Tuesday, 21 May 2013


Oh the nerves
oh my boy
you can do it
I can do it

I know

the playtime will not fade
the boys and the sticks will not fade
your sisters' shouts and bouts 
of ownership - this or that way

will not fade

my arch and bow
of holding and encircling
extends and stretches

always and forever
my boy
in my heart and mind

and the reunion
oh so sweet 
and the laughter
oh such joy

leaping bounds of worlds

Monday, 20 May 2013

Grief stricken

what a funny word
grief stricken
struck by grief?

struck by lightening
and thunder
like a bolt from the sky?

or struck down by


strikes a chord
on strike
feeling mad and sad

today I guess
not bothered 
not cared for?

the need to be good
to myself
to find the heart

even if pierced

grief stricken
and on strike
waves of washing liquid

breaking my skin
opening wounds
soothing cream

all over again

and tomorrow 
another day?

Thursday, 9 May 2013

The I-am-bothered-bag

That was her giving-up-bag
her oh-I-can't-be-bothered-bag

I will not give up 
I shall not go down the same path

I got a bright-blue-shiny bag
with neon pink dots
a Fiorelli-fun-out-of-synch-bag

it does stand for containment
and always will

my sadness
my distress
my anger
my raw state of frazzledness

my blue-neon-pink-bag
makes me laugh
makes me want to jump
and stick my tongue out

I am bothered Mama, I am!

A Margaret-Thatcher-hanging-on-me-arm-bag
meaning business
such fun!

and if you man don't behave
I'll whack you round ye head
to keep you in check

my blue-electric-neon-pink-hot-fun-bag
hangs on me arm

my shiny-bright-blue-polka-dot-pink-business-bag

the I-am-unlike Maggie-bothered-bag

I can not give up - not now - ever Mama

Saturday, 4 May 2013

The story of the injured child

The injured child is defenceless and in need of support. She is lying on the ground and has no more strength. She can't stand anymore. 

But help is at hand

Out of the barren landscape of motherly absence grows a mother and child bond, so tender, so beautiful like the soft running sand from the desert, like the waving palm trees, giving shade from the burning sun. It is a bond coming out of that barrenness, from the good of that barrenness. Its offshoots are strength, resilience, power, and quiet-big presence. 

The other help lies in the centre, flowing directly from the injured child. Through the fire she must go. And on the other side she encounters love. And joined hands, in solidarity. 

The Great Mother
as always, is there, an eternal, clear, steady, deeply loving presence. The clarity of her gaze, encircles age old stepping stones and arches of pathways. Behind her, as always, and again and again, the communion of people sharing and partaking in the circle of humanity. 

Lastly, help comes from the ancient rites of passages, from ancient wisdom and ways of survival. On either side the girl has the help of the shepherds, the keepers of the lower kingdom. The boys and the men who can be in the face of loneliness, in the face of bare existence. 

And so the story goes.