When…

all we are certain of is now….

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When the buds unravel and unfurl in their splendour

it’s time

when a heart skips a beat and you get lost in loves wonder

it’s time

when a mother first sees you and holds you in her arms

it’s time

when a loved one takes their last earthly mortal breath

it’s time

when the moon and stars shines light in the darkness

it’s time

when the sun’s warm embrace soothes and rests on your face

it’s time

when sadness, hurt and despair are choking and squeezing you

it’s time

and when faith and hope and love collide, and give reason and understanding, it gives power in the now, this hour, this second, this moment in time

it’s time to embrace and endure to look and to listen, to feel and to heal, respect and accept

it’s time

Julia

a time to remember our loved ones on national poetry day and remember the strengths and weaknesses that can tie us together….

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What a fair and curious child little Julia was

Happy to sit and play and dance and gather up the moss

A tall man would come from just up the road

his house so very different, from the house where she had grown

he’d pay her a visit from time to time, she was thrilled for such attention

for a child so young she would notice her siblings got no mention

and as she played in the bog, others around would tease her

still, merrily in her naivety, she wouldn’t let it displease her

sometimes he’d give her a penny and place it in her hand

she’d curl her fingers around it, and wonder about this man

she never quite knew why he came to spend time with her alone

He’d wander from the big house, the one that made the quarry stone

she just a farmer’s daughter tending to their lot

fierce with pride and dignity they took care of what they got

her daddy with his callused hands and furrows on his brow

looked tired and worn and beaten down, his eyes full of sorrow

many mouths to feed he ploughed right on and his eldest daughter helped

as she swept and cleaned and cooked for those, up at the big house

her mother busied daily, keeping Julia close by her side

this little child she loved so much had filled her heart with pride

for Julia was only 4 years old in the year of 1916

unaware of the trouble and toils that came from the Easter Rising

A simple carefree country girl now the only one left at home

Her big brother and big sister, to England they had flown

But still he came, the tall gentleman, and sit and sip some tea

Cautious in how he spoke to her and to her mammy

Polite in his manner, he wore a rather tall hat

Always tipped, then took it off and laid it on his lap

A man with many children, he had a large family

Julia never understood, ‘why does he come see me’

His older son was sent away when he was only 16

To join the British army and has not been back to Meath

Well that was 4 years ago now and though he is very proud

There is something hanging over his head like a big grey cloud

Mammy seems a little sad, when the man comes by to chat

But she is polite and kind to him and Julia is pleased with that

When Julia is only 9 years old the man could come no more

Some say it was a broken heart, but they cannot be sure

Not yet a man of 60, his time had come to pass

No more would he wander down from the big stone house

As Julia grew older it was time to tell the truth

The tall man was her grandpa, yet she didn’t have a clue

Her mammy was really her nanny and raised her as her own

And her ‘mammy’ was her sister where to England she had flown

And later on after that her ‘father’ too would visit

Back from the British Army, he came back home to Meath

Always through a veil of somewhat secrecy

George would visit Julia with his new wife, the Lady

And though she felt quite happy that they would come for tea

It was a reminder of how very proud she was of her strong family

For back in the year 1912 it must have been unnerving

But strength and pride and dignity were qualities they were preserving

Shakespeare

Did you know the extent of the words we use today are attributed to Shakespeare…. There are 422 bona fide words apparently

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Known to have invented/coined/minted over 400 new words, I have put a few (61) together here for my amusement. They are in italics… Enjoy

An Ode to fellow writers who like the written word

I may unearth a little tale that you may think absurd.

 I was born not far from Stratford, birthplace of the ‘Bard’

 easily accessible from my old front yard.

  Well to your amazement you might find this lacklustre

 that I wasn’t really into him, though he was an indistinguishable buster.

 Is not that he’s disgraceful, distrustful or distasteful,

 he simply wasn’t my cup of tea; I know I sound ungrateful.

 I’m not being sanctimonious or engaging in rumination

but I’d rather hang out, if I could with an ill-tempered Dalmatian.

 I know for others, he is king and really hard to rival

 but I think I’m more impartial to reading the blessed bible!

 I’ve been to his house a few times as I’m a little fascinated,

of course the tour began downstairs with a honey-tongued man named David

He had a hunchbacked girlfriend, she was quite a hoot

If she mixed up her lines however, he would show his hobnail boot!

David was ill-tempered this I can’t deny

I heard at their engagement, she had a little cry

I told her not to dwindle, that he was too domineering

she ought to end this courtship and audition for the ‘girl with the pearl earring’.

