healingwords: poetry for the soul

Spring is finally arriving in our corner of Spain, the breeze has changed from bracing to warm and birdsong and the buzzing of insects can be heard from the patios and rooftops. The ‘campo’ is greening and wild spring flowers colour the hillsides and olive and almond groves after the winter drought was broken with a few weeks of welcome rain. I appreciate being able to walk out and be amongst this natural beauty but find as so often my mind is drawn back to Warwickshire and my childhood haunts. I love the litany of flower names, recited on country walks with my mother. She loved flowers, both wild and in her garden and they live on in my memories.     FLOWERS - WALKING WITH MY MOTHER Buttercups held under chin, gold reflecting love of butter, melting on Sunday’s marmite toast. Puckered face concentrates as pearl nails pinch daisy stems, crowned on child’s tossed curls. Jump over marsh marigolds lining damp ditches, sticklebacks in jam jars ...

This poem celebrates my father’s birthday and the coming of Spring in the garden of my old family home. The garden saw many lives, a children’s playground, a mini allotment bringing vegetables and fruits to the table, a cottage garden with flowers, fishponds and dove cote, a mature garden loved by my parents who planted trees, grasses, shrubs and flowers to make a home for birds and wildlife. As they became elderly and less able the garden evolved once more, growing wild, a riotous overgrown jumble as nature took over, a space of wooded beauty in the middle of the city. I loved the garden, for its spirit and my memories and now my parents and the house are gone it lives on as part of me. It seems apt that the greening of Spring coincides with the day my father came into this world. SPRING GARDEN A year since I walked the cobbled path, winding from house to garden’s end, felt Winter loosening ice chains in season’s yearly dance. The great Oak bestrides the gar...

I recently spent a weekend in the Spanish city of Elche. I always knew Elche was famous for its palm groves but I had not imagined the trees being such an integral and visible part of the city landscape. Dating back to Moorish development of the city in the 7 th century when dates were an important food source for humans and livestock, there are now estimated to be up to 200,000 date palms in 97 orchards, protected as a world heritage site. From the 14 th century the palm leaves have been used to weave Palm Sunday decorations, an industry that still exists today. This poem was inspired by one of the hundreds of amazing trees I encountered in my visit to Elche, a beautiful city with a magical green heart. PALM HAND Elx palm stands among us, tree growth so unhurried we barely see the transformation, fixated as we are on the passing of our own youth. Silently, imperceptibly, elephant feet stabalise, deep roots penetrate dry earth, sap...

Today is International Women’s Day where in Spain women across the country are striking for our rights, the right to equal pay, to equal opportunities, to freedom from violence and harassment,  to equal sharing of childcare and domestic tasks. It is inspiring to see such solidarity from young to old, with the support of men who recognise that it is in all our interests that women’s rights are recognised. ‘HUELGA’ – INTERNATIONAL WOMEN’S DAY Black iron curls like eyelashes adorning railings once designed to keep the raider out and the hidden women in. Now we claim the streets, our rightful place beside the suits and overalls, from factories to boardrooms. Progress made but not enough, still we fight for equal rights, still work more, earn less, still fear more than men. Today our labour is withdrawn, women absent from their posts, journalists silent, cleaners at rest, shops unmanned, Town Hall closed. ‘Huelga’ fuelled as pati...

Today I am posting a poem written for those of us who search for peace of mind in the midst of the storm. With love and gratitude to my dear friends. BECALMED In the eye of the storm, wearied by frenzied winds, tossed into quiet calm, momentary peace descends. Heavy lids close as head dips, hands unclench, fingers release, weight sinks into soft welcome, breath slows as soul is freed. Flying high over mountains, skimming spiked pine tops, swoop low over olive groves, gnarled gnomes trimmed with silver. Carried on citric valley breeze, funneled floating between sleeping giants guarding  passage  to bay curved in sand smile. Catch a rising warmth, sky flyer soaring, dazzled by healing light, sun mirrored on gilded sea. In flight find freedom, sea charge, strength renewed, mind calmed in balance, as voice carries and spirit flows. © 2018 Jacqueline Claire Knight.  All rights reserved. ...

This poem reflects an aspect of Spanish village life which remains unchanged since our arrival 28 years ago. In bars, squares and community centres men meet up in the afternoons to play cards and dominos, the seated players surrounded by standing observers, intent on the game. This winter scene is from the small, inland town of Pego in the Marina Alta area of the the Costa Blanca. CARD PLAYERS IN PEGO. Weekend afternoon, ‘paseo’ void of children and coffee drinkers, only ‘viejos’ staking their place, wooden slat table warmed with green felt, flat caps covering cool heads, bent low in concentration, time gnarled hands span hidden cards,   visible to the circled watchers, waiting, hawked like the booted eagle gliding low over the ‘Bodoix’, tension tightening, breath held as haunted lizard escapes hooked talons, released cry rises, cards slap in triumph, laughter floats into the ‘Pego’ sky, stark blueness framing ‘Platanus’ dappled trunks...

Today we say goodbye to our dear friend Jo who died in January after a long period of illness. Jo was an extraordinary woman, generous, funny, compassionate, great company, a good friend, a loving partner to Jim and dearly loved by all her family and friends.  She worked for many years as a nurse in intensive care, helping to save lives and sooth minds with her thoughtful, caring manner. She was also an amazing artist and I am fortunate to have a wonderful painting she did for us after a visit to Spain hanging in my living room. A week before Jo’s death, unaware that her condition had worsened, I was stuck with a bit of writing and found myself staring at the painting, as I so often do. I wrote this short poem about my thoughts and sent it off to Jo. She didn’t get to read the poem but I know she knew how much we loved her. Her art and our shared memories will keep her with us. I cannot be at Jo’s funeral today but send my love to all her family and her many friends. ...

