It was a clear day

Crystal clear

Sparkling light in a cloudless sky

Lines were etched on your familiar face

You said nothing and neither did I

What could be said?

Dark branches stretching against a blue sky

I looked at the trees, bare now and cruel

Nothing will change, how foolish to think it could

It’s too late now…

I traced your face with my fingers

You smiled.

It was a crystal clear day…

All Rights Reserved.

This week I received two very lovely comments regarding my poems, both in the same vein informing me how much folk enjoy them and how they helped them when grieving or in pain. Yes of course I receive daily comments, it would be unusual if you wrote a blog and never heard from anyone but sometimes the wording of these comments propel you forward to keep trying to perfect the one perfect verse. I am supremely pleased when anyone leaves a comment, just to imagine someone  taking time from their busy schedule to bother to email me saying how much they enjoyed my words, a phrase, or a particular poem delights me. Sometimes they may refer to my words having helped or brought healing tears at a point in the lives when sadness was choking or blocking their emotions. That upon reading the simple phrases written here, they say it was enough to know someone understood their own pain and could perhaps share it with them. Being sad or worried is a lonely road and often one you cannot continually share with your personal friends or family. Grief affects us all at some time in our lives and to different degrees  but I yearn to understand how some of us survive while others do not.

Unless you have been or are a Carer, it is often difficult to understand the daily stress of following harsh schedules and the responsibilities for another person’s life. So often this comes upon you suddenly and it is difficult to absorb all that appears before you. If you have no nursing experience you are confronted with serious decisions to help your partner to make regarding the right path to take with medical matters plus the emotional side too; often with no outlet for your own feelings, which hover near the surface daily. My choice was to write down my daily feelings and in my simple words I found a voice that started privately but ended up world-wide! I will try to continue with my ‘poems of love’ after reading these two rather special comments this week asking me to do so.  Blessings and thanks dear friends.

On another little subject that seems to be most difficult at this time of the year for the newly bereaved is the putting- up of Christmas decorations. Often these have great sentimental memories attached to them and are often collected together over the years if you have been together for a long time. I have talked of this recently with dear friends on-line and through social networks. Folk who are struggling even to get a few pieces out of boxes for the festive season. Me too I’m afraid. Really I feel it depends whether you have grandchildren visiting or not. Last year when very newly bereaved I made a huge effort to do all the ‘normal things’ especially for my Grandson and family. I found it most difficult but he had lost his beloved Grandpa only the month before and I wanted all to be as it was in previous years when he visited. As if it could possibly be but I am sure you understand. I wanted him to think nothing else had changed too much. My feelings if you live alone now, that perhaps changing things a little can help. It’s painful when so much is going on around you, Christmas displays and festive music in all the shops makes it difficult to function without sadness as it is. So instead of having your normal decorations, perhaps having a small arrangement of twinkling branches maybe flowers instead of the tradition tree if that is what you used to share with your special person. Change things a little. Perhaps a decorated photo of your loved one with gorgeous scented candles that can be lit when the mood feels right for you, would be better for your heart.

When Hamada was very ill he would love to look at the Christmas lights even more than before when he was busy, he would watch as I decorated the tree with little suggestions here and there.  The following poem written in 2008 tells about that and is shown below. Have a joyous Christmas my dear friends with all your good memories, as precious as the love you will always have for your special person.

In Christmas Lights.

Sharp and crisp as snowy nights

crystal clear in prism lights,

gentle orbs that sparkle bright

shining are your eyes tonight.

Reflected jewels of liquid amber

like dripping rich fondant creams,

chocolate in the deepest hue,

I bow my head to look at you

Eyes that hold this strangeness well

in candlelight they watch and drink

forgotten words, much time to think.

A bitter pill that’s hard for you,

as fairy lights come into view,

white and gold’s, red and greens,

you simply watch in reverent scene,

reflections in those honest eyes

of baubles and of Christmas time.

In Christmas lights my poems for you

expressed in love, a poignant view…

All Rights Reserved: 2008

I felt it appropriate on this first anniversary to post again two poems written around this time last year. The first, the simple poem “This Rollercoaster Life” was written when I knew and needed to accept that there was no more that could be done for Hamada or rather that there was no more medical intervention that our dearest Hamada could possibly have managed or that he wanted done. Although we still kept hope alive really apart from the love and tender care I could possibly achieve during his final days, I knew I had to accept that this was the time to stop fighting to keep him with us and pass on my care to the Almighty.  The second poem was written shortly after losing  Hamada and deals with the acute and painful feelings of this time. Letting go with dignity is hard when all you want to do is scream aloud with the painful sadness you feel. I have made it through this first year with much help from my dear family, very close friends and my MM friends worldwide. I thank them from the bottom of my heart for their love and patience but mostly I chose to grieve in private, apart from a few rants on here or when hearing a favourite song or piece of music that we both loved, caught me unaware. I may place a smile on my face everyday but my heart tells a different story.This man was much to miss! 

