healingwords: poetry for the soul

It is hard to believe 5 years have passed without my wonderful Dad, although as I write the word 'without', aware of him looking down at me from the mantelpiece, I know he is still with me and always will be. 

Today our family remember Jake who we lost 13 years ago. It is hard to believe so many years have passed and a testament to love and survival that we have learned to live without him. In his short life he touched all who knew him and he will live on with us forever. I posted this poem in his memory last year.  THE MAN IN THE MOON Sometimes I see  a youth in the street who reminds me of him, fresh face smiling, base ball capped, arms swinging with spirit, full of life, until I remember our lad is stranded in time, the years have not aged him, worries have not tired him, love and children have not graced him; I might not even recognise the man he would become. He lives forever in my mind, the laughing toddler, the skate boarding teen, the man in the moon, the loving boy  we lost too soon.

As I am stuck indoors for a few days here is a look back to my wonderful visit to Ireland. This tree was in the herb garden of the Burren Perfumery, a beautiful and inspiring business in the middle of the Burren in County Clare.  At the end of the day as visitors were finishing teas and buying creams I wandered into the garden and was fortunate to be walking alone. The garden was lovely, planted with herbs, shrubs and trees used in the Perfumery. It reminded me of my family garden, where I would pick lemon balm and mint run wild.  Quite without thought I sat under this tree and felt my mother and father close to me, as the robin hopped in the branches above me and a white butterfly joined me on the path.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

This time of year can be difficult for those missing loved ones during a holiday season where we feel almost forced to be of good cheer. It is also the time of the longest night, when despite our hectic lives there is a need for quiet reflection. As the solstice passes and the lighter days return, it is good to remember those we miss, include them in our festivities, enjoy telling their stories. That way being together is more than just a yearly celebration dictated by consumption but a special time for families and friends to reconnect and share their warmth. We should also remember those alone and look into our hearts to open our homes and arms to those in need.  © 2019 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

Seeing a lost photograph of my mother's parents the other day has my mind wandering back to Galway and my mother's stories of her life there during the war. I knew the Long Walk before I walked it for the first time this September, I recognised the fiery swell of the river Corrib dashing into the Atlantic, had seen in my mind the mist over Galway Bay, the view over to The Claddagh. My regret now is I didn't question her stories, I listened and took them into my heart without asking more about the family, their histories, the details of her young life. It is only when we can no longer ask those questions that we realise their importance.  © 2019 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

Today I miss the garden, I would visit every year between September and Christmas, sometimes twice. I loved the winter garden, the branches of trees revealed, the redness of berries, the frosted oak leaves littering the ground. Most of all I loved sitting with my parents, watching the birds and squirrels.  Too infirm to tend their garden, it had grown wild, an urban sanctuary for birds and wildlife. The trees and bushes were full of life, robins, blackbirds, wood pigeons swooping down from the Oak to startle the feeding birds, bushy tailed squirrels raiding the bird table, crows and magpies claiming dominion, flitting sparrows from the shorn beech hedge. A little part of us all stays in the garden. As grief unexpectedly returns, I take hope in my Dad's positivity, his joy in the dawning day, sunshine breaking through cloud.  © 2019 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

Three years have passed since my father died. Three years seems enough to recover from this loss but in this time I have learned that grief has no timetable. What is right for one is not for another and there should be no judgement at how we feel or the length it takes to become accustomed to a new reality.  In a way I don't think we ever are the same again, we just learn to continue life without our special people in them. When Dad died I also lost the link to my mother, who we talked of every day and kept alive together and my connection with my childhood and sense of place when the family home was sold. Living away certainly intensifies these feelings.  My best advice for the newly bereaved is the classic cliche of time. Keep them present, don't hide them away, include their memories, stories, opinions in your daily life and in time the sadness of their going eases and their presence in family life becomes natural and easy.  I can still be overwhelmed with ...

