It feels wrong to write at the moment, but a week has passed and life does go on. Life has to go on.

Buried treasure

It's how it happens, it's the way it is
After death, life goes on
And those who are left
Just have to soldier on

We walk, we talk
We continue to breathe
Softly, so softly 
As our loved ones leave

When we meet to celebrate
A life just begun
While our treasure is buried
We're warmed by the sun

Emotions run riot, our tears fall as rain
Knowing that when his day's gone
We'll remember, for always
How bright his light shone   

It's been a long time since I wrote about how I feel on waking. As you can see by the numbering system I've adopted, there have been nine previous days where I felt strongly enough about something to write it down. If you are inclined to hunt them down, go to my website - it hasn't been updated for a year but it does have all the poems I wrote up until that time. A new more modern website is under construction ...

On Waking (10)
 
I woke today where tomorrow had been
Fingers still asleep, mind locked in a dream
The sadness of the recent past seeped in
As I searched for a reason to begin

I opened my eyes; the mist drifted by
I watched the sun as it filtered the sky
This tomorrow could be a better day
If only I can look at life that way

Slipped out of bed; put my dressing gown on
Stood at the window till the mist had gone
Let the soft sunshine rekindle my heart
And gave thanks for the choice of a fresh start

A week has passed since I last wrote my blog.

I was in Surrey last Monday, enjoying a visit from my daughter and grandson. They stayed over and he slept on his Thomas the Tank Engine blow-up bed.

Tuesday,  they left to visit granddad, and I spent the day being pampered: manicure, pedicure and facial - and then had my hair done. The complete works - followed by an evening in London celebrating the publication of a book by Peter Webb - see earlier blog entry - with other H2Ters from WD.

Wednesday was a long day: dentist, then reflexology, then loading the car and back down to Devon. We ate en route at the Jack in the Green - excellent meal!

Thursday was Valentine's Day: huge card, chocolates, flowers. Everything a girl could wish for. I thought I was the luckiest person alive.

Right now I forget what I did on Friday, because my world collapsed on Saturday, and these past few days have been a trial for me. For others, though, it has been so much worse. Today's poem is for Joshua who, having made his way into the daylight, lived little longer than a butterfly.

JOSHUA

Joy, sorrow, in life, in death 
Our dearest dreams sometimes dashed 
Snatched seconds, sleeping so sound
Heart stopping, and heaven bound 
Unplugged, hugged, kissed unabashed
An angel breathes his last breath

There was a time, when I was living on my own, that I would eat, drink, sleep and work exactly when the mood took me. I rarely ate, drank too much, hardly slept and worked for far too many hours in the day. I was at the mercy of my imagination and wrote a lot of poetry.

Things change. I am now in a relationship which requires that I keep 'normal' hours. I eat when someone else is hungry or to fit some schedule. I probably still drink too much, but not as much as before. I usually sleep better and don't have the time or energy to work as much as I used to. Making room in my life for someone else takes up - I reckon - 50% of my day.

It's only when I am on my own - like now, briefly - that I have time to think, and to let my creative juices flow. Really, though, I ought to be sorting out the washing machine and, if the person who was due here at 10 had been on time, I'd not have found a few moments to make this posting ...

Anyway, this poem sums up the frustration of not being able to write and not being able to sleep - which is how I found myself last night.

Musings

In my heart, I wonder
I wish, I will, I ponder
I snatch thoughts on the wind
Feel them flitting through my mind

A cunning plan, a spark
A flash, a stab in the dark
Prompts me, fingers poised, right ...
And yet, I’m doodling all night

I can’t pin down a plot
A story to hit the spot
Mind’s as blank as this sheet
I’ll have to accept defeat

So I close my eyes tight 
Obliterate the moonlight
A story floods my brain
And I’m up, penning again