Cinderella

Cinderella

I look at the
Xmas cake
I have made;
it looks sad,
undressed.

Majority vote was
No. Keep it healthy,
they all said.

They don’t even
like cake.

I like cake,  and
decide it will
go to the ball.

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Thank you

Thank you

As you can see this is not a poem.  It is a post to say a big thank you to all of you on WordPress who have visited my site so far and have left so many encouraging comments.  I really didn’t believe I could do this whole poetry writing thing and to share it with you all is a privilege.

In the book Alcoholics Anonymous, it is suggested that, in recovery,we can have a life beyond our wildest dreams. This has certainly been the case for me in many aspects of my life, but particularly now, as I am learning to be able to express my thoughts and feelings through poetry and to continue to explore myself and aim toward becoming the person I believe I was meant to be.

Regarding the diagnosis of MS, this was a shock, although I have had progressive, unexplained, symptoms since 2005.  However, I can now make so much more sense of the old adage when one door closes another opens. I used to think (rather arrogantly!)that this was quite a cheesy quote, but it is actually true! I don’t think I would have found poetry without this nudge and of course the encouragement of dear friends.

I am also enjoying reading all of your work which, too,  gives me great encouragement and it goes without saying I am reading some recommended poetry books and thoroughly enjoying this experience.
It is a new journey of wonder and excitement for me.

So, I would like to wish all of you a very peaceful
and contented Christmas and New Year and I hope
to continue reading your lovely poetry.

Tell me, what is it you intend to do

with your one wild and precious life?

The Summer Day – Mary Oliver

Soft Reunion

 

Soft Reunion

 

It couldn’t possibly be you.

But then why not?

Forty years concertinaed

into a moment.

 

You were choosing

tomatoes, massaging

smooth firm skin

with caring fingers;

I was pretending to

look at grapes.

 

You had left a note

in my desk at school,

denied it later,

but I saw you.

 

Your voice appeared,

muffled, like I was

semi-conscious.

“Hi ,how good to see you”.

 

I froze, was trembling

locked in girlish stare.

Then came the smile;

oh my goodness,

that smile.

 

Your arms embraced me,

soft curious and tender,

years of wishful thinking.

Then you gave me

the tightest possible

forty year long hug.

 

I was still holding the grapes.