Last winter I spent some weeks in Coventry emptying and selling our family home. This was a difficult time, saying goodbye not only to my parents but to my childhood and my link to England. This house remained my home, it was where we all returned to, where my own children and even my tiny grandchild stayed and visited, a special place for us all. Being at the house without my father, sorting through my parents belongings, knowing I would soon not be able to return, already missing the garden, I was overwhelmed with sadness.     This poem recalls the day I tried and failed to be cheerful, leaving my friends after helping to decorate the party room, knowing I was still set apart from normal life. Without thinking I stopped at the woods, alone in the dusk and after time with the trees and the silence, felt some sadness lift and float away into the night sky. I returned home lighter, with oak leaves in my pocket.   Grief is a process, there are days when I am still hit h...

On 1 st February the European Parliament held a hearing into citizen’s rights after Brexit where representatives of the 3 million EU citizens living in UK and the million UK residents of European member states gave evidence along with many others involved in the debate including MEPs and Commission representatives.  I was sorry not to be able to attend this hearing and am grateful to all who spoke of the disenfranchisement of UK citizens living in Europe (and beyond) who lose their vote after 15 years and thus had no vote in the referendum or the General Election. Despite years of promises neither the Government or opposition have put forward any new proposals to remedy this situation which is now even more urgent as the calls for a referendum on the final Brexit deal or the possibility of another General Election grow every day. In a situation where we are facing being stripped of our rights as European citizens it is even more unjust that we were given no say in ...

My last ten years in Spain have been dominated by politics both local and national. In 2007 I was elected as a Councillor  with the CDP in Parcent.  (Democratic coalition of Parcent). We gained control of the Town Hall just before the crisis, when the building boom in Spain was at its height. This had an impact in the building plans for the village which I have written about on this blog (Sierra de Carrascal) but speculative building projects were going ahead all over Spain. People were being encouraged to buy hugely overpriced properties on the promise it was an unfailing investment, lent money they could ill afford, put savings into unsecured share schemes that went bust with the banks. The Town Halls and Regional Governments were spending income they didn’t have, encouraging the building boom and profiting from it (both legally and illicitly) and building up massive levels of unsustainable debt. In 2007 we could see this happening, immediately acted to reduce our Town Hal...

Whilst coming to terms with my own stormy personality I find solace in the changing moods and seasons of nature. I empathise with the sadness of a cloudy, grey day and feel brightened by the bright, blue light of a Spanish sky. Wind moves me, both agitating and invigorating.  Rain refreshes, nurtures the baked ground and washes away my tears as it cleanses the dusty air.  Whilst we wait for the storms of winter to pass I retain the hope of longer days, flowering blooms, the coming of the light and lightening of mood. All things must pass, as in Seasons, life.  AFTER THE STORM The brooding sky darkens as  hostile clouds shroud the hills, snuffing out summer sun's last dance.  Wrathful winds howl their ire, in mournful seduction as field mice sneak through forgotten cracks seeking shelter in warm kitchens, a quiet refuge to while out the rage. As cleansing rains nurture the parched earth for winter's sleep we weather the storm,  ...

The idea of the written word as therapy is gaining popularity with the recognition that both the writing process and the reading of poetry and prose that resonates with our personal experience can be therapeutic.  I have always been able to lose myself in writing, the deep thought and concentration takes me away from the world and my daily routine. Reading fulfils the same function, a good story able to transport me away into another life for a while. Where reading becomes healing is when we find writers whose words help us to access our own emotions, remind us of events in our lives, struggles we have lived and survived, joys we have shared. Sometimes just a single line of poetry can move me and provoke a memory and a release of emotion that I had buried and forgotten, a smile of recognition, a tear of understanding, a flash of righteous anger. The debate about whether such poetry is art or merely fulfilling a 21 st century need to share our emotions is one I reject. Ther...

Freedom Kit Bags is a charity providing sanitary wear to women in rural villages and poor communities in Nepal who do not have access to even the most basic provision. We take for granted the pack of pads or tampons thrown in the shopping trolley while these women make do with rags or even grass. In some cases, women are even forced to leave their homes to stay in out buildings whilst they menstruate. Freedom Kit Bags provide all women need to hygienically manage their period, giving women and girls back their dignity and freedom. They also run a public health education programme to help change the prejudicial attitudes to menstruation. For only 25 pounds Freedom Kit Bags can give this gift to a Nepali woman. Sanitary protection has changed unrecognisably in my lifetime, we are fortunate now to have a whole range of choices including sustainable, reusable pads. I think all women can imagine how much worse our lives would be if we had to feel shame and suffer ostracisation ...

Stanza Alacant is a Poetry Society poetry group run by Christopher North in the Marina Alta area of Alicante province in Spain. I have been fortunate to be a part of this group of committed and talented poets who provide a safe and supported community to share, criticise and improve our work. Their new anthology 'For the Sake of the Forest' is to be presented on 14th December at the Seu University in Benisa where the 10th anniversary of the group will be celebrated with readings from the anthology and a reception. All are welcome to join us. This is an old poem I shared with Stanza friends. It is always interesting to revisit old poems as they reveal the feelings of the time when written. After so long in Spain I no longer notice the small things that make it seem so different and exotic to visitors but I still remember the feeling of being exiled. I was told by doctors I could never return to live in the UK so for sometime I did feel exiled. It took some years to stop ...