I only tugged upon your silken curls
to remind you I was here
Intruding upon your salacious thoughts
your growling response
is nothing I fear
There is no singular thought
the plural is obtainable
Come! Let me melt upon you
Let the elusive mutuality
be equably available
I want you to be one with me
en mass and piled high
Like the stars of the universe
tripping over each other,
to lay down upon the sky
Like a song with a central verse
weaving choruses into forever
that single tug upon silken curls
is a reminder we are in this together

Your loss is unique, to you... but just like everyone else, the pain of loss is pain. I've felt it, I've grieved uniquely over the years, I've felt it from both sides, suddenly I don't have my only brother anymore (car accident) suddenly I don't have my cousin (who was my other brother) anymore (he lit himself on fire, literally and died 7 agonisingly days later in hospital) I don't have my Dad anymore, watching him slowly die from Cancer... I laid at the end of his bed in the last week talking to him, he'd fall asleep in mid sentence then wake up asking why I was crying and then ask if I had a gun would I shoot him... Death ******* ***** for those that have to keep on living. For those of us that think we should have gone first because it would be easier for the ones who died first to cope... ******* *******... Those that would be left behind would grieve just as hard for us as we do them and we dishonour their strength by falling apart completely. There is no concrete end date to this life. We can only live with, love and cherish those who choose to spend time with us, if it's their time to 'shuffle off this mortal coil' without us then it's up to us to ensure their memory is golden, not **** the world off with anger they are no longer here but to gift the world with their memory. You are here, they are not, you can't bring them back but you can make sure they are not forgot.

Washing, ironing, cooking, cleaning
The work is never done!
Lunching, shopping, relaxing, reading
I’ve heard is much more fun.

Sweeping, mopping, dusting, shining
Who thinks up all these gigs?
But what I really want to know right now
Is who left open the barn door to let in the pigs?

Mowing, weeding, trimming, seeding
Are mans work, but I’m all on my own
I gave birth to a virtual army
But housework is their No Go Zone!

Yelling, screaming, crying, keening
Achieves naught but my puffy face
I’ve given up such futile exercises
That puts no one in their place.

I hear “Can you help me please”
They hear “Blah Blah Blah”
Maybe I need to learn sign language
One gesture can go so far!

To this end I have ultimately decided
And I really do think this is for the best
To sit right down with drink in hand and
Let the little piggies wallow in their own mess!

24/07/2010

the note would fall out of a book
published for her one true love
rarely ever opened,
hardly ever looked at
by the one she writes of....

the note was quite verbose
and spoken in the first verse

I never loved anyone last
You were forever my first.
So here shall sit this broken letter
trying to explain a tapestry past,
crazy stitched upon cheap fabric
bleeding upon the broken glass
that litters our yesteryear
which I continually crawl upon,
every word whispered on my body
beats a rhythm of our song.
Soul deep and penetrating
bleeding notes that lull like crack
and when the sweet torture
splits your veins apart,
there is nothing you'd take back.
So grant me this peace in misery,
read the words of the book
where you find the note
because I wonder how long
it would take you to find it,
I feel it should have been
the first place you looked

He never found the note
because he left the book closed.
Yet he continues to cut her
a single rose, from the bush
she planted years ago,
because he thinks
it will bring her back
If he'd only opened the book
he'd know that,
*She really said Good-bye