I don’t mean to be critical but some things just must be said

Of course its circumstantial but I’m not really that well read

I don’t think Shakespeare was fair-faced, he’d had a lot of exposure

but his plays and poems were equivocal in written word disclosure

In his pretty garden there is a rather large footfall

Of people listening to his ‘Acts’; not out playing football

I came across a fortune-teller, suffering with leaky gut

She was a promethean psychic, with a rather large butt

What she said was priceless, over credulous more like

So I became a little hostile and slept on it that night

I think she was a madwoman of that I must lament

she told me that Will Shakespeare, at night to her was sent

as he watched her undress he would have a fitful fap

and when he had quite finished, she would stand up and clap

You see why I am so fretful at this foulmouthed hot-blooded woman

Why would she just stand there while the Bard was ‘coming’

What an auspicious story, it makes me want to shudder

I think she must be lonely and her mind is in the gutter.

His house is quite a wonder, nook-shotten here and there

I even saw his marriage bed when I went upstairs

The guide was watching closely like useful watchdog

Ensuring nothing useless would get past the sod

So here I am to educate myself as I write this

My aim is to humor and of course to reminisce

Because I didn’t know that Shakespeare had invented so many words

I may not be reclusive, but I’m a fairly kickie-wickie girl

I hope you get your moneys-worth if you ever pay a visit

It’s really quite majestic for the time that was in it

I could keep going on and on for there are 422 words minted

By the zany William Shakespeare of which we have been gifted

I’m not one for braggartism so I really will end it here

Don’t be too cold-hearted let me hear some Cheer!

‘we are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with sleep’

The Tempest Act 4, Scene 1

I salute you …. Capt. Tom Moore

Sometimes it is the little things that end up being the big things. Capt. Thomas Moore is a prime example….

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Can I tell you that you’ve moved me

with your simple act of kindness

to walk around your garden

has done more than just to bind us

in uniting in our thanks and praise

it has opened up our eyes

to show that simple gestures

can bring the biggest surprise

a selfless man just ‘helping out’

as you done so in the war

but let me tell you Captain Tom

you have done so much more

you’ve shown a generation of what it means to count

a credit to society, of that there is no doubt

as for the doctors and nurses

for which you bravely fight

the amount you have raised in money terms

is truly an awesome sight

it started with a single step

and caused such a furore

i’d like to say ‘I salute you’

Sir Captain Thomas Moore

I truly hope your birthday

gets the celebration it deserves

your name will be in history books

and forever be preserved

As for your family, a pride they surely feel

and the people who got behind you

it really is surreal

So a round of applause for this great man

and those who have donated

putting your money where your mouth is

without feeling obligated

and thanks to all the medical

and other front line staff

we are so very humbled

as we watch you walk your path

lets hope when this is all over

and we cast a grateful net

of love, of grief, yet hope and peace

lest we forget

Press Pause

in these uncertain times we have enough to worry about. The most important thing to worry about it staying safe and well and keeping others safe and well. Worrying about rent, mortgages, businesses etc should not be part of our burden now. I think the governments, around the world should just press pause, from the beginning of march and reboot, when this is all over, so no more debt accumulates, adding to people’s already enormous burden of keeping well.

press pause
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It didn’t seem so serious, not really

Not at first

Everyone carried on as normal engaging with life

Wrapped up in it, in work or family, despair, debt

The rat race

December, a month of mixed emotions

Full of demands, from excitement to dread

Christmas

A new unexpected trend was banded about this year

It was ‘Corona Virus’

We heard it mentioned, but it was ‘over there’

We carried on as normal, in the rat race

Wrapped up in work, in family, in despair and debt

Beware the ides of March!

Now we began to listen to take notice

It was here, it was everywhere

Stockpile, panic buy, carry on

With daily life, with family, work, despair and debt

Spreading, dying, ignorance and fear

Lockdown

Essential, frontline, social distancing, cocoon

Wash, wash wash your hands

Don’t touch your face

Stay safe at home

Get out of the rat race

Press pause

Flatten the curve, it will save lives

Don’t be a fool, ignorance is not bliss

It is fatal

The world is broke, full of despair, fear and debt

Press pause

Take time to reflect.

Connect

With fresh eyes, find a way

It’s about people and love and life

Humanity

The rat race, dead in the water

It’s a boulder, laying heavy on your shoulder

The graves are the same depth

Press pause

When it’s over, when it’s been contained

Let a new contagion begin

A kind one, a helpful one, a fair one

Not one full of ignorance, hate, debt or regret

Press play and begin anew

Wipe the slate clean

Let families flourish and businesses carryon

Without the noose

We are all in the same boat

Let’s not accumulate the entire ocean in it and sink

A new world, a new world game

The human race

Let’s heal the world, play your part

Let our leaders play theirs

Let them lead, honourably, wisely, honestly and fairly

Press pause

So that we can embrace the pause

So we may cocoon and stay safe at home

So we may slow the spread

So that we may flatten the curve

So that we may not put our essential frontline staff at risk

So that our frontline staff may be rewarded for their bravery

Tenacity and courage

So that when we un-press pause

The new world looks like a brighter place

Not full of despair, like in the rat race

Mothers

The strong, the weary , the substitute and the absent… you are doing a great job….

