Miss Chatham

picture in a park for Miss Chatham poem

They walk together in the park
at three fifteen each day.
Miss Chatham and Euphorbia
quietly make their way.
One loved in life, one never held,
both showing time’s decay

Some note quietly, as they pass,
this singular mismatched pair.
The lady clothed in Sunday best
and her friend’s wild wispy hair.
Both alone, but twinned for life,
Miss Chatham and her teddy bear.

Adoption

Image of children's drawing of children

She holds a distant memory
of when a heartbeat matched her own.
A summer secret locked inside,
a child barely known.

A small, now faded picture holds,
a truth in grey and white.
A daughter held for one short day,
one silent tear-torn night.

To give a life, to hold a life
to bear but never see,
the future that the world might hold,
for the child she set free.

Two lives diverged, two stories cleft,
one lost one led away.
But the incense of a child’s warm hair,
still holds her to that day.

You left

teddy bear left alone

You left cold sheets one side of our bed
A book laying open, partly read
Silences, where once we talked
Grass now growing, where once we walked

You left a picture of when life was bright
The shape of your body when I held you tight
Your touch, your laughter, your every way
The colour you cast on the greyest day

You left rooms that echo of the life we knew
Nights much darker when I think of you
Words you whispered in our bed
And tears on the pillow beneath my head

You left

No point

depressing snow landscape

There is no point in travelling,
when you’ve no place to be.
No sense in searching,
when your heart cannot see.
And no doors will unlock,
when you don’t have a key.

There is no point in sowing,
where love cannot grow.
No questions worth asking,
of a life you can’t know.
And no reason for staying
when your heart says go.

There is no point in searching,
with dulled tired eyes.
No use in listening,
when you only hear lies
And no sense in living,
because everything dies.

Alone

A crowd of people

A sirens sounds for the daily dance,
a game that is carelessly played.
In covert signs and coded words,
Liaisons are sought, alliances made.

But those who don’t hear, or don’t know the rules,
are lost in this masquerade.

By day they are silent, in the evening alone,
weaving dreams that may never see light.
Mouthing the words of songs they have learned,
while dancing alone, hidden from sight.

Shrouded with empathy, dusted with love,
Trapped in their room, alone at night.

By choice

depressing landscape of mist and fog

It may have been just
that her balance gave way,
that dew damp grass
was the the culprit that day.

It might have been planned,
or purely by chance,
that no one would catch
her last backward glance

We may never know why
her life ended that way,
if her sight was obscured,
or her thoughts led astray

Not a word for her friends,
she left barely a trace,
at the end of her journey,
when she fell from grace.

She may never have known
the path she was on.
Life obscured her vision.
We blinked. She was gone.