

is a priceless reward and that’s just the start

so yes, it’s that time, to be humble and good

and remember to help all of those that we should

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don’t beat yourself up or put yourself down

you only can do what your means can allow

the money, the toys, whether small or big

matters not one single jot, cos’ you’ve far more to give

the love in your heart, a kind simple word

a long tender hug lifts up the whole world

the gift of love, is the best you can give

and be thankful and grateful for as long as you live……….

The tomorrows

Though the tides will ebb and flow and the night will turn to day
The steps that go one, in front of the other
Will always carry you, along the way…..
Hearts filled with love and sorrow
Will carry over, all the tomorrows that you do not have
But live on through those left behind who will tell stories of their encounters, and we will smile, as we recall, with such joy, the love and laughter that we once shared and so, you will live on another day, and more, until we gather together again, and dance and laugh and hold you tight, in our arms…..

Authors own.. Coombe Abbey, tranquil walk

Celebrity… Tosh?

I wasn’t born into royalty. I am not a celebrity. I was born free, into a family that loved me and I love them, but does that make my life perfect? Should I perceive that a king, queen, Prince, Princess has a perfect life? Should I envy and look up to a celebrity and think, they have it all sussed, they made it, they have the perfect life…. Does anyone have a perfect life. I don’t think so. What I do know, is that we have knowledge, inside knowledge, of our own lives, because, we live it. We may have opinions on others’ lives, but that is all they are, opinions. The world is divided on Prince Harry. The world has been following Prince Harry since Before he was even born… Imagine that! I couldn’t think of anything more intrusive that being continually photographed, followed, objectified, critsised and taunted… He has a voice about his own life, his thoughts, his feelings. Let him be free to speak it! This poem is in response to Jeremy Clarkson latest view calling his book tosh, and piers morgan’s usual rant over him and his wife…. Who are they to judge!

Where do they get off, so called celebrities, with their view of ‘tosh’.

Clarkson, Morgan, love to rant, but feel the Prince shouldn’t, or can’t?

A tell all memoir of his life, of course, there’s lots who’ll blame his wife!

Opinions, opinions, view points and all, but isn’t he the one, that can recall it all?

I’m neither a Royalist nor celebrity struck, but I’m sick and tired of reading such muck.

How can a celebrity think his path is right, and people should support them, in their ‘toshful’ plight?

Horses for courses in the lives that we lead. What right has a celebrity, to preach how to succeed.

Their life is their life, only they can live it. Not perfect, not wholesome, and could change in a minute!

What happened to the message that we all should ‘be kind’. Then what gives you the right, to speak out your mind?

Were you born into royalty and told what to do. A flash in your face, media following you?

From the day you were born, they just won’t relent. You’re expected to conform and you have the intent.

To do as your told, for the sake of the crown, but even the mighty have to fall down.

Break free from the chains and get out of the game, like an animal that’s wild, and doesn’t want to be tamed.

But wants to roam free, walk his own winding path, and show to the world, the life that he had.

So many will tell him what a ‘privilege’ he had, but if he doesn’t want it, does that make him bad.

He’s scorned if he does he’s scorned if he doesn’t, told to do this, told that he mustn’t.

Let the man be to live his own life, a person, a father a husband to his wife.

Who are we all to court contraversy, just let him speak, if it sets him free.

How many celebs have written a book, about their own lives and want us to look?

To see their life, from their own side, some of it shameful but balanced with pride.

We are all just people, walking this planet, born in to circumstance, we none of us planned it.

Stop casting aspirations on what he should do. Keep guarded your counsel on what YOU should do.

Stop with the shouting, the words of disdain, pointing the finger and causing such pain.

Keep your opinions in your own little minds and remember the message to ‘please be kind’

How can we know if people don’t tell, how it was for them, whether heaven or hell.

Perspective and context, only they really know. So big mouthed celebrities just ‘let it go’

You were born a nobody just like me. Be wise be humble, with an ounce of dignity!

Oblivious

Sleep alludes me, though I am so very tired. The sun cracks through the opened window, early in the mornings, and the dawn chorus awakens me. Such a contrast to the labouring snores blasting my ears as he sleeps beside me, deep in his slumber, oblivious to raucous he makes or the sound of the dogs barking from across the garden.

My mind wanders to our new house, wondering how soon before we get the keys. The start to our new life. How shall I dress this one to make it a home? Which colours and fabrics and oddments shall I use.
A blank canvas screaming for life and colour.

As I lay awake, I try to escape the noise and get lost deep in the kaleidoscope of my imagination until finally, sleep will surrender itself to me and I too will be oblivious….

This house…

The echos of life… Authors own

This House….

When I leave this house I wonder

Will it miss me and the noise within its walls?

Will it wonder

Where did we go and are we coming back?

Will it be silent or will it groan with the emptiness?

When I leave this house I wonder

Will I miss the space and the fit of it?

All my things, in familiar places

Nooks and cranny’s

The creaks of the wood as it gets warmer then colder

Will the sound of it spark fear in the new owners?

When I leave this house will the memory of my ordinary days here

Stay with me

The view from the window as I wash the dishes

The colour of the sun as it rises and sets, front and back of my garden

The light and dark of the shadows it casts

The light and dark of the noise that the house was privy to

Family banter

The hustle and bustle of yesterday

when they were all here

When I leave this house, will it feel betrayed

Will I remember the colour of spring in the garden that I planted?

And the new light of autumn as the leaves fall from the trees

The laughter of the summer days

Children playing

Daisy chains

Will the weeping willow continue to weep?

Or will it wither and die

When I leave this house that I built from scratch

From the foundations to the roof

And filled its cavity with strong walls to bring to life

a home

Will I feel deep sadness too difficult to describe?

Then will I pretend 

that it is OK

it is only a house?

Evidence

When the clutter is not really clutter, can you just let it go?

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Evidence

It’s the final countdown

Countdown to leaving

Leaving this place

Where do I begin

To bring it to an end

How do I decide

Decades of ‘collectables’

The pleasure they derived

Stored, hoarded, and boxed away

Time to decide in the next few days

Boxed away neatly large and small

Could I really get rid of them all?

Time to let go

They are all in the past

Give them a future in

Someone else’s hands

Take the step

Shed that old skin

Wriggle on out

 like a snake, Slithering

hard as it is, it must be done

the countdown is on

you’re on the home run

liberation from ‘things’ that

simply are that

but, they give us our memories

and bring us back

a time to remember

when we did this and did that

it’s not so easy to ‘just let go’

some things must be kept

just because, it is so

the trinket gift, given with love

no price would ever be enough

the child’s little drawing

given with pride

or the pottery they made

with such great strides

it’s hard to abandon or just

throw out

it’s not all ‘clutter’

I have no doubt

So time to discern and

And pick my way through

I can’t turn my back on

Evidence of you

Down through the years

We’ve gathered so much

Does it matter, if it still collects dust

Knowing they’re there

In the dark attic space

Brings comfort to me

And a smile on my face

The clothes, the bags, the furniture too

Can all be discarded

But not evidence of you

You when you were little

And all you achieved

To throw it all out,

I would be aggrieved

One day I would hope

When you go through these things

The memories come back

And your heart, too will sing.

So clutter me this, you are coming with me

To a new home to live

To be stored and to be……