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I see you there
suspended for a time
between the shadow
and the light.

You look pale
but peaceful,
in a dream state.

I rest awhile,
a shallow sleep,

then I awake

knowing…

without words
my mind whispers

it’s time

I gently wipe your lips,
brush a stray hair
from your forehead.
It’s all I know to do.

Then I sing
a cherished lullaby
hoping you hear me
hoping it wraps you in love
as my arms wrapped
around you
as a child.

I hold your hand,
kiss your forehead.
In that instant I see
and feel all you’ve been
all that is you

tiny wrinkled infant
delightful, smiling six-month old
curious toddler
proud school age
struggling teen
loving adult

realizing
we're losing all of these,
all that you've been
all that is you

then

I feel your spirit leave…

for that brief moment
I’m overcome with a calm
I can’t describe.

A gift rare and precious –

as I was there
when you entered the world
I was with you
when you left.
     ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~        

"The butterfly counts not months but moments and has time enough."  
Rabinadrath Tagore
We lost our son to a brain tumor. He fought bravely and determinedly for seven years, enduring two surgeries, radiation, Gamma knife "surgery", chemotherapy and clinical trials. He never lost his sunny smile or determination. He only let go when he knew it was time, slipping into unconsciousness shortly after his two brothers (his best friends) arrived to say goodbye. He remained in that suspended state for two days. On the third day the four of us gathered for dinner and shared thoughts about him and our life with him. We cried, we laughed, we shared memories. Later that night he let go. I will always believe, being the caring and generous person he was, that he heard us talking and knew that, as hard as it would be, we would be okay.
Gather round, sit down me lads
and I´ll tell to you a tale
of when forty men were lost at sea
in the mother of a gale,
the story starts at Portsmouth docks
and it ends face in the sand
so listen in don´t miss a word...
our night out never went as planned.

´twas in a pub down by the harbour
and we was throwing down the grog
we was laughing we was singing
it seemed our brains was filled with fog,
the doors they burst wide open
the press gang took us one by one
with wooden clubs they set about us
our lives at sea had just begun.

I woke up in a hammock
seemed like me head was split in two
the screams of show a leg you scurvy ****
was the start of days I´d rue,
they taught us fast to reef the main
and how to navigate by stars
they taught us not to cross the line
if we did the “cat” would leave her scars.

Six months it was we´d been at sea
and no more a motley crew
we were hardened trained professionals
who could cope when bad winds blew,
but the weather it was changing
far worse than we had ever seen
the ship she took a hammering
from pounding seas upon the beam.

The storm was unrelenting
for three weeks without a pause
we were weary sick and frightened
we were lost and way off course,
the wind it blew in from the north
force nine or maybe ten
the sky was black inducing fear
amongst us broken men.

The Captain he was sick in bed
and looking fit to die
the surgeon said he´s coughing blood
as black as that there sky,
the mast was shattered in the storm
the sails were ripped apart
´twas only us six left aboard
from forty at the start.

Fresh water kegs had washed away
the rations they were soaked
we had not eaten for three days
our hope and will was broke,
our ship she floundered in the sea
a sea that boiled with rage
a sea that would take all our lives
and no one will be saved.

´twas Davy Jones that made a pact
with strong winds from the north
that not a soul would live to see
a brighter day shine forth,
the Captains dead the surgeon said
so now we´re only five
lets pray to God that he can help
us feeble few survive.

We looked at him with knowing eyes
with eyes so filled with fear
we´re dead already said the mate
that sky is drawing near,
the wind it hit with such a force
the timbers they all split
the deck it heaved and broke apart
and splintered into bits.

The storm screamed like a witch on fire
who´s being sent to hell
and we all knew we´d join her soon
none left the tale to tell,
a giant wave then hit me
and washed me out to sea
all went dark and icy cold
and I thought it was the end for me.

When I awoke face in the sand
I thought I must be dead
with nightmares of the past few weeks
running through my head,
so now you have your answer
to why I sit here by the wall
splicing ropes to earn a crust
but that my lads not all,
I´ll tell you this my trusty friends
and I´ll tell you this for free
never will this man, I promise you,
sail again the seven seas.
 Jun 2017 eleanor prince
Tryst
TASMANIA, The Apple Isle,
rooted in conquest, convicts
and cannibalism.

Into this desolate paradise,
suffering, starving Englishmen,
dreaming of home, planted
row upon row of small neat
cottages, graciously adorned
by native English roses.

Convicted felons, shunned
from polite English society,
became her upstanding citizens,
and like her fuel-laden forests,
she smouldered, a daughter of
mother England, steeped in
her heritage like a lauded
*** of Earl Grey.

For two centuries, England
grew, a wild sunflower,
with London's sprawling
population sprouting from
1m seedlings, to over 8m
at the peak of her growth.

And somehow, somewhere,
something broke inside.

Today, proud Englishmen
mourn a loss of the spirit
and freedom of their forebears,
still proud, yet yearning
for the simple, honest
existence of a yesteryear
long lost, and not forgotten.

In Tasmania, time drifted
lazily, as outposts sprawled
into small towns, small towns
into small cities, like miniatures
mimicking the motherland
her pioneers had left behind.

But unlike her proud parent,
Tasmania remained true to
the spirit that raised her
from the ashes of convict
settlements, and a fledgling
society intent on defending
the spirit that put England
at the heart of an empire
flourished.

I am an Englishman, proud
to be born and raised in
her heartlands, and prouder
still, to have found that most
distant corner of our once
great empire that embodies still
the spirit of hard work,
fair play and decency that
is found within the beating heart
of every true Englishman.
One fleeting chance to catch you between trapezes
Yet my head was bowed, my thoughts immersed
In another dream of another life that i longed to live
A moments lapse careers you to that downward spiral
Through all those safety nets, all those webs we wove
Once so secure borne from our labour, love and toil
Exposed now like a promise of night through a civil dawn
As you fall through each of my declarations of trust
You blow out the candles and knock out the lights
Of celebrations and occasions now shattered like glass

Blackness descending through this never blinking eye
As those moments and time perpetually relive yet resist
The blood still refusing to flow freely through my veins
As i sit and wait for this evening coffee to run cold
That i may embrace the sanctuary of night once more
For I was one that could never dream in the dark
No more than one who could ever make amends
Between those two trapezes that signaled our end
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