 

 

happy mothers day card beside pen macaroons flowers and box near coffee cup with saucer
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Mothers,

once were little girls, dreaming of the beautiful world

in which to make their mark

Cuddling their teddy or little rag doll,

not knowing life could be so stark

for becoming a mother gives feelings like no other

in the lightness and the dark

The fear begins at the very beginning

and seems to never abate

the love so great,  hard to contemplate

how to keep you from ever getting hurt

fear of the unknown as we watch you grow

always on high alert

the bonds that they share with the children they bare

is one, only they can know

they prep and they nurture and try not to hurt ya

as they watch their babies grow

into upstanding adults, as they swim without paddles

when finally, they must let you go

They continue to worry, so try not to hurry

just go about life at your best

It’s hard on your mother, to let you discover as

you seek out and fly from the nest

Some, not so lucky to feel this love or have the same strong bond

you may live with another, not your actual mother,

who will love you and hope you’ll respond

for love it can come, in all shapes and sizes

and mother’s can come in all sorts of guises

it’s the love that matters,  no matter life’s tatters

that brings you into the fold

so on this mothers day, all that I pray

is that ‘I love you’, is what’s being told

 

 

Redress….

Watching the program on RTE,:Redress, breaking the silence, I was very sad, angry and upset for the victims. I wrote down words some had used and put them into this poem. For all people of abuse, institutional or otherwise, Keep fighting, keep surviving,

black and white black and white depressed depression
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Redress

  

What am I?

I ask of you, I ask of me

In the eyes and minds of others, do you see me?

Do we see the trees, in the woods?

The intricacies, the forms and shapes

Each piece, from root to tip

Some of it medicine, some of it poison

What is at the core?

Covered and disguised from and by

Outward appearance

The beauty, the ugly, the refined, the wild

Enclosed, hidden, cocooned, protected?

Still it grows, it lives, it flourishes and survives

It smiles, frowns, laughs and cries

It performs, protects, gives life and reason.

It can multiply, it is duplicitous

It is harmful, outraged, calm

Yet, there is a serenity and purity and no shame or blame

So what do you see…. Me?

Shall I concede, should I?

Is it for me, to redress, to confess the sin, of you, of them

like a virus, I am infected,

I am confident in my trauma

It is cemented in and resides within me

It guards me, it is my shield, My weapon, my curse

My shame?

So please, enlighten me

What am I?

A thing, a tool, a vessel, a release

A scapegoat for your, justice!

Money, a pay check, a sealed envelope to be locked away

75 years

I will be long dead, so tell me

Who is the criminal here?

The long dark despairing days fell on me

On my shoulders, on my soul

Where was or is my protection?

I am here

I live, I breathe, I survived

I will not be hushed or gagged anymore

I will vomit up and release this infection

And you shall set right this wrong

You will hear me when I set it free

Like a bird emerging from the tree tops

Soaring through the air, spreading its wings

Sharing to the world, what I am

I am innocent

I am grown, not a child anymore

I am injured but strong

I am bitter, but I found sweetness

I am cautious, but I am loved

I am not your victim

I am a survivor

I will not be silenced

Suicide and death, I have danced with, entertained and willed

But then you win

I am life, I am loss, I am grief-stricken,

I am decent, I am human

Tell me, what are you?

 

#abuse #redress#survivor 

#sin#justice#criminal#prosecute

#silenced

Grief

close up photography of crying woman next inside room
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How can I describe this ‘state’ that I am in?  It is easy to articulate words, adjectives, but that is not the entire picture.  It’s more than that.  For one little word ‘Grief’, means so many different things.  This one syllable word does not translate my ‘state’ of being.

At times, it is all consuming.  A feeling of sadness, deeper than any crevice or hole and the possibility of crawling out seems improbable, unlikely and impossible.  It is seismic, insurmountable, paralizing, yet ‘life goes on’.  That is what they say, and usually, they are right.  Life does indeed go on, but does the grief go away or does that go on too?  Yes, night follows day, time continues to move, people move and the world rotates.  Grief too rotates and I am at the centre of it.  I am the axis for it.  It changes me, or do I change it?

