On foreign soil a soldier falls, a poppy grows
They send them back to lie alone.
We carve their names on grey stonewalls
We sent them out to fight for freedoms call.
Few come back with wounds that heal
Inside horrors, they will not recall
Soldiers fought so we can live on English soil…
They live by night
Hidden in the shadows
They are not known for kindness
Their black hearts died long ago
Feeding to stay among us
They leave no trace
Should you be touched
By one of this undead
Your life is changed
Your mind cloudy
Strange thoughts fill your days
You are undone by the Ancient one…
On moonlit nights I walk among the tombstones
Looking for the one taken from me
Her soul trapped by heavy stone
She calls to me
Jealous minds laid her there
Pointing fingers, witchcraft they said
My sweet Annabel, no harm would she make
Her healing touch now lost to those in need
They are poorer for her passing
How is it I am still here if human she be?
Did those pointing fingers know what I could not?
Did love’s blinkers keep me blind?
Is she truly there beneath the ground
Is my mind wrapped in her spell?
Despite the warm weather we have been having lately, the signs of autumn are galloping towards us. Little by little, my Bonsai are getting ready for their winter sleep and their leaves are gradually beginning to change colour. As they start to close down, they change colour, imperceptible at first, then transformed by the red and gold just before losing their leaves.
The colour change is a wonderful sight, but when the tiny leaves begin to fall I always feel a little sad, as I miss seeing them in leaf.
It reminds me more poignantly that I am approaching my own autumn (and hopefully I won’t turn scarlet!) emphasised mainly by the fact that I am not at my best this week. My body is already telling me that I will not enjoy the cold weather and some of my joints are having a practice run!
I have been doing a lot of gazing out of my window this week (as I don’t feel like doing much else) and just love the way Mother Nature goes about her business, come hell or high water. Maybe we could all learn from her example, especially me. But I’m afraid it is all too easy for me to find excuses for not doing what I ought. I find myself constantly using my age as the perfect excuse, and I really must stop doing that, it’s pathetic and doesn’t match how I have lived my life up until now.
The only thing I have always known for sure is that you can do anything, provided you want to enough. So if you are still breathing, just get on with it!
It is easy to think of autumn as the end of life as we know it, when in fact it is just part of the sequence. A resting time to reflect on how much better and brighter next spring will be. And we need that slowing down, as working flat out all the time is unsustainable. We need to look back at the past year and really see what worked and what didn’t.
You know what I mean, all those things you thought were important at the time but turned out not to be. I have learned such a lot this year, but the fact that I am still making colossal mistakes only proves there is so much more to do.
It would be easy to mimic the seasons, shut down and hibernate until spring arrives; and I must admit that sounds incredibly tempting…
But we have books to finish, Anita’s busily scribbling away, so lots of editing there. I also have a pile of how-to notes to wade through. Some to digest, others to discard; time to clear the decks and really get organised, ready for a new year with all those lovely new possibilities…
And a big thank you to all those of you who have helped us this year, you know who you are…
Do we always want more than we can have
Search for things we will never find?
Questions with no answers,
Driving mind to scream.
What then when wild thoughts show in your eyes
Do people stammer when they speak to you?
Do they hide in corners, hoping not to be seen?
Do they run from your approach
Pretending lateness is their call?
Is madness framed in garments white
Keys jingle stop you from walking out
Is life now bound within these walls of grey
Has mind forgotten how to pray for freedoms flight?
Let men say that you are crazed
To me, you are a vase that is cracked
Yet water holds the flowers still
They bloom in memory of love within your broken shell
My name you lost with a ticking clock
I sit, I watch, I wait for memories lost
Make one happy moment when time returns
To hear my name whispered upon your lips…
Don’t go to the house on Willow Lane
Mother said today
Mrs Hill’s sweets will make you ill
She lost her only child
Now Halloween she hates
She waits for little Jimmy
With spirits to return
To wash her guilt away
She left him by the river
It took his life away…