Premonition

I dreamt my mother was drowning
She was already dead
I dreamt my mother was sinking
I tried to grab her head
I dreamt my mother was dying
I felt my panic rise
I dreamt I couldn’t save her
I woke to lonely cries

Spirit

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I heard my name being called
I turned but there was no one there
The sound hung like lost baggage
Waiting to be collected
My name was called and even though
There was no one there
I was not alone

Angry Skies

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Being one with nature
Caught out in the rain
Lightning, cold and thunder
I try escape my pain

Angry skies begin to roar
Directed all at me
I stand my ground, refuse
To yield my liberty

My Son

My son
First from my womb
Growing up in the shadows
Of a baby girl
Turning into a man
Taking my breath away
Sparkling blue eyes
For all I’ve done wrong
I’ve been blessed
With a son
Like you

Sharing Lives

Your love held me captive
At times when I wanted to escape
Spread my wings and fly away
You held me close and loved me
When I shed tears
Your eyes shed silent tears
Merging with mine
I never doubted your love
When I couldn’t love myself
We said our vows
I gave myself to you
You gave your heart to me
And after all these years
Our fights and tears and joy and pain
I love you
And hope you still
Love me too

Marking Time

In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Symbol.”

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Ticking away
The time of our lives
The hands of a watch
March on

Instant Remorse

I
Blurted
All the words
I wanted to say
And as quickly felt
Instant remorse
But by then
It was too
Late

Untidy Slate

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In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Clean Slate.”

The person who lives in my bedroom has no regard for tidiness. Beside the bed is a little lamb standing on top of a gift box. With a tub of authentic African ointment promising to cure any dry or burnt skin ailment next to it. There is also a decorative wooden stand declaring proudly “Mum – a mother’s love is forever”, adorned lovingly with gemstones in front of it, placed there by a loving daughter.
A pile of half-read books stands guard. Consisting of a collection of poetry books, inspirational, short stories, autobiographies and two Maeve Binchies. They all have bookmarks marking the last page read.
And right in the middle of the room is the most comfortable bed ever. It is not too soft nor too hard, but just right!

Good night xx