Think
Plan
Dream
Measure
Find the shape
Reveal the treasure.
Tuesday, 3 March 2026
Don't ask for the true story
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| Egg by Ajagap |
Don't ask for the true story,
said Margaret Atwood,
It doesn't exist
There is always
More to know
A box in the attic
Some letters
An old photograph
Inside the egg,
Is the whole world
Daniela - attempt at an explanation
Daniela
is her own self.
It is true that she contains
bits of you
Bits of a girl I once taught
Bits of me
But she is not you
Or that girl I knew
Or me or anyone else
She is her own self,
Complete and ever changing as she moves through life.
She won't do what I want,
Doesn't feel how I expect.
She often surprises me.
And I like her a lot.
Saturday, 21 February 2026
The Comfort Song
Look at this pebble
black and white
Washed by the sea
In the morning
Look up at the sky
It is sometimes dark
But the light will come
In the morning
The rose smells sweet
Then the petals fall
But buds will come
In the morning
Go to sleep,
our mothers said,
It won't be so bad
in the morning.
What counts
It's not how much we are loved
That counts
We can't add it up
We shall never know
(except it is larger than large)
It's how much we care for others.
So you, my love, are up there
With the angels
My soul goes on journeys
My soul is pulled here and there
to the places where my loved ones tread their paths
In Australia
In Shipley
In Okinawa
Paths of pain and pleasure - some awful pain.
And to the places beyond
To Mabel, my mother
To Herbert, my father
To Jim
And to Sam
And possibly, Ron.
But the others are lost
I can no longer see them
Jacqueline
Canitz
Dick
Kit Gleave
Who would have thought it?
My soul goes on joureys
In sleepless nights
And in the quiet times.
Sunday, 28 December 2025
Goes right through you
It’s much too cold
(but not snowing,
Not pretty or dramatic
Grey and windy
Occasionally wet)
I need to hibernate
Until the weather warms up.
Brrrrr……
My dad liked roses
My dad liked roses
He saved his money
To buy books about them.
He grafted new roses on to cuttings
On to wild rose stems.
He liked scented roses
Look here, he said.
This one's called Peace.
People came from neighbouring villages
And the nearby town
To ask my dad about roses.
He was glad to help.
And gave his knowledge
And his cuttings with a grin.
In the winter we made
Rag rugs to lay on the hearth.
My mum drew patterns on the hessian
And we filled them in with rags of the right colour.
It took longer than you’d think.
And my dad made roses
out of crepe paper.
His favourites were the tea roses
Small and contained and mostly pink
Although yellow ones, too.
White ones not so often because
They were a bit boring (I thought to myself).
My dad had epilepsy and arthritis and bronchitis
And before that, TB.
At 12, he had been sent away to either live or die.
He lived of course, and later, he marvelled and
Was proud that every day without fail, he could go to work.
He wasn't supposed to make it beyond 30
But the doctors got it wrong.
He laughed
And on Sundays,
he sang around the. house.
When Dad retired, he went back into the garden
Stayed there from dawn till dusk
Growing cabbages and potatoes
Humming a little tune
And tending
To his flowers.
When I went to visit
He would go to the shed and pull down a cabbage
Or wrap up some beans
Or whatever there was
For me to take home.
.
In summer, when the roses bloomed
between the rockery and the greenhouse
I would walk up there by the big privet hedge
And bend down to breathe in the scent of the soft floppy petals
round the heart of
Peace.
Elephants
My mum liked elephants so I bought her one.
Elephants never forget.
Neither do people.
My mum was tall and thin.
She once had long, dark hair.
She played the piano.
And the organ.
And once long ago, the mandolin.
Elephants are huge but they can still be hurt.
Size doesn’t matter whatever anyone says
My mum brought me cough stuff in the night whenever I coughed.
My mum bought me the things I loved
Nothing too much trouble
Nothing too expensive, despite a careful life.
My dad, too. I’ll write about him another time.
My dad liked roses.
Monday, 27 October 2025
The time will come
He said it was a good scattering
Sam’s ashes left in Malham Cove.
But he couldn’t think about it now.
Later when he is on the plane
When he is in between
this place and that
When he is nowhere
Then he will allow himself to think about her.
For now, the present is
Hard enough.
Sam, where are you?
It is Sunday October 26th,
2025.
They are taking her to Malham Cove
What’s left of her
Just ashes
No dust
All dust
Where is she?
They took her ashes
But didn’t scatter them all
Some left for next time..
They want a bigger rocket
To shoot into the sky.
They want to shoot
Her into the atmosphere
Bit by bit
Handful by handful
Until she is gone.
Wanted to attach her ashes
To the rocket
But it was too difficult
too windy
And raining, too.
It was dark when they came back down
And
Drove
Home.
To the place
Where Sam
is not.
Where is she?
Sam, where are you?
Monday, 15 September 2025
Sam's Song - lyrics
For those she loved
She'd walk a thousand mile
She'd move a mountain,
Do it with a smile.
For her, the cat
Would always swish her tail,
And beloved dog
would follow without fail.
Chorus
You can hear her laugh
You can see her smile
She was full of light
She burned so bright.
Despite no cash,
She would still send flowers
A rose or daisies
Pleasure for hours,
And poems too
Or printed socks
And love songs love songs,
Songs that rocked.
Chorus
She wore bright clothes
And hated grey
Elegant and stylish
Every day.
Ecuador songs
followed her around
The dancing beat,
The Latin sound.
Chorus
She dreamed a dream
Of a faraway place
Transformed her van
Into a magical space.
A travelling temple
Of beautiful things
Where folk could sleep
And dream they had wings.
Chorus
She was a woman of laughter,
Woman of light
And now she's gone
Gone into the night.
But she's not far from kith or kin
She'll always be with us
Carried within.
She'll always be with us
Carried within.
She'll always be with us
Carried within.
Chorus x2
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