I am basically a truthful person. I can tell lies, but I have to work at it if I am not to be caught out.

Secrets

Secrets steal a line
Burning a trail
Of lies through your heart

Old secrets smoulder
Embers remain
Where truth's ripped apart

And secrets will out
Will be revealed
If you're none too smart

In the last few days - they have been a blur - I read the offering of Paulo Coelho in his Warrior of the Light newsletter. He honoured a lady whose name escapes me; but now I look in my inbox, I cannot trace the newsletter and yet I know it was there. Reading it moved me.

She was a special lady who gave her life to helping others. She was alone but didn't mind too much. Her joy came from the joy she gave to others less fortunate than herself. Then she met the man of her dreams, fell in love and should have lived happily ever after. Except she died. Too soon.

I have found happiness and I would very much like to live long enough to enjoy it. However, my luck may not run. This poem was written a while back. I echo the sentiment.

When I go

When I go, I hope it’s quick
No long drawn out agony
With tears on the faces of those who still care

One instant realisation that it’s over
At last, a release from responsibility and woe
A gasp of relief

No pain, or very little please
A sinking into oblivion, a drowning?
Something that is no one’s fault

And then a drifting
Sliding into a dream of times gone by
Peaceful, with a smile

And the waiting, in limbo
For whatever comes next
There must be something that comes next?

Please God, let there be more …

Most of you realise that while I try to write a poem a day, sometimes I don't make it to the Internet and can't post on THE DAY. Sometimes, I am too hungover to face turning in the machine. Sometimes, I get sidetracked. Sometimes I wonder if you will notice. No one leaves a comment. Some of you email me, but that is between you and me!

Today's poem was written next Monday...

Quick,quick, slow, slow

Did you miss me?
Where did I go?
Lost in’t minefield
Quick, quick, slow, slow

I don't watch football. I live in a sport free zone. So, tonight, the phone hasn't rung; the writers' sites are quiet, and I have managed to write a poem.

Parallel lives

Our lives run in parallel lines
On tram tracks that never quite meet
All working for a common goal
The journey we cannot complete

Invention maps the way ahead
Sets in stone our final demand
But at junctions, these trains of thought
Cross paths, with the points in command

Stations litter the route of life
If only we’d stop and take stock
To check exactly who’s onside
Or to hear our body tick tock

Then time’s up, when the whistle blows
We go, on our separate ways
Head down, shoulders square, breathing hard
Living life, in a sport free haze

For some reason, I cannot write at the moment. I am silenced. So, I am relying on poems I wrote way back, revisiting how I felt and looking for parallels.

Today's recounts a day I met a special man, a stunningly handsome man, with extraordinary writing talent. We met at a gathering hosted by the BBC and he tried to make conversation with me.

Behind me, on my window ledge, there is a ship in a bottle - a gift from him. I will never forget his gentleness nor his inability to share a slice of chocolate cake in an equitable fashion. This poem captures our first exchange.

The first blush

“So, Anne, tell me something about yourself.”
I gaze into your eyes, a beautiful blue
My mind a total blank – flying, thought free
I know I am honest, sure of that wealth
But not who I am. She’s still so very new.
Unwritten. Where do I begin? Who is me?

“Not your life story. Just a slice. A talking point.”
Your words mark time in mid-air, hanging there
I dance! I realise, I dance, a moment too late
And I weave my tale of twists and turns and spins.
To stop the torrent, to slow it down, you touch me.
”Hey, do you know how beautiful you are?”

”Your face lights up. Such passion deep within”
I blush. Unused to praise, eyes brim with tears.
Words dry like ink as I try to think
And I totter. I clutch at a straw
”Tell me about you. I want to know more”
But what fascinates is this new me.

What makes her glow? Steals her breath away
What energy fills her mind with excited thoughts?
What tune does she hum? Who will she turn out to be?
Who will hold her today? Who will lay her down tonight?
How long before she succumbs to a man like you?
Ask her. She’ll tell all. And won’t spare the blushes for me.

And this is how it ends:

I think I feel (5)

So what of truth and lies?
It’s all the same in your head?
Truth is the white horse with the flowing mane
Lies slink across the ground as the snake shows his forked tongue
One is good, one entertains …

Continuing the same theme - if you will bear with me - or bare with me! -

 I think I feel (4)

How do I feel about words and deeds?
Words flow easily through my pen
Or on to keys but may stumble and fail to find voice
I feel I have no control over what appears
Just let go and watch the ink dry with new form

Deeds – an obligation – to do what is right
But a recklessness to do what is wrong
Risk averse to the point of inactivity
But an imagination of rich proportions
Makes up the gap between what can be done
What ought to be done. What I’d like to do
What I dare to do. And it appears in words

Words form the bridge for the deeds undone to become done
For the things I want to think to materialize
For the way I’d like it to be to become how it is

It goes on, this exploration into how every thing fits together in my head.

