Dear Mr Postman,
I longed and waited for you.
Did you think of me?

The word "love" there is no doubt
gets bandied all about
You use it as an epithet
and yet this moniker bestowed
Does nothing to whet
My craving, desire
to explode with the revelatory
notion (and I bemoan) that your devotion
is
to the word alone.

Today I love you dearly,  you are so special to me.
But how this came about is written in our history.
I remember a chill at night, shivering in my bed.
Then the draft was gone, the blanket tucked and a kiss placed on my forehead.
I was soaked with fever's sweat when a cool sponge touched my arm.  
You stripped me down and cooled my brow and told me I'd come to no harm.
I came home with news of triumph, claiming ten from ten!
You smiled and said " I knew you could! You've made me proud again"
You see, it was the little things that you did every day that made me brim with confidence; to help me find my way.
Now every time I kiss a brow or tuck a child in tight,
I know that I am carrying my mother’s loving light.

Dear Mr Postman,
You brought me more than letters.
Something to hope for.

Dear Mr Postman,
Why did you wear those short shorts?
I was so alone.

Your ripple will pulse
Through times’ eternal waters
As if you still live.

Barely a flutter
To exist is to be feared
Rocks, your only friends.

Erase the anguish
I caused in my thoughtlessness
If only I could

I hate that this year hurt you.
It really was a *****.
It makes the vein on my forehead throb
and my eye does that freakin’ twitch.
You didn’t deserve heartache.
You didn’t need the pain.
But I can see a rainbow after misery’s grey rain.
Red is love, a balm to soothe and lift the head that’s hung.
Orange is the zest for life that grows from when we’re young.
Yellow is the brightest sunflower, capturing your smile.
Green are dilatory fronds that whisper, “ stop a while”.
Blue, the tides that ebb and flow – reminding us of time.
Indigo and violet- vivid sparks. The rush. The climb.
My wish for you in the coming year and all the years to pass?
That colours shine through your darkest hours.
( and this past year can kiss my ****)

Love!
I’m in it!
Love!
I’ve win it, no! WON it!
Oh **** it! I’m in it!

They just don't understand.
It's fresh as that day for you.
Like the tingle of your hand when sympathy has squeezed it tight,
you're heart is holding on with all its might.
They just don't understand.
The need for a time machine.
When your heart demands what your mind knows to be impossible,
impassable grief sets in.
They just don't understand.
Loss is an unmapped journey, no chronology, no ETA.
Just finding your way.
They just don't understand.
So tell them not to try.
Just be an ear and a shoulder when you cry.

What became of me?
Stripped of my identity
Grief engulfed my soul
Where is the girl of old?
Was I simply existing
Inside a well formed shell?
No-one new my weaknesses,
No-one could tell.
What became of me?
Stripped of my identity
When you came to me
I was oh, so happy
You left me feeling hijacked
And my world was shattered through
Now I’ve lost my confidence
And lies became the truth.
What became of me?
Stripped of my identity.
I’ve become so sad
Thinking of what I could have had
I must learn to live with this
Yesterday’s girl non-existent
Now I have to get to know
The me I really ought to show
I’m living with a stranger in my head.
What became of me?
Now I see that I am free
Welcome in the new
And start to become truer to myself

A cactus in a plastic *** all year ‘round beauty skips.
But to its own advantage, so too, do snails and thrips.

Its outward look gives not the eye the pleasure eyes demand.
It even spitefully responds to its caretaker’s hand.

However, once in a blue moon (If you’ll pardon the cliché)
Sun kissed jewels emerge to show their bountiful array!

Other plants all year ‘round blossom, showing off their prize
But the cactus reveals an unforseen beauty hidden in its guise.

Look to the lighthouse
When you're lost and can't be found.
The light of hope and memories will soon see you aground.
Look to the lighthouse
When grief's a stormy sea.
It's light is love and kindness, patience and empathy.
The beacons flood out darkness, despair and cruelty.
Look to the lighthouse.
It's light shines ever more,
from those who've weathered stormy seas and finally found the shore.
Let the beacons lift you up and hold you as their own.
You're a mournful traveller but you are not alone.