This disease

a bruising trebuchet

battering at your fortress

attacking from within

Insidious 

conjured unforseen 

unbidden catastrophic

sneaking from some lurking place

denying defensive instincts

imperceptible fracture lines 

building to a gaping maw

that threatens to engulf you.

Your fortified walls

constructed through a lifetime carrying fear

solid heavy blocks aged with years of buttressing against 

perceived

misperceived dangers

crumbling now

the onslaught

transforms your life, memories, hopes

to bitter mirage forms.

Betrayal that erodes

collapsing

leaving you at the centre.

Vulnerable and oh so precious

A pearl of great price.

Know, beloved, that you will come through this.

Still you, still truly you,

and still so precious.

You are held.

Hang on.

thick love

thick love like wading through honey

without the sweet goldenness 

through mud but without the soothing coolness

tapioca? 

not slimy - difficult to grasp 

smog making it difficult to breathe navigation 

hard nasty taste in the mouth congested

navigation

thickly tangled knots longing to be combed smooth

Draft written in 2009, just published now.

Orphan

1927-2002

How terribly strange to be orphaned.

Too young a word for someone my age.

Sudden yet hardly unforeseen

in the gym Wednesday, gone by Friday.

The body you'd had all those long years

empty and cold.

Not you

still precious

somewhere to hang our farewells and weep our hot tears.

Bereft but not lost

mourning but thankful

Ninety four years of you, living to the full

squeezing out life

savouring with relish, 

your thanks for every day.

Cheerful at the last

grateful for easy death and all that came before

Ready for whatever follows.

My life is colder for a while

Dimmer and muted for the now.

Washed through by absence

gently engulfed

tender not raw

And then suddenly gulping the loss

Something huge in my throat, my heart.

Something has gone now

some reassuring structure and awareness

some grounding presence some steadying hand

some something

from my first steps to your last

my first breath till your final

is gone.

© Sally Alsford 2022

Anxiety observed

The undertow drags its wearying way

wading in and through my life leaving the heavy tracks

of someone else's dread. 

tripping me, 

tipping my balance

using me up

weighing me down

Nightmare phantoms born

of habits of hopelessness loom and terrify

relentless mirages transfixing you 

and I watch transfixed

and helpless

chasing the shadow of your dwindling self

quicksand muffling life

making a meal of misery

my hopefulness is insufficient for the onslaught. 

 miasmic cloudy mud of false fears

fraught with unexpected waves cross-currents of despair.

The wash and pull of your mood knocks me off-kilter

me trying to keep my chin up. 

And yours. 

 A hand held is not enough

a gentle touch too heavy

loving voices switched to mute by lifelong whispering fears. 

How casually and easily a small life can be blighted

How very hard to heal the damage done

Love waits with bated breath and arms held out

and up

Haiku. Flash flood

Still.
Once again now.

Flash flood.
Tsunami. From where?

Where are you?
Don't stop.

Caught

CAUGHT

I saw a moment caught

and thought of you

A spider's thread holds fast 

and true

A leaf does not let go

And such is love 

at times 

maybe

 

Why put it out there?

I find myself writing poetry again just now - once more in a situation of grief, pain and anxiety. The words just come, the poems form themselves and edit themselves in my brain. Its mysterious to me, but omehow it happens, and somehow it helps.

So why do I 'put it out' here in this place?  Why not just keep a journal, as a not-so recent commenter asked?

I really don't know. But it makes a difference to me.

Maybe its something to do with making this somehow part of a larger reality, and not only a feeling and emotion within my own head and heart...

Maybe because I've found writing in other online places that has resonated, moved me, helped somehow, comforted, inspired.  In which case its about sparking connections, which matters to me - even when I'm not aware of how or when such connections might occur....

Whatever the reason, the words that have emerged from my currently rather distracted, bruised, struggling mind, are likely to find themselves here before long.

And maybe, one day, I'll find myself writing less limp and more cheerful crispy words!