Scary situation in Ukraine, our hearts go out to them. Can we really be facing a war in Europe again? Would you see your son fight? Ukraine are calling for volunteers :
Go and fight my boy, Follow your conscience, Go with right, not might, Go help the Ukrainians Defeat the Russian bear, They need you more Than I need you here. We thought Europe was safe That war could never Rear it’s head again, That young men and old Would not die in pain.
Yet here it is. War.
Don’t go, don’t volunteer, I need you here. It’s not our fight, It’s not right To hold a gun with intent To take a life That should be lived. What can one man do? They don’t need you. Stay safe, ignore the news, Bigger men than you Are needed to diffuse This situation.
Yet war is here.
Go and fight my boy, If we do not face Aggressors and stealers Of democracy, What good are we? No one wants to join the fight, Not really. Go and help, No mother wants to lose Her son in war, We’ve lost too many before.
“We think history is in the past, but it’s closer than we know”
I miss you Lyn, More than you will ever know, You above, me below, Our past is linked and Will not be unwritten Or forgotten; A link permanently forged Cannot be broken, Except by the blacksmith Who keeps you safe, Preserved on heaven’s stage Where you will not age, Your blue eyes and gentle soul Will forever be the same, Until the One who calls my name And knows my heart, Reunites our past In a great and glorious future. While the forge-fire of life Refines us here and now In the down-below, The past is closer than we know.
Missing my Dad today, on my birthday and my son’s birthday.
As I look at Dad’s photo, From his RAF days, I gaze Into his youthful face Full of hope and plans, Blue-eyed-boy-of-his-Mam, And mentally overlay The features of my son: The same curly hair, The same nose and eyes And I realise, You share the same Self-effacing smile. He is so like you In his ways too, Measured and methodical In resolving problems, Practical, reliable And utterly common-sensible, And of course, He’s always right! Confident in his skin, In the man within. I can rely on him, This Blue-eyed-boy-of-his-Mam In the guise of a man, I’m as proud of him As you were of me, Love repays, Infinitely.
You still fill The same chair-sized space You ever did – Your chair has gone but I still see you stroll From room to room With the usual smile On your face Contemplating your next move Of aged-wickedness, I still hear your voice Laughing at something That’s tickled you, Something no doubt To share in the pub But never in chapel, I still feel your spirit watching Over us as we Inevitably pack away Your treasures Carefully hoarded Over long years. I still love you And miss you Dad and You still fill The same giant-sized role You ever did.
How to manage Father’s Day When you can’t send a card Or a bottle of wine, There’s no twinkly eyes Or a jokey punchline, No gravelly greeting As you come downstairs, Emotional overload In his empty chair. We have to accept The things we can’t change But Father’s Day without Dad Is eerily strange. Throughout the years He gave so much love So while I’m below And he’s up above I’ll feel grateful today That I was his daughter, I was so lucky – No Father’s Day pauper. His spirit lives on Right here in his home His love tangible In the words of this poem.
Forced to face mortality Before strictly necessary, Enjoying life – Doing what you wanted to, Though you knew At 92 years young, Facing the music was inevitable. I thought I’ve have you Another year or two And now you’re scared, Tearful, acknowledging You could die, Losing confidence, Aging perceptablity Right in front of me While I ignore reality.
Coming home from work You’d swing me round, Lift me off the ground, No matter how tired you were, You thought it was funny, It was our joke, A routine; Sure as eggs.
A long time ago Yet fresh in my mind Like the time You came into school With lunchbox and flask To comfort my tears – I see your touseled hair, I see you standing there, In your blue overalls Leaning against the door, Smiling at me, reassuringly.
But then – You’ve always rescued me, Sure as eggs.
An ode to all my aunties Today this Mother’s Day, You were all so special In oh so many ways, You loved me and nagged me, Brought me up to see the light, ‘Cos I was always wrong And you were always right! To Thelma Joan Mary, Dulce Margaret, Violet Mo, To Glennis Maud, Gwyneira Brenda, Marjorie Muriel and Ethel Glo, I loved you all in different ways You all helped me to grow, You chased me with a slipper And taught me how to sew, You clipped me round the ear When I stepped out of line, You loved me through thick and thin So I knew that you were mine, You showed me how to belly-laugh, Helped me find a job or two, You showed me how to knit Keeping stitches straight and true, You told me family stories, You typed for me before PC You laughed, you cried, you hugged, You danced and scolded me And I’ll never forget the advice Received on my wedding day, No need to shave my legs The ball is still in play! I thank you all for rearing me, And I loved my mother Pam, But on Mother’s Day, of all the days, I my extended Mams.
The war cry has sounded, The game’s begun, We’ve sung for our country, Emotions undone!
The ball’s in play – Penalty points, We’re doing ok, But First AND Second try to Scotland, It’s going their way, Wales are under the cosh, The games running away. Come on Wales, You turned up to play!
A game of two halves, Wales are back in the lead, But Scotland’s not done, The threat’s very real, Scottish try, then Welsh, Just 5 mins to go, We’re one point ahead, Can we get any more? That’s it, it’s all over, The battle is done, Scotland’s defeated And Wales has won!
Pundits will replay Every blow to the joints, The rights and wrongs Of every point, But a win’s a win And we’re two for two – Come on Wales, A Grand Slam’s overdue!