Loss of a Loved One

A simple encounter with a stranger who had just lost her husband made me reflect on the impact of losing a precious loved one. Sadly this is something most of us have either gone through or will go through. That does not make it any easier.

When you reach out to touch, there’s nobody there,
When you whisper “I love you”, there’s no one to hear.
Thoughts and concerns now yours alone to keep,
Lying in your empty bed, searching  for sleep.


Friends to support you, sometimes it’s too much,
All you really yearn for is that old loving touch,
And the words  that reassured you everything was all right;
A light’s gone out in your life, now you face the long night.

No discussions on decisons, now it’s only your choice,
What to do next? Oh! how you long for that voice.
On a trip to the shops or a meal out for one
It’s obvious a new chapter in your life has begun.

And yes life must go on, still you can’t help realise
You’re no longer being watched by those old loving eyes;
Going through the motions, one day at a time you take,
Sharing with the empty space your endless heartache.

Don’t be angry with the world for being left out in the cold,
Be grateful for the memories that forever you’ll hold.
Alone, but never alone, over those memories you’ll cry;
Maybe torn apart by death, but your love will never die.


How I Wish I Could Paint

Is a writer an artist? I like to think so, but every once in a while I wish for a more physical artistic skill, sometimes I just wish I could paint…

Old Writer Artist Frame 1How I wish I could paint, how I wish I could capture
On canvas those sights that fill me with rapture.
Such wonders that have the power to evoke,
If I could record them with an artist’s brushstroke.

Oh! how I wish I could hue, from some solid rock,
A statue of a goddess, to which crowds would flock,
And marvel at my sculpture, how proud I would be,
There for all time, a reminder of me.

I wish I could turn on a potter’s wheel,
A lump of wet clay, crafting purely by feel,
Then firing that clay, creating fine pottery.
How I wish I could do that, how I wish that was me.

I wish I could shape glass held over a fire,
Using a skill of which I’d never tire.
Creating fine glassware with an artist’s touch,
I know I would like that so very much

I wish I could sit down in front of the keys
And play a piano with consummate ease.
Maybe some jazz, or maybe some blues,
Now that is an art I would certainly choose

I wish I could sing, a voice full of emotion,
Have sell out world tours, cross every ocean.
A voice to be savoured by all different ages;
And in the music press filling so many pages.

But I have been blessed with a much different skill,
No concert hall or gallery will I ever fill;
It’s a vivid imagination, at work all the time,
Composing my verse, rhyme after rhyme.tootg-copyright-2016-2017