My maternal grandmother – my Beloved Mama – passed away in May 2016. I wrote these words by her bedside, during her last few days. She was the eternal optimist, her joy and laughter were infectious (even when nobody knew what she was laughing at), and she epitomised unconditional love – endowing everyone around her …
Tag: poetry
Broken, Happy People [on Hell & Holy Messes]
It’s a funny thing, not believing in Hell, or an afterlife at all, sometimes. It’s not something I think we can know for sure, this side of death, so I’m in between at the moment. In the midst of The Sorting. Plus, It’s not really something to bring up in polite conversation. Allude to a …
In the Darkness [thoughts on PND and faith]
I didn’t choose the darkness; I don’t think it chose me either. I simply found myself in a gradual twilight, at the inevitable turning of the earth away from the day, toward the night. The sun slowly set behind me, the shadows lengthened, a dense fog descended in the chill, and I lost the trail …
Empty Shoes [or, when I can no longer carry everything]
The road in the end taking the path the sun had taken, into the western sea, and the moon rising behind you as you stood where ground turned to ocean: no way to your future now but the way your shadow could take walking before you across water, going where shadows go This is …
midnight
Midnight folds into a new day that looks and feels just like the old one; but the slow arc of the moon creates a silver path to follow © B Morel, 2014 A New Year’s beacon of hope for all those who have traversed a hard year… May you find joyful moments in the year …
promise [or, when these are the only gifts i have to give]
When the books are folded closed on Christmas Eve, and we try to untangle ourselves from the muddle of competing narratives of a child born in the dirt and pain and hope, and of innocent assertions that maybe Santa lives in your tummy, too. And we leave hanging in the air like baubles, your wonderings …
storm
Sometimes the only cure is to create. The grinding gears of a frustrated soul churn the waters of poetry and sets fingers afire. You are a creative being. Within you is that fire, that water, that earth. That wind that blows when pressure systems build and meet in the atmosphere. Droplets fall to the …
silence
If I squint my eyes closed tightly, and push my dry palms into the sockets, I can see the stars colliding and far-off galaxies expanding. I can see the universe in the darkness and the silence. Try it, you’ll see. Pin pricks of light overlaid with spinning geometric patterns and psychedelic circles and hazy, globuolus …
dust
There’s no escaping a divine appointment. It’s at the dusty crossroads, with a stone in your shoe and the sun in your eyes. You feel it in the limping and the blindness. It’s in the heavy bag, with it’s unrelenting pressure on your brittle bones. You hear it in the call of the carrion, arching …
spiderweb (or, when my faith is not made of bricks)
The thoughts in this post have been shuffling around in my heart and on my computer screen for at least a month, but the timing hasn’t been right, until now. A couple of days ago I stumbled across Alissa Writes Words, who is hosting a link-up on the theme of “What I want you …
