Thursday, July 19, 2018


Credit: A photo by Tony Frissell - coloured.
A picture of a woman floating in the sea

Fictional Prose I Plunged into clear; whilst murky slept beneath avoiding air bubbled skin….

I Plunged into clear; whilst murky

slept beneath avoiding
air bubbled skin
bring boats; navigate the coast
in search of me; my thoughts
you won't recover
yet I fear not
breath in my lungs
will expire soon, my last
farewell to life and loves
that I have known

yet there is peace floating
washed; nudged in silence like your hand
in darkness across a wavy bed
for our fingers never held in love
a Strike would find its way ~ as waves
CraSH towards the shore in search
of rest; the current pulled them back
as I with you returned for
insults; punishment

I lay with one last look water veiled
plastic upon my skin; arms braced
I still shield myself from you
let the water gently fill my eyes
as I fear not
I shall escape into the darkness
into the sea of graves as others
have before me, indeed a privilege
of the life you found unworthy

and as I rest upon the sand
shards of light flirt with my body
fish that pick my bones
there is freedom
no fight ~ no breath ~ no hate ~
I fear not
the TOrment of you will disappear
the abyss will have swallowed me
and left you ~ a hatred memory


Photo Credit -

About the Writer

I am the Author of The Empty Nest- A Mother's Hidden Grief. (EPub) This is available through Lulu and Amazon. The memoir is the story of my life as a mother, with an emphasis on the unspoken grief, which accompanies the process of letting go of one’s children as they grow up. As much as a mother loves her children, she must endure, at many stages of their growth, the pain of losing them. The inevitable “cutting of the ties” culminates when the day arrives for her children to leave home. For many women, this time coincides with profound personal changes of menopause and fiftieth birthdays. My own recent experience of this process prompted me to revisit my life as a mother, and to delve into the journals which I had kept since I was pregnant with my two daughters, some twenty years ago. The journals reveal the learning curves of motherhood and I was able to use this material to form both the chronological backbone of the memoir, and to expose the “heart” of the story in the touching and personal moments that I had recorded. Here are the links if you are interested.
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