Feeling Sad

Tears well up nowhere to go

They trickle down your cheek

Feel the warm damp tears fall

A symbol of the fear you feel

The thoughts of what may have been

Tears well up and make you sad

You’re just so glad it wasn’t you

Or anyone you love

But it was someone who you don’t know

Someone who is wracked with fear

Fear of what they saw that night

Will haunt them evermore

What they saw, what may have been

Will haunt them on and on

You feel ok and then you’re not

The mind is playing tricks

Kind words and thoughts from ones you love

Help only for a time

Before the thoughts come back again

And tears begin to well

Imagining what might have been

Your mind is in a whirl

Dab your eyes and wipe the tears away

Remember those less blessed than you

Count your blessings hold and hug

The ones you love so dear

And hope that love will wipe away

The teardrops and the fear

This poem was inspired by the effect of being caught up in the bombing of the Manchester Arena on 22^nd May 2017. Waiting for two granddaughters and their two friends to emerge from the carnage and confusion was a life-changing experience. I could not have anticipated the emotional impact the experience has had. Pleased to say everyone was safe but, I suspect, the children will carry the emotional scar for life. 

I republish this poem today in remembrance of those less fortunate. 

24 May 2017

Updated 25 May 2023

Through Death

Through death we find a family long lost

A distant cousin fades away
A name we know but had forgotten 
Receded to the vault that is the mind
The place where memories sleep 
Until roused by a call from the living 

Memory of faint faces are stirred

Vagueness jostle to reform a form
Long forgotten if ever really known
Two families divided by maternalism 
Two families joined but not together 
Yet bonded by a paternal gene

Inspired by meeting members of my maternal grandfather’s family from his first marriage at a funeral. 

10.5.23

Rhubarb Rhubarb Rhubarb

Rhubarb stalks long and pink

Product of forced Labour in the dark

Rooting in the mucky Earth 

In sheds long and dark and dank

Forcing pushing up and up

Sprouting little pokes of green

Searching for the signs of light

A candle splutters flickering flame

Peering eyes pierce the gloom

To pluck pink fleshy stems that waft about

Straight into a pan unctuous sweet

A treat to savour and delight 

Stewed rhubarb pink and plump

Waiting for the gods to eat

Prompted by my sight of new season rhubarb in the shops, always makes my mouth water. 3.3.23