This briar rose was blooming in the herb garden in The Burren Perfumery in the Burren area of Country Clare. It took me back to our garden where my father picked a briar rose for my mother every day of her final illness. We picked the last rose to place in her hand as she lay at peace. My visit to Ireland was an emotional one, in the footsteps of my mother and her people. I felt at home there, comforted by the beautiful green countryside, cheered by the warmth of everyone we met.  © 2019 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

I am grateful to my brother Chris Knight for returning to the woods close to the anniversary of our mother's death and taking this lovely photograph. I would love to be there. This was one of her favourite places, she shared her love of these woods with her children and grandchildren and we are drawn to go back and feel both of my parent's spirits at peace among the trees.  © 2019 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

On the 12th August Parcent celebrates the Fiesta day in honour of the Divine Aurora. The village band play the 'Aurora' at dawn around the village streets, stopping to serenade the women named after the dawn. After a solemn mass in her honour, a procession takes place, accompanied by the band who once more perform the 'Aurora' in front of the gathered village. It is always an emotional event, where many remember loved ones. Our family will always remember Lilian at this time, as she sighed her last breath whilst her grandchildren played the Aurora.  With thanks to Lesley Howe for the photograph.  © 2019 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

I always cautioned my Dad not to get obsessed with dates, birthdays, Christmas, anniversaries. I was trying to protect him but now I think it is perhaps necessary to remember those dates. We miss those we love every day but I think we need the outlet of the special day to be quiet with them, remember and feel their love. My mum died on this day 9 years ago, it is the fiesta day of the Divine Aurora in our village and she died as my children in the band were playing the 'Aurora' in the village square, surrounded by people gathered for the procession. I remembered that night in this poem.  https://blog.healingwordspoetry.com/2018/08/the-divine-aurora-in-memory-of-lilian.html

Today is not a birthday or an anniversary or any special day for remembering my parents but they are on my mind. Maybe I am missing my July visit, an escape from the heat of Spain to the beautiful green of England. They are with me always, in my mind, in the woods, in my children's memories, in the garden.  © 2019 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

At this time of year the internet is awash with images of bluebell woods. It is heartening to see so many moved to visit the woods charmed by bluebell magic. Another year on I am still missing the bluebells, still missing my parents and our favourite woodland walk. Today I was cheered by a glorious walk on the hillsides of my village where each week a new Spring flower colours the woods. These lovely blue flowers are called 'lino azul',  blue linen, or Linen of Narbonne and they were some compensation for missing the bluebells.  LINO DE NARBONA - missing bluebells Miles away woods bloom alive as   April weaves its magic spell, uniting earth and sky as bells nod in a tapestry of green and blue. I last walked the woods in sad farewell, sorrow raw as skin scratched by thorns, I left them sleeping under Oak as  bluebells  stirred above their sun warmed bed. Miles away from Northern woods, bright light gilding spiring pines,...

Poppies bloom in Spain from March through to April and I think of them as my birthday flower. The 'campo' is bright with Spring flowers and will grow wild and green after the rains falling this Easter time. In a few short weeks the heat of the sun will start to dry the earth as Summer approaches.  SCARLET PETALS Here poppies grow on road sides or sway on slim green legs dotted over rocky terraces, the land worthless as abandoned almond trees rewild. Scarlet petals, as delicate as the tissue sheets we split with licked chubby fingers, breath parting paper like flitting wings, scrunched into twisted gaudy blooms. Flowers tough enough to withstand the valley gusts billowing to the sea, or the April rains stinging like shot pellets as dark clouds scurry over the hills, blotting the sun. Here poppies herald Spring, heads waving above golden dandelion, clashing with fuchsia pinks, vivid amongst the dried stalks of last year’s fen...

Today is the first day of Spring and my Dad's birthday. Another year has passed. The deep grief of loss changes but the loss remains This morning I am both sad I can no longer pick up the phone to ring him, hear his voice, his stories, his advice but cheered by thinking of him.  My parents stay with me in the memories of the life we shared.  SPRING MEMORIES I thought I was over the flush of tears, as if there is an agreed number of years when sudden hot, salt pricks are admissible, now melancholy feels like indulgence. Dates creep towards us, aware he would say a birthday is just another day, the dawn of Spring breaks with blue sky, streaked with golden memories to remind me of my loss. He is everywhere, framed his piercing gaze meets mine as if he is really there, trapped behind glass on the mantlepiece, winking in the flickering candle light. He is in the iridescent labradorite gleaming on freckled skin, nestled with...