I think I feel (3)

I think, therefore I am
Am what? Thoughtful?
A channel for my spirit
For the spirit – the light?
Do I see the light? Am I the light?
Or am I still in darkness
Is it all just a dusky grey
Not black, not white
No truth in sight
Lead the way, take me there
I’ll follow as I must
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust?

Thinking and feeling are all very well ... what happens when they turn into words and deeds?

I think I feel (2)

What do I think about words and deeds?
Words are spoken thoughts. Pushed out by emotion.
Deeds are actions, can be carefully planned. Thought through
Or emotional outbursts – good or ill?
Unspoken words are just thoughts that do not surface?
No, surfaced thoughts that are suppressed
Undone deeds – no time or no inclination
Or denied due to convention

Had a strange few days. This poem - written in a rush on a coach between Dubrovnik and Montenegro - explains what I am thinking and how I am feeling, at the moment.

Today's poem is only the beginning. There is more to come.

I think I feel
 
I think thoughts, I feel feelings
I think I know how I feel
I feel I know what I am thinking
I cannot anticipate what I will think
I do anticipate how I will feel.

Sometimes my feelings surprise me
I am caught by a sudden sadness
Or a sudden joy, a glow from within
Many times my thoughts surprise
Where do they come from? Within? Without?
My thoughts, my feelings, are they equal partners?
Or does one underpin the other?
If I stop thinking, do I still feel?
To feel my feelings must I not think?
My thoughts are the voice of my feelings?

Being a Mathematician, I thought I knew how to divide by two. But, as I found out today, a half is not always a half!

Even Stephens

Fifty-fifty
Yes, that seems fair!
And yet, she gets
The lion’s share?

Even Stephens
Odd how it’s done
What’s left is yours
So cut and run …

I had the weirdest dream last night. I was on a hospital bed, kneeling with my legs bent under me to one side. I had two visitors, neither of whom I recognised. The lady was saying 'Ooh, I'd hate to have my legs amputated.' I shrugged. "It'll be ok," I assured her. She went on: "But it'll be dreadful. Think of all the things you won't be able to do." I thought and my mind was a blank. "I'll miss dancing," I said.

The man pointed to the wall behind me. Two false legs were pinned to the wall, making an X. I realised they were for me and started studying them. He ranted on about how the British designers were the best, but the NHS always did things on the cheap. "Foreign imports!" he spluttered. "It's a disgrace."

All I could think about was that these legs were longer than my own. So I would end up taller, and that would make me look slimmer. I was willing to give up dancing for that.

Today's poem is an attempt to unravel the dream!

Legless

The future never goes in a straight line
Never the outcome I demand
The twists and turns, and dead ends too
Serve to unsettle the present I planned

I hang on for death to the status quo
To my traditions, I hold fast
Yet I make plans to move forward
And trust the tide to wash away my past

So, what will it be like when I get there
Will tomorrow be free of stress
Or will I find we’re where we were
Still stuck, still going nowhere, and legless

Yesterday's poem illustrated the postive effects of attention, of being cared for. Today's reveals the other side of the coin: what can happen when attention is withdrawn, when you are rejected - if you depend on one other completely.

Barely breathing

Think no more of me; I evaporate.
Choose to be without me; I slip away
As wearily, night blacks out day.

Neglect to dance with me; and I stumble
Crumble, in rhythm to your tune, I sway.
Let go your grip; I lose my way.

Whisper no more my name; no angels sing.
Blanked, seeing nothing, you avoid my eyes
Threat’ning sky, no hope of sun rise.

Smile not; I wither completely, inside.
Blow me no love; I stay puckered, unkissed
Crossed off your circulation list.

Talk silence to me; I listen so hard
To those empty footsteps, to the echo.
You turned away; I watched you go.

Text to me never; I read not your thoughts.
Leave the phone on the hook; it never rings
And I cling to the void it brings.

Refuse to hold me close; I feel repelled.
As you deny your desire; I feel dire
No more hugged tight nights; no more fire

Stabbed, I bleed, I collapse, drowning in fears
Not wanting to lay me down; I feel numb
Distraught, I still want you, to come.

Let your diary stay clear; I’m not near
No appetite, barely breathing for one;
I am dulled, drunk, resolve undone.

Forgetting the joys; I can not laugh
Begetting doubts and low self-esteem
Your dismissal shatters this dream.

Today dawns in mist, and a lone bird sings
Did I exist, yesterday, in my mind?
When you looked on me, loving, kind.

Now a wreck, tearful, seeped deep in sorrow.
Life racing past; defying reflection
Of what was, brimful rejection. 

Today, I attended a Remembrance service at the Royal Masonic Girls School. A moving event, well planned, brilliantly executed. The service and laying of wreaths was followed by an exhibition of drill by the girls, all dressed in their white blouses and royal blue tunics.

It was close in the great hall, and the speeches overlong. As a result several of the girls fainted and had to be carried out by their class mates. The ones that remained stood their ground, attentive and patient. Then, when they eventually filed out, they left a scattering of poppies on the woodblock floor, reminding us of the fallen.