“Hamada’s story” is still and will remain on http://www.susiehemingway.blogspot.com  It is in reverse order for the new friends who I know come here from other sites to  read about MM, ending with his final days and covering more than four years. All aspects of emotion in the form of poems and many entries on caring and loving someone deeply as we both came to terms with the disease that is Multiple Myeloma.

Today and always I salute this special man: “I miss you dearest one as the sun comes up everyday and the moon appears at night, and as private as my tears fall, I miss you with every breath I take”

“This Rollercoaster Life” – 24 October 2010.

As swooping as the Rollercoaster

my heart hangs in fearful suspended news

that fills these ‘purple days’.

Days that bring shattered dreams,

only the strongest mind can hold.

My laughter becomes an echo that teeters on the edge

as I snap and break at disclosures strewn around.

My heart bleeds to dissolve this anger

which knows no bounds and as unruly as my mind.

Soaring high into this shimmering mosaic sky,

I hang on like a child that screams into the wind,

as these punishing swoops, turn into views as

fragile and as consuming as this Rollercoaster life.

All Rights Reserved:  October 2010.

“Let Me Not”  – 2 December 2010.

Let me not falter dear Lord.

Let me not fall at this final hurdle.

Guide me now to complete this task.

Let me not plaintively wail and scream as my heart doth now.

Allow me to show dignity that he always showed.

Let me not stand beneath the stars and scream his name aloud.

Let me remember this day, as we honour him.

Grant me the courage that he always showed.

Let me not go down on my bended knees and shout at the sky,

And implore you to return him to me.

Let me not fall at this final hurdle.

Give me the strength Oh Lord not to fail,

with this final task…

All Rights Reserved: November 2010

"Poetry is the opening and closing of a door,
leaving those who look through to guess about
what is seen during a moment" Carl Sandburg

God Bless Hamada.

Withdraw and surrender

or restore and live?

Painfully utter or sing joyously aloud.

Or impair fatally to ruin

all that comes to you.

The choice is yours.

Enhance the beauty of your life like a twilight cirrus streaked sky.

Illuminate your life in daily joys.

For joys there are!

Live an anguished life in mask of grief?

Or find solace in this diorama of

changing colour and direction.

Sink or swim?

Renounce, abandon,

or repair and mend?

The choice is yours.

Enter that empty void of senselessness?

Or find that certain solace.

Swim to the top, swim to the top,

do not succumb to misery.

Lift yourself from daily pain.

Fight against this hanging pendent of rage

you wear so well.

Leave behind that ache

as heavy as a dying  bloom.

Live your life…

And find that certain solace.

Poem inspired  by a comment from Lileng.

Photo courtesy of Ellie Robson.

Copyright 2011 Susie Hemingway.

.

Breathe in breathe out shattered heart.

Lay waste to no one,

find your way.

Do not shelter in that room.

Do not shiver, when those feelings loom.

Shine for him, shine for him…

Breathe in breathe out shattered heart.

Ignore those salty tears

that fall uninvited.

Find your way from pining.

Climb from deep despair.

Come,

shine for him.

Do not shudder heart but

dance and sing!

Push back that island of loneliness

Accept,

survive.

Accept

and survive.

All Rights Reserved 2011

I long again to hear that voice,

those cultured tones of dusky nights,

of “21 club” words whispered low

in shining gleaming bar of old.

When smiles mixed as glasses clink,

murmured soft and almost heard,

those sweet and soothing dulcet tones

of  love and you.

The air was filled with mixing scents

of girl’s falsetto voices shrill, who masquerade

their dramatic wears, expensive perfumes

and fancy hair.

I leaned to hear that velvet sound, from sweet

breath of love, disturbing senses found.

That time and you…

The Handsome men with eyes that glittered

tanned in Armani, shirts of fine linen.

Their Rolex vying and hanging loose

as popping corks and bitter vermouth,

in smoky music fun filled air.

