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Grandmama who forgot

Death rattle

Reminiscent of an uprising of crickets ready to battle.
Stare at a puffed updiamond heart
Drumming inside an empty cage.
Birds ripped apart.
Gargoyle stares ignored.
Folk bumble about unaware of what’s in store for us all,
eventually.
The breathe of Hades lingers
then makes a dash for scant flesh and bones.
Meat is not this gods instrument
Lust causes the call for more drones.
Sponge, moisten parched parted lips
Raven signals the ire of its whips.
The ones who don’t loose it in bedlam excite
Death,
Invites all loved ones to rally around
Stands by door.
Stands back a while
Admires its own power.
A moment to savour
Every door closed,
Each breath cloys,
Begs for enough fare to cross the distance to embrace Elysium air.
Today everyone shall know how close we are to parting from brown soil.
Lambs,
Hatched chickens,
Babies born in Cumbersome air.
The cycle must complete before we can emerge reborn.
Death is inevitable as necessary as life is to the Cumbaya of springs first show of petal.
When you look at the beginning of this new dawn,
Know that when you stand back in awe
Its because you have felt the chill of winters soul depart.
Shed a tear for the snowman who brought our youth so much joy.
Appreciate death.
Stare it in the face.
The sun chants
counting his rosary beads.
Tomorrow never dies.
Trying to type something while listening and watching my grandmother dying.
Rasp
Gasp
I support the assisted dying law.
This is inhumane!
A selfish farce.
Happy mothers day,
Wherever you go
Wherever you roam
I hope that it is a place as magnificent as earths revellers make it out to be.

Ma petit fripon. Je t’aims toujours

This a poem that I wrote whilst waiting and comforting my mom and my gran before she passed over in March 2018, from vascular Dementia and Alzheimers. I wrote it while waiting for her to let go of Life. It’s a Morbid (and possibly strange) thing to do when someone you love is dying in front of you. This was one way of expressing my powerlessness, over a period 3 days watching someone cling on to this Life).*

Challenge the elements

A breath of air
Fresh from the battle of morn
A new day has begun.

This has been a tough week for me- in terms of writing especially when I have to I am challenged to condense my words. The pressure to write comes when I’m under extreme pressure. The emotions I’m experiencing before I write are more often than not “negative”.
I wrote ✏️ this Haiku

A breath of air
Fresh from the battle of morn
A new day has begun.

A special girl

I know a special girl whose heart is full of sunshine .

She dances her way around the world to deliver her own special punchline

She laughs so distinctly that people cannot help but become infected

It is a sight to behold when this observation is detected She is gracious and kind and is delicately inclined the phrase ‘she is an angel’ are the only words that come to mind .

Her name means beautiful-that of body, mind and soul and to have her touch so many lives confirms her title role.

She is my modern day princess -so noble and full of grace I love her with all my being and she is a person that I cannot replace

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, my sweet child. You are the true gift I found it in your innocent eyes and that was the day my world truly began to shift.

The living ain’t easy

It hasn’t taken away everything

there is still me inside.

Don’t forget I rise, fall, stumble, then I suppose because I’m here, I rise.

See even grey lizards can be

Newborn from cinders.

My number is definitely not over

Mother’s nature to beta block a seizure on Kronos’s clock.

merely an earthling in my mortal dregs tried

to take my heartbeat, crush it in my hands

So many times,

Yet here I still am.

I pulverised the very heart of my soul

This beaten path

Led to a southern state in need of heart donors

Many lived as secluded slaves

pieces pulled apart.

I may be flawed but you’re no patron saint

for you have a blood hue lusting for the Big Easy.

See there it is!

Blemished if only so faint.

Self-hatred became queasy & took it out on my star crossed lover

Call it, resting bitch face syndrome.

True

My love can be seen -it hovers.

Moments of Rapture are fleeting

Take time to bask in my lover’s latest sunshades.

Who’s to say we’ll never meet up with

a black dog again

– a self-made state of oppression.

The Living aint easy.

(inspired by
my relationships my temper and I write to make sense of my thoughts)

Second Life- Mort tell et tea

 

* This Borderline poem was written a week before I attempted to take my life (again).I ended up in Critical Care  in a coma for 5 days & in ICU for a further 6 days. I was discharged from hospital on the 21st of May 2020 *

 

Please, make sense of  reality.

Use a stream of consciousness

words to vent,

rant,

rave,

A discovery in recovery

 Fathom out sense because words are only as good as the interpreter.

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 Could add literary success to a Gravatar profile  in  an ebook

Add few drafts poured into that fulminate crunched up chaos.

This doesn’t invoke a feeling of literary success.

Trying

Struggling to convey all words .

Reciprocated words are often misinterpreted

Misheard

Another attempt  to convey these words

Perhaps one person will see this array of affray spread its torment defecating the inner spiral case of the

Mind,

It swirls descends these steps in every way.

The moment to call it a day

This draws an outline forever have to have the last say.

Hear me proclaim

This

Is

My

Life.

Don’t want to carry on living this way

Shame lingers

It overstays — the bailiff  texts for rent arrears

Read,

What is laid down?

Listen

I’m not done yet.

 

 Hanging by a thread it’s tethered

Seen many days to identify as weathered

 Hanging by a thread

This is my life purpose!

Final chance to  meet my fate

Waited for this all my life

A  mystery date with a severed soul mate.

 

Taught & tethered & weathered is this rope

To late

 convinced

I’m no tight rope walker.

I’ve become my own word stalker

Shoulda, coulda, woulda arrested these rants before my digress

 

Covert corner

Wait in this hidden corner.

 

Evidently I’ve learned that survival is innate.

It ain’t easy to digest the days I’m not blessed to eat from a plate.

 keep rising up despite a life times worth of trip-ups.

 

Until I die

One fine day

I’ll face the final exit of my mortality

 

I’ll know the truth

Either way it’s gonna end up with a body

Fatality.

Subconsciously  know why I feel

It’s called humanity

What do I know about that  damp dark corner entertaining souls I’ve yet to meEt?

Going to have to wait for a future promising chance we haven’t dreamt of taking yet.

If I lose all memory

 Forget those words  

soggy, wet, lost to another realm of the bereft

Lest I forget.

I write to recover.

Be happy or die trying.

 

Simultaneously a resilient species & inconveniently inept