WHAT'S THIS?

Having been immersed in memoir writing for many months, I decided to write a small poem every day for a year to keep my poetic hand in. I've posted them to Instagram and facebook as written – where, to my amazement, people love them – but on this blog they are sometimes subject to later rewriting.
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Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts

Saturday, 29 July 2023

To celebrate the life of Goddess Ida ...


To celebrate the life of Goddess Ida,

we all dressed up in our bright finery,

a feast of colour. The sun shone wide,

a summer day in winter. A small boy

turned somersaults on the grass, over 

and over. Two dogs on leashes — one 

tiny, one huge —behaved calmly. 

The whole community turned out.

Some members of her very large family 

came from far. There must have been

500 people there. In the background,

two large gums spread evergreen leaves

above the crowd. Old friends embraced.

A group of singers she belonged to

sang in harmony. The food kept coming.

Family (blood and other) shared memories 

out loud. She would have loved it!


    



Tuesday, 25 July 2023

Morning: news ...

 

Morning: news of a beautiful friend’s 

   beautiful, peaceful passing.

All day: painstaking proof-reading, 

   editing, correcting…

Late afternoon: a joyous call from a friend 

   recovered from illness.

Evening: listening to the voice of a great 

    singer.

In the spaces between: reading a tale that 

   touches my heart.

Saturday, 22 July 2023

Both my mother and my husband ...


Both my mother and my husband Andrew died at 83. It made me a little superstitious about surviving this age, but I’ve now outlived them both by some months – and I’m not yet tired of life, as I think they both were at the end, their bodies having become incapacitated. 


I renew good resolutions about more exercise, about getting all my books written, and getting the books of others read. (I have to live long enough for Diana Gabaldon to finish writing her Outlander series. They are lengthy books, rich in detail, products of much research; she can’t do them fast.) 


in old age

I do everything slower 

but time speeds up