The level of concentration needed to perform the drill, the need to walk, nay march, in step reminded me of the drilling meted out at my old school. You were not given time to think; you just did what was expected. Even if you felt faint, you carried on.

Later, while wandering around the school, I saw a poster: You cannot reason someone out of a position they did not reason themselves into.

It is important to think, to have time to think, to work out why you are doing whatever you are doing, and to make sure your motives are right. To have a clear head!

Today's poem is the first of two linked poems. It describes the effect of a man on a woman although it could work the other way too. I wrote it some time ago but, today, I am reminded of the influence of others on us and how easily one person can be swayed by another.

I think I am

Think of me; and I materialize
As surely as night follows day
Be with me; I am there
Hold my hand; I know the way
Dance with me; and I sway
In rhythm to your tune

Speak my name; I hear angels singing
Gaze into my eyes; I see the sun rise
Send me a text; I read your thoughts
Talk to me; I hear you coming
Smile at me; I glow inside
Blow me a kiss; I’m near to bliss

Take me home with you; I am blessed
Cook a meal for two; I feel hunger
Pour me a long drink; I feel thirst
Talk of today; I listen to your tale
Speak of tomorrow; and it will arrive
Plan for the future; I become part of us

Hold me close; I feel your touch
Hug me tight; I feel secure
Say that you want me; I feel needed
Lay me down beside you; I feel desire
Stroke my heart; I melt at your touch
Caress my body; I want you so much

Make a space for me; I fit in wherever
Breathe on me; and blow the wind through my hair
Wake with me; let our day begin together
Make love to me again, here and there
Let me be warmed by the heat of your sun
No longer in a dark place; I have begun

But watch me carefully; as I open my eyes
I can see I exist when I look at you
Include me in your life; and I belong
Say you missed me; I miss you too.
Or perhaps I am a figment of my imagination
A dream, waiting, always waiting, to come true

You can't move forward until you stop looking back. Today, again, I am shedding the past and it feels good.

Love in a box

My love for you is like a helium balloon
Heart-shaped, it floats above me, on high
I look skywards and see its silver surface shine
And I see you sparkling in my mind’s eye

As I take each measured step to my destiny
I hold tight to this precious piece of string,
I dare not let it go, and care not to let
It slip through my fingers, to let you loose, not yet.

Some days, light-headed, so empty, so hollow
I rise with you into the air, giddy with expectation
I fill with emotion, and floods of tears fall like rain
When I eventually float back down to earth again.

Some days, on the dot of four, I look past you
And remember a plane leaving a cotton wool trail
Its wing tips scratching the surface of the sky
And my thoughts drift like clouds through the blue.

Today, the string is no longer taut; there’s no pull
I feel a deflation, a whispered sigh, and I watch
As you slowly slump, till our eyes meet, one last time
Before you descend, gracefully, to land at my feet.

I am so sad to see the wonder of you gone
Disappointed that it’s all over, instead of just begun
But I will still have my memories and that is enough?
Yes. So, I’ll put you in a little box, and label it ‘love’. 

While I am on the topic of the end, this poem is a must.

Because I must

I’ll forget you, I know I will
Wipe you away, after all that lust
Not because I want to, I don’t
But just because I know I must

Cast out your scent, hindsight unseen
My lips, now silent, and tongue forlorn
Raw emotions unearthed, laid out
And bedevilled, a love stillborn

Thoughts wrapped so neat, with cellophane
Tied ribbon of dreams, laughter and tears
The ins and outs, the rights and wrongs
The ups and downs, the hopes and fears

These memories will soon dissolve
Like ice cubes melt on a sunny day
As you drip slowly through my veins
Till every last drop drains away

Like the rain forests disappear
Man made destruction turns to dust
So time worn life will cloud my view
I’ll forget us, because I must 

Not one of my best, but it has the occasional good line. Written ages ago, but I realised I really was cured only the other day.

Cured? 

Do you know, today, at long last, I think
I’m over you. As I rise tousle headed, I feel pink
Cured, like bacon, but not through the slicer
Something cleaner, something much nicer

The air is clear, clear of thoughts of me being blue
The sun is shining, sparkling bright, dispersing the haze
And I don’t jump when the phone rings, hoping it’s you
I have other things, other people, to fill my days

But call me if you must, if you have the inclination
In your oh-so-busy work-filled life, as you rush around
You’ll find I’ll be spending mine with imagination
In pastures new, with real friends that I’ve found

I deserved better treatment than this, you know
I’m a special person, a princess, if truth be told
I’m no frog, but one kiss from you, a dashing beau
And you’d have had a treasure, of pure gold, to hold

Instead, it’s just me – calm and collected in my head
Ready to take on the world and to win, to come through
Guess I ought to thank you though, for sharing my bed
For filling my dreams, till I was ready to say ‘bye to you.