Grief stalks my memories, my dreams.
When I find a tender place of remembrance
it wanders in with a dark shadow of pain
that pinches my nose, fills my eyes with tears.
Grief makes it’s self at home in my wishes.
How can I warm my self in nostalgia with
it’s cold touch running down my spine?
Reminding me I’m not just grieving what was.
Grief pulls threads and tugs on scars.
Bringing memories of what was, coloring
them with the longing of what never
can be. Could never be? Only imagined.
Grief whispers, “What do you miss most?”
And teases me with fragments of memories.
Touches my hurt with a realization.
I miss being their someone. I miss the stories
we only knew, the memories we shared.
I miss being their someone. I miss them.
I miss being her daughter. Her granddaughter.
His best friend. Her friend. Their someone.
I miss that we won’t get to share again.
I miss the memories we didn’t make.
I miss the stories we didn’t get to tell.
I miss the laughter and the tears shared.
Grief doesn’t care if they are gone from
us by death, boundaries, choice or chance.
Grief just is, and it won’t stop until we do.
Learning to lean into grief, to learn from it and accept the process is so very hard. It’s not linear, it doesn’t make sense or even have a path to follow. We can only respect the process, and try to not let it drown out everything else that we still love, still care for and that still loves and cares for us.
What I miss most
September 27, 2023 at 9:33 pm (Poetry)
Tags: acceptance, grief, healing, loss, love, mental health
Not yet winter, not yet.
November 7, 2022 at 11:20 pm (Farming Agriculture, Poetry)
Tags: birds, canola, deer, dogs, Poetry, Poets, spring, winter
No. No snow shots. No winter photos. Not yet.
I’m firmly in denial about this heavy shot of
winter snow, wind, and approaching bitter cold.
I want to imagine summer days,
deer in canola fields, blooming waves
of purple flax and the sounds of birds and insects.
I want to feel the sun warm on my face,
not snow in my hair and frozen lashes.
But the dog – oh the dog.
She loves this! Snow! Running and leaping.
Not too hot, just right for rolling fun.
She is a fall baby, grown into love
with the winter blanket of snow.
She bites the snow, digs into drifts.
Cuddles on the couch, cleaned by winter.
We balance it – the moisture so desperately
comes as snow, the promise of spring seems
darkly far distant as we hunker down to
snow, cold and short days easing to
darkness of winter but still…we wait.
Waiting gives us time to dream, to rest.
The busy weight of fall eases off.
We know it’s time to plan, plot and
to look inwards as the winter comes.
I won’t stop dreaming of spring.
I won’t hate the winter either.
I’ll lean forward and embrace
the special moments of quiet,
that only a cold snowy night
can bring in a busy loud world.
poetry #winter
Sometimes
August 28, 2022 at 9:20 pm (Poetry)
Tags: micropoetry, Poetry
Sometimes I take off my glasses
and let the world soften,
out of focus and into gentle colors.
I close my eyes and let the
sun and shadow take turns
warming and cooling my face.
I let the shades bleed without edges
or definition until it becomes one.
#micropoetry #poetry
Taking up space
June 28, 2022 at 7:53 pm (Poetry)
Tags: creative, lgbtqai2s+, neurodivergent, poetry, space, wildness, women
Clean sheets and sprawling across
A queen sized bed – taking up space.
In the morning I find I’m on my side
not using more than my space.
Conversations rolling along, fluid.
Me speaking my words – taking up space.
Later I wonder if I was too ________
using more space than I should.
I used to be bold, bright and wild.
I didn’t try to blend – I look up space.
Now I’m reclaiming her, that version
using the space I want, that I need.
Not unkindly but with passion
I won’t be less than – I take up space.
My voice, my art, my words – see them?
using space that has sat still and blank.
The between spaces where wounds bled
The lies that shrunk my vision of space.
Scar tissue that bound my muse
keeping her from dancing, painting, singing.
Leaning forward, into the idea of space.
Accepting that we always take up too much
for those who wish we didn’t take any
because they wish to control it all.
I won’t back away now, verging on an age
where saying no is akin to wisdom when
it is said with wrinkled brow and crooked finger
I don’t shout, I whisper – take up the space.
Fill it with color, laughter, tears, hopes and dreams.
Fill it with dancing, fire, ice cream and cake.
Take up the space, without apology, take it
use it wildly, loudly and with passion.
Let them howl, whisper and whine.
Let them defend their idea of your space.
Bump them gently, and keep moving
and never stop taking up space.