The thrill…the pace…

that time in Harry Meadow’s place!

We danced as morning light appeared

your words enticing and with much care

I remember every word you said,

those sweet and soothing dulcet tones

Of love and you… Longings…

Longings: – from the ‘box of secrets’ @ seven months.

Found in dusty antique gloom

this pretty ormolu frame, not new!

I picked you up and placed you safe,

with memories flooding mind of you…

Another face it must have held

fortune, fate, for there’s no doubt.

A loved ones face for I am sure,

the curves that made romantic feel

within my hands; dreams and whirls.

Perhaps a dear beloved wife

with pretty curls and soft sweet smile?

I turned this frame of memories old,

it felt smooth and cold but still with life.

Possible a child’s face lived there?

That someone loved long time before

beloved, remembered, for many years.

I couldn’t really leave it there,

in dusty antique gloom.

For I have a face that would look back,

that I could set beneath this glass.

A handsome face with special smile

perpetual,that would remain  awhile.

This dusty frame with pretty curves,

would then continue on its way

to make a place for another to stay?

This pretty ormolu gilt in style,

                                                found in dusty antique gloom…

I seem to wait for you these days,

like longing for the sun to rise after a sleepless night.

When believing that the bright morning rays

that cast shadows across my floor,

will remove this need from my heart.

And still I wait.

I wait for you like the excited child before a birthday.

Eager and keen for the day to start

when all the surprises and fun will begin.

But you never come to bring these joys to me!

I know you can’t…I know you would… I know…

I’m still waiting for you when I look at the night sky

filled with twinkling jewels.

I look again for you as I enter the house alone.

I’m waiting to see those laughing eyes, black as coal-chips

and the smile that always took my breath away.

I’m waiting…

The tears fall as I write this and you would have been

so  mad,

mad with me for being sad – but I’m waiting to hear your

luscious voice once more.

I seem to wait a lot these days.

I know you can’t make it right.

I know you can’t…I know you would…I know…

All Rights Reserved. 2011.

If tears could talk as gentle fall

they gather all in misty path that’s made.

On flushed cheeks like warm ‘soft nymphs of sadness’

huge droplets fill sad eyes, as cleansing in their wake

this pain so deeply felt.

Whirlpools of feelings from damaged heart and soul.

A  loss that cannot be repaired or replaced,

these tears that bring clemency to my needs.

Rinsing. glistening lashes, streaky as torrent falls,

a quiet private heart-rending washing

that completes to soothe.

Until futurity this sacrament of release will return

giving focus and a little courage.

If tears could talk… their wordless perpetual out-pour

would denounce all pain.

If tears could talk…

~This poem was and is dedicated to Dianne West who lost her beloved husband Vern, after a courageous battle with Multiple Myeloma in September 2010 but now having lost my Hamada in November 2010 to the same disease. I find myself  once again drawn to it for comfort~

I missed you, when the heated rhythm of Salsa
- that feels so like chillies when they touch
your tongue – drifted across the dance floor.         

I missed you as this enticing music reached 
my jewelled pinned ears.

Where were you? when the luscious sounds of
Sax blues caught my needy toes
so carefully encased in high dancing shoes.

Where were those slim ‘sun touched’ hands that would 
reach to twirl me to the dance floor.

Where was the graceful dancer whose gentle persuasion
could spin me like a whirlpool, making me turn
and sway to the sounds of Latin beats and bluesy tones.

Tell me, where were those magical eyes,
those sparkling rays of light,  that always laughed with me.

Where was that smile, those breathy movements on the
dance floor, those feet that could glide and coax
the dancer from my soul.                                                                                   

How my heart wants to dance with you once more,
instead of standing alone when the music calls to me.

I watched the others spin and whirl but my arms were empty,
sadness for your charms that made me feel like sixteen again.
I was never a wallflower but she has found me now.

 
Where were you… when the deliciously heated sound of Salsa
reached my ears… where were you?

@ Copyright 2009 Susie Hemingway.

"Poetry is the opening and closing of a door,
leaving those who look through to guess about
what is seen during a moment" Carl Sandburg.

Like all the days before.

And all the days that come.

I am thinking of you.

Where are those dark eyes of my pleasure?

The warm gentle smile, our kisses.

I can hear you, I can smell you.

I have so much to tell you.

The clearest visions in my mind,

are of your beautiful hands.

Shuffling the cards or counters of “tawlah”

I miss our games! I miss so much

your calm movements, your voice,

your love…

I feel your presence but cannot find you.