I am in the black hole and I don’t see you, I don’t hear you.  I don’t see or hear anyone.  I am remote.  I am in my thunderous, swirling hurricane and I am spiralling deeper and deeper. I lock myself away.  I curl up in a ball, I am foetal.  I am helpless.  I need an interaction, a distraction.  I need transient nourishment.    The pain is too much.  I am starving with the hunger of needing and wanting you.  I drink in the numbness.  It soothes me.  It entices me to its open arms and cradles me.  It understands my pain and for a while, it takes it away and I am peaceful, blissful, for you are with me again and we are in each-other’s arms.

I see and hear you as you come into view.  I get so excited at the recognition of you.  It’s the most wonderful, warm feeling and it envelops me.  I know you feel it too.  I see it in your face.  I watch your eyes light up, as do mine, and we embrace.  We hold and try to cling on, but then in a cruel twist of fate, you are gone again.    I am alone again, alone in my grief.

Oh people around me tread carefully, offer me the usual platitudes but I know they are getting frustrated with me.  I see it in their eyes, I hear it in their voices.  Their patience is waning and wearing thin.  They expect me to just accept it, this loss, but I cannot, it is beyond my capability to do so.  This grief is a thief of time and presence of normality and ordinary regularity.  I want that too,  more than anything, more than they want it.  What do they know about it?   They say they understand, but they don’t.  How can they?  They didn’t experience this loss.

All I have now are my thoughts and feelings of you.  My memories come and go.  My mind is distorted, somehow it forgets and regresses and then it remembers.  That is when I wish I wasn’t here either.   I just want to be there with you.  Everything is clear and calm and easy there.  Nothing makes sense here.  I try to reason, to rationalise, but it’s just too big to fathom and understand and that is why I crumble and shout and scream.  I’m afraid, I am terrified of ‘what next’?

How can I move on, just like that?  It is not that simple, it’s too complex.  I cannot get used to it, your absence.  I too wish to become absent, nothing else matters.  I will just submit to it.  I invite it and long or it to come and get me.  I wait submissively for the rotation, to bring me back to you.  It is only there that I know who I am.  When I am back there with you, that is normal, that is home, that is me, in my proper ‘state’.  I recognise myself there and I remember who I once was before this decrepitude enslaved me.  I see me clearly with clarity and I am, once again, intoxicated with happiness.   I, somehow made it back, and for a while I am not grieving.  Then, without warning, I disappear abruptly, with wanton abandon and again, find myself surrendering to grief.

Stop!

when life gets busy and you are dashing around sometimes you just have to stop….. if not you will be stopped when your body starts to gives up on you!

photo of head bust print artwork

 

Stop! Legs are aching

Heart is racing

Tummy is rumbling too

This way, that way

Dashing around

In just a minute, I’ll get to you

No sir, yes sir

I’ll do that

Click and tap

Now feed the cat

Washing in

Drying out

Plants needs watering

Where’s the spout?

Children playing

Some are crying

Some being born

Some are dying

Shopping time

Forgot the bread

Get the wine

Is what he said

Dinner party

Cocktail glasses

Fancy food

Some kiss asses

Tow the line

Keep it together

Manic time

It’s stormy weather

Inside, outside,

Head is crazy

Let me sleep

Amongst the daisies

Tired now

I’m fit to drop

Call the time

Let me Stop!

 

 

© carrie sherbourne and Relay shun sips – itsjustnoteasy.com Blog, 2018. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Carrie sherbourne and itsjustnoteasy.com Blog with appropriate and specific direction to the original content

 

 

 

 

 

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Allow me

physical or emotional, pain is pain. How we manage it is our choice. Do we need or want to be fixed or do we want to discover, by ourselves and manage ourselves, to see who we are all by ourselves?

woman sleeping

 

I’m not getting dressed, I don’t feel well

I’ve got a pain and it hurts like hell

Allow me to be wrapped in this insatiable grief

I’ve  been taken over by an invisible thief

The cause of the pain, I have no clue

but please stop telling me what to do

allow me to rest and get some relief

sometimes i’m thankful to the invisible thief

he takes me away from dreary demands

life is just quiet, no specific plans

let me just be and rest for a while

wandering and wondering, if ever I’ll smile

The invisible thief leaves symptoms behind

they pound like hell, in the daily grind

allow me to be, just leave me alone

I want to be here, I want to be home

no fuss or no drugs are what will save me

the cause alone will set me free

allow me to feel, remember and know

maybe then i’ll begin to grow

the invisible thief took my voice

but not my will, my hope, my choice

all that I do is mine to choose

some days I win, some days I loose

Allow me the courtesy to be in control

of my mind and my body, let me behold

all that is positive is a point of view

allow me my pain and I’ll allow you

 

 

© carrie sherbourne and Relay shun sips – itsjustnoteasy.com Blog, 2018. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Carrie sherbourne and itsjustnoteasy.com Blog with appropriate and specific direction to the original content

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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