I often heard, growing up, that ‘we’ need to understand our place, not to take up too much space. It didn’t matter who you were, if you didn’t fit in just right you were too ________ (something) and expected to be less for their comfort. No more! Take up space. Breathe life into it, passion and fill it with everything bold, bright, dark and awesome.
Missing you
June 1, 2022 at 1:23 pm (Poetry)
Tags: grief, healing, mental health, micropoetry, Poetry
Gone
July 28, 2020 at 5:13 pm (Poetry)
Tags: grief, love, Mom, mourning, parent, poetry, strong women
She’s gone, around a corner I cannot follow.
To a place free of pain and fear, she’s gone home.
We are left here. The space she filled is empty.
We don’t miss her hurt or her suffering.
We miss her. Her smile. Her laugh. Her.
She is gone, around a corner I cannot follow.
The sun shines there, but here is shadow.
We are left here. Grasping our memories.
We don’t miss the worry or the fear.
We miss her wit. Her touch. We miss her.
She’s gone around a corner I cannot follow.
To a place with no time and not a care.
We are left here. With the space she filled.
With her she took a piece of our hearts,
We miss her. We love her. We just do.
My mom is gone to heaven. No more pain or suffering. But outside of the big thoughts my Mom is gone and that knowledge hurts my heart so much. No more chances to do more things together. Even to sit and look at pictures or color flowers.
Welcome To Scar Clan
November 30, 2018 at 4:47 pm (Poetry, Uncategorized)
Tags: #mentalhealth, bellletstalk, domoreag, mental health, mental health awareness, poetry
Welcome to Scar Clan, where the survivors come.
We are the ones in the shadows, quiet, leaning in.
We are the ones with knotty scars and bruises.
The ones who don’t have a platform, a brand.
No slick show, no sponsors just a quiet strength.
The kind that comes from walking wounded
in a world that doesn’t want to see messy pain.
The kind that comes from looking into the darkness
and not flinching when it gazes back at you.
We have a story to tell, and we do, but quietly.
With determination, with a rough grace.
You won’t see us being sought after for a show.
No big events, no TedTalks or even YouTube.
Just quietly sitting with the wounded, walking
one another home through the mud, the blood,
the dust, the pain, the hope and the gritty joy.
I see their grand shows, and see the love.
I hear the story of another lost, assumed to be
‘tired’ but really just losing the battle with
the darkness that pulls and pulls us in.
They say ‘reach out’ and ‘get help’.
The hardest thing to do is find another
who has battled the darkness who can
understand when you say, “I am tired.”
And know it isn’t sleep, or rest you need.
Not retail therapy, or a new oily blend.
Not a pep talk of ‘it’s not that bad, you have
so much to be thankful for. Why are you….?’
We need a shadow dweller who leans in.
Who nods and says, “The darkness lies.”
And says it is okay to be totally, really
just ‘not okay’ for now, for this hour. For today.
Those warriors who know that those
fighting the darkness need to be sought.
They need to be fought for. When it is
uncomfortable. And hard. And ugly.
Don’t ask for our story so you can revel in
our pain, so you can touch our scars.
Ask for our story so you will know you are
safe in sharing your own. Showing your scars.
The scars tell you some thing important.
They say you survived. Changed to be sure.
But you are here, but warrior you made it.
The hardest battles are fought alone,
against an insidious darkness that lies.
It tells us all the tales of our failure, our
worthlessness, our shame. It confuses us.
Tricks us, wears us down, gives no quarter.
It hates that we didn’t quit. It hates that we live.
We can stand back to back in the darkness.
We can shine bright weapons of hope.
We can lightly touch scars and feel alive.
Together. We can.
There are some who share brightly and loudly on big stages their victory over the struggles of mental illness, anxiety, PTSD, of surviving trauma and good for them. But behind the glare of those lights are people struggling in the darkness that can’t reach out, that are calling in sick, saying they are tired. Don’t expect those fighting the biggest battles of their lives to have the strength or hope to reach out. Reach out to them. Find them. Don’t accept ‘fine or ‘busy’ or ‘tired’ as answer. Even on line we know when someone is absent, posting something darker than usual, our encourager is quiet, or critical. When your instincts are saying something is wrong, reach out. Don’t be afraid. There isn’t anything to fear. The darkness isn’t hunting you, it’s hunting them. And they are alone, tired and needing someone to fight for them. We won’t win every battle but no one should be lost without a fight.
My inbox is always open, my DM on any social channel. There isn’t anything the darkness lies to you about that will make me leave you to fight it alone. Together we can stand, as survivors and members of Scar Clan.