The world is going crazy, do you know of that?

I wonder what you would  have said?

I know you would be proud of me.

You always were.

Everyone says I’m doing well.

Doing all you told me to do.

Perhaps I need more practice

I always needed more practice!

Remember? (smile)

I don’t need to shut my eyes to see you.

Your presence is always here.

In that place I carry around with me.

Do you know its almost three months

I’m thinking of you today

Like every day.

                                      I’m thinking of you…

All Rights Reserved.

The disaster that is now our beautiful Egypt! I am pleased Hamada did not live to see this terrible fighting and bloodshed for he would have been so sad. Stay safe dear family and good friends. I know that you read here and some of you have internet restored again now. Stay strong and positive. I am thinking of you and praying that peace will come really soon.  Below is the re-posting  of my poem “Cairo” The beautiful Cairo we all knew and loved.  May it return to us once more.

“Cairo”

Oh Cairo of the sepia light,
empurple in the late of night,
the sparkling rays on marble stones
the quickest steps and gleaming domes.
The narrow streets and alleyways,
the different smells, the different ways.
The hookah pipes, the mint tea trays,
Oh Cairo and your faded ways

The empyrean of mosaic mosques,
the many souks and little shops.
The hot and dusty lives we lived,
the little child with flower to give.
Street cafes where every day
we sat and watched in wondrous gaze.
Oh Cairo, I remember all those days.

The perfume shop, where we paid
to smell like Chloe, in a way!
The special time, with special friends,
we thought that it would never end.
Halcyon days spent with you
enticing splendour of garnet hue.
Twinkling stars in darkest night,
Oh Cairo of the sepia light.

The dark robed men,
with beads and dice,
delicious honey with special spice,
the bright and silky lengths of cloth
tahina, lentils in a pot.
Can you recall this magic place ? 
                               for I can see your handsome face.
                                                                    Oh Cairo of the sepia light.

@ Copyright 2006

Beneath the deepest seas and over land between us.

Through eternity that life controls.

Across those magic desert lands and dark green forests,

dripping in time of souls before.

Our faith, our bond, covers this space willingly.

I’ll catch the hands I know above this highest sphere

unseen now but across and beyond.

I’ll kiss those lips I know so well.

Hear that voice I long to hear

but do not think of me until we meet Dear One,

It will be faith that helps us to believe that we shall join once more,

                            across and beyond…

All Rights Reserved 2011.

I miss you before my mind reaches consciousness

I miss your smile when I leave my dreams.

Missing you is the light of morning and the dusk of eventide,

it is all the hours in between too.

I talk to you as I pass your door, I hear your call in the night to me and I hear your feet touch the floor in the hallway.

Missing you is the sun glinting on snow or the foggy gloominess of tearful days.

It’s smelling your clothes as I pack them away…when I don’t want to part with them but know I should.

It is this pain I carry heavily around in my heart every day that all know about but that no one can see.

Missing you is the tears that try to overwhelm me with their hot painfulness, that jump out to catch-me when I least expect them. That make me feel foolish when they trickle unasked down my face.

Missing you is the place that is always yours at the table; it is not wanting to sit there ever again but knowing I must.

Where were you when we all sat with  garish Christmas hats that you always managed to wear and still look cute?

I was thinking of you then and all the time when laughter surrounded me, when I heard your voice out of the mouth of another, seeing your smile in my mind and on the face of a stranger!

I miss your talks with me at the end of every day, your dear sweet words of love…more than I could miss the air I breathe.

Missing you is the crisp white snow melting in a river of tears, that flow from eyes that seldom cried.

I miss too much your dark ‘chocolate coloured’ eyes, even missing the look of pain they carried in recent years. I miss the way they always searched for me. Are they searching for me now?

Missing you is the hardest thing I have ever done….or will I ever do…

Ray of  Light Photo:  Janey Johnson Photos.

Let me not falter dear Lord.

Let me not fall at this final hurdle.

Guide me now to complete this task.

Let me not plaintively wail and scream as my heart doth now.

Allow me to show dignity that he always showed.

Let me not stand beneath the stars and scream his name aloud.

Let me remember this day, as we honour him.

Grant me the courage that he always showed.

Let me not go down on my bended knees and shout at the sky,

And implore you to return him to me.

Let me not fall at this final hurdle.

Give me the strength Lord not to fail with this final task.

Susie Hemingway December 2010

All Rights reserved.