I still talk to you even though you do not answer
it just makes me feel better
Days like today when I wished you a Happy Mothers Day
I sent it up through the air in hope that it reaches you
I also write to you in my poems in hopes that you read them
Time has made it easier on my heartache and not to feel
But this hole in my heart will never heal
The love I feel for you will never be gone
and the memories I have of you will always live on

Praise the spells and bless the charms,
I found April in my arms.
April golden, April cloudy,
Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy;
April soft in flowered languor,
April cold with sudden anger,
Ever changing, ever true --
I love April, I love you.

Murmurings of memories
Whispering in my ear,
Nuances of notions felt
From long ago, so dear,
Nuances of feelings held
From deep within my breast
Like the quiet stroll by lakeside
When love became our quest.

The way our fingers intertwined
That shyness in your eyes,
And the lovely way you giggled
And the way you softly cried,
The gentle touch of fingertips
That time I kissed your palm,
And the glory of the setting sun
Whilst strolling arm in arm.
Running up the golden sand
As white surf swept our feet,
And laughing at the joy of it
The  magic so, so sweet.

And now ….
Those distant murmuring’s
just trickle down the years,
Those nuances of yesteryear
Sweet whispers in my ears.

Marshalg
11 May 2013
Pukehana

On this morning
3 years ago,
I lived in hell.

Things were all so
terrible then,
But I couldn't tell.

On this morning
One year ago,
I woke up in heaven.

Miracles became real,
Thoughts became things;
I chose what to feel --
That changed everything.

On this morning,
5 minutes ago,
I woke up smiling.

Because somewhere between
The pain that I felt
And the joy that I found...

There was one decision
  That altered my path;
A spirit incision,
  Soul science, Mind math...

I made up my mind --
  So simple, you see --
To open my heart...
  I chose to Believe.

In love, in laughter,
  In giving and sharing;
In helping someone
  And actually caring.
In breaking the mold,
  In trying things new;
In paving the road,
  And choosing my view.

My Life is a piece of art,
  So beautiful, so pure,
That tells of my story
  And the path I've endured
The colors are vibrant,
  The picture is clear.
The moral is evident...
  There's happiness here.

You can’t get the stink
Of the hospital
Out of your mind, that
Aspect haunts as
Much as the mindless
***** (who handed
You your dead baby)
Who had icy eyes
And a hint of so what
Written there framed by
The blonde hair, the blue

Eyes and all around
Inside your head the
Buzz of flies. You can’t
Get the colour scheme
Out of your turned back
Memory, the walls
And doors and window
Frames, the nurses and
Doctor’s faces a
Whirl and buzz, and you
Holding onto your

Dead baby’s name there
Amongst discarded
Other names, wanting
The hold to last, to
Feel the soft parcel,
To want her then to
Open eyes, to breathe,
To prove them wrong, to
**** them in their chilled
Cosiness. You can’t
Get the baby out

Of your hurt mind, can’t
Forget the last hug,
The wanting for her
To cling on, to take
Your dug and **** and
****, but she never
Did, never moved, not
Opened eyes; that’s when
It aches the more, that’s
What brings the deep cries.