This is a list poem prompted by the online course  ' The Wild Within' tutored by Wendy Pratt. Her courses are inspiring, if anyone is interested in writing or improving their poetry have a look at her website. https://wendyprattpoetry.wordpress.com/ Robins have always attracted me, they are such convivial, cheeky garden birds but this poem has a touch of melancholy as it is hard to picture a robin without remembering my dad in his garden. It has been two years now since I walked away.  Thanks to my brother Chris Knight for the photograph.  THE KEEPER Robin flies to his side, bone pain burns as creaking legs wobble up the cobbled path. A hop ahead rosy breast, grandad friending, tail wagging, earth skipping, scarlet waistcoat spade sitting, garden guarding, patch defending, cherry chest, fluff feathered, worm pulling, eye cocking, blackbird mocking, berry cheeked, pointy beaked, song trilling, cat teasing, ...

This Christmas I have been aware of how many of us face the festive season with the loss of loved ones in our minds, made more poignant by the memory of times shared. For recent loss these can be difficult days however just as the Solstice passes and the days grow lighter I believe there is hope. The sharp depth of grief is part of the process and with time comes healing. Although they are forever missed, memories can be shared with laughter and their presence among us felt again. This photograph was taken on Christmas Eve in the countryside near my Spanish home. The sunlight illuminating the unseasonally deep carpet of clover and daisy.  I have added a beautiful photograph of the light taken by my wonderful son in law Jose. RETURN OF THE SUN Creeping towards Solstice, darkening days following the glory of leaf fall, hard ground and chill air circling earth rhythms as souls crave hibernation, to burrow down in soft quilts in lulling, soothing sleep...

I was inspired this evening by a beautiful image of silver birch trees on the lovely facebook page 'The guardian of the woods'. It took me back to the garden, where I would wander up the path stopping at the silver birch. Treading over the undergrowth, avoiding brambles and nettles I would lean on the tree and feel its gentle sway as it moved in the wind.  MOON BARK The winding path curves stone edged, cutting sine waves though deep shrub, semblance of a green fingered order long lost as nature reclaims the garden, urban space wilding into glorious tangle; spiked brambles coiled like wire wool, whippy grass stalks bolt head high, cruel nettles guarded by velvet dock, spiralling ivy, tendrils curling,  soft  as ringlets in toddler hair. The ghost child skips by my side,   sailing pirate ship on wooden frame, sculpting oxbow lakes in sand pit, digging cream potatoes plucked from earth like hidden treasure. Trample winte...

Two years now since we left Dad's quiet funeral and walked in the frosty woods, catching falling leaves which blew around us like shining stars. Today whilst driving towards the village,  loss and death on my mind, this angel cloud appeared. Just a cloud but it made me smile and lifted the melancholy. This short poem reflects looking forward with hope.  IN THE CLOUDS Wisps of angel white drift in  sky  the colour of her Irish eyes, rising between peaks dripping gold with the last flare of setting sun slipping over the Sierra, hilltop homes embraced by feathered wings floating slowly into strong hands, holding me, lifted skywards, forever safe.  © 2018 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

Another year has gone by without my father. A year of continued loss and sadness but lightened with joy as my grandson grows and my family and friends fill my life with love. I have much to be thankful for.  It is also a year since I started this poetry blog, inspired by my father. I have posted more than 50 poems and reached thousands of readers.  I have written about my experience of loss and grief, the healing power of nature and friendship, my home in Spain and my memories of England. I have also posted poems on injustice, the right to vote, corruption and inequality, sadly including gender violence. I have enjoyed the process of writing and publishing this blog and hope that it has been a worthwhile venture for readers.  Today's poem is still about grief but looking forward to a time when the memories will be joyful and the loss easier to bear.  Thank you all, I am grateful for the support so kindly given.  HEALING   I wear my grie...