There are a lot of resources and tools online to help you help someone. Being present and being persistent is so important. Don’t think that because you don’t have a big, public platform that you can’t help – you may never know who you help by being there. Just a hug, a coffee, a call or a text. A wave or a hello. The small things are the biggest things after all!
Hello Darkness
October 12, 2018 at 7:11 pm (Poetry, Uncategorized)
Tags: caring, darkness, fight, kindness, life, mental health, poetry
“Don’t let them warm up, they can can reanimate!” was the warning.
Even in the their state they could still come back.
To bite.
To sting.
To hurt.
The darkness, once banished, ever creeps and stalks.
To bite.
To sting.
To hurt.
Burn the torches bright, pray that they will last til light.
To guard.
To shine.
To protect.
Reaching out past the darkness to find the light.
To survive.
To heal.
To fight.
No matter how bright the torch, it isn’t the light.
You can’t keep it burning long enough to win.
The darkness wants it this way. The cave a trap.
Cowering.
Afraid.
Alone.
Fighting back is a fight not to the death, but to life.
Cursing.
Shouting.
Living.
Not because of the darkness but to spite it.
Winning by living another day.
Just one.
Then another.
Mental health awareness is so important, and when we struggle with mental health issues it is so hard to fight back, to get help, to have someone reach through the darkness to find you. Or to see your hand pushing out of the darkness. Being there is so important. Don’t wait for someone to ask for help – be there. Be present. Know the signs of someone fighting the darkness. It is the loneliest fight. Bitter and cruel. We lose too many.Â
#mentalhealth
When the…
December 13, 2016 at 6:03 pm (Poetry, Uncategorized)
When the latte comes and is a caramel apple cider.
When the order is cancelled and a local store is found.
When the gift wanted is gone and one unexpected comes.
When old behaviour returns threatening the newer and better.
When grace seems hard and patience is scarcely found.
When faith in the hard times seems a stunted mustard seed shadow.
When the tears come ragged and burning as a hoped for good goes.
When you come to it and hate the part when you go through it.
When the other side is reached and you are worn out but there.
When silly antics break the tension and laughter rings loud.
When it seems to unravel wildly and something new is woven.
When the cold snap comes hard and you stay cozy warm.
When the storm rages inside and out you remember to dance.
Remember to dance. In the rain. In the storm. In the pain.
Remember that faith isn’t for easy times but hard ones.
Remember grace is given freely, to you and from you.
Remember to cherish moments small,Â
In years to come they will be large.
______________________________________
Yesterday wasn’t the day I had planned, but God loves a laugh and made me a planner. I am learning to use my emotional sea legs to go with the flow and enjoy the detours as much as my well planned (but often way to boring) route. I don’t always get where I thought I would be going but the amazing people in my life make the journey worth the side roads and detours. We always find the best stuff on the extra mile and that extra mile is never wide, paved or brightly lit.
So remember…when the muse leaves it will return. But not as you expect. Â I missed my poetry and my blogging. But in doing a Christmas handicraft with my son I discovered an older love for working with fibres and yarn I had forgotten. So my muse came back in paints, yarn and finally this poem. I don’t know if I am ‘back’ but even a visit is better than being totally absent.
Poetic Musings
May 12, 2016 at 11:24 pm (dVerse, Open Link Night, Uncategorized)
Tags: American Sentences, haiku, poetry, ymmfire
For dVerse Open Link Night my son, Luke, and I have decided to share some poetic musings. Enjoy!
Summer Storm by Luke
Hail smashes down hard
Summer storms sweep skies dark
Thunder crashes loud
Fort McMurray in 17
A sudden hush awakes me from my slumber – the rain has come once again!
80k people flee, smoke eaters rush in to fight a wildfire you can see from space.
Convoys drive to the flames, fuel for the stranded, bringing hope in the smoke.
Hashtags and hope; the spirit ignites us to action and we open our hearts.
Note: It has been a very traumatic and inspiring time for those of us in Alberta, in Canada. With the wildfires across the prairies, especially the enormous fire that forced the evacuation of Fort McMurray. People have come together in amazing ways to help – in conventional and unconventional ways. I am proud of our responders, our people who just decided to help and did. From children inspiring fundraising bbq’s to people filling their own vehicles and going in to offer help. And those who are fighting the fires and rescuing the animals, those who are volunteering, praying and those who are doing what they can – thank you. Â I won’t share images here – do some Google searching. See how big it is, how it is still burning along with others across BC, Alberta, Saskatchewan and Manitoba and into Ontario. Those giving their homes, their food, their money. Sharing hope and already working on the day they get to rebuild.
Sunflower Poetry 