red helium heart balloon – a poem for a cousin’s birthday

I was thinking of your birthday;
‘A helium balloon!’  I cried to myself
(internally as there was no one
around to hear me).

I waited til the day before
to buy it as I did not want
even a sniff of helium to escape
or bring it too soon
down to earth.

That day, I forgot where
the helium balloon shop was
had to double back on myself.

I walked in triumphant
‘A birthday balloon’, I asked the
shop assistant.  The store was
filled with valentines

that crowded out the ‘normal range’.
I didn’t think you would like
a balloon loudly proclaiming ’40!!!!!’
or Olaf or the one from Planes.

A momentary qualm assailed me;
was my helium balloon plan to be
thwarted by the patron saint of love?

On the contrary!  The saint of love
smiled down fondly; a red heart
helium balloon perfectly fit the brief.

a heart for love,
a heart for hopes and dreams,
a heart for passions and adventures,
a heart for you.

‘Oh, that one please, on the
longest red string!’  The jaunty
foil heart balloon reached boldly to the sky.

I could not bear to
imprison it in a plastic carrier.
It is not what helium balloons
were made for.

I basked in the smiles of passers-by
as I wended my way home
thinking of your birthday.

‘She will be so pleased!’  I said
to myself.  ‘No one else will have
thought of such a thing.’

The happy balloon, full of love
and excitement, bobbed up and down,
couldn’t wait to meet you.

It was a windy day; perhaps I should have been wiser.
In a moment, the companion attached to my wrist
was gone.

Oh!  I looked up: A red heart took flight
into the street, up, up,
above the silver birch tree lines.

Up, up, UP, riding thermals beyond
the multi-storey car park.
Up consorting with the seagulls.

I saw it last as it bobbed behind
the church spire; a heart and a cross.
To infinity and beyond.

I wanted to give a heart
for your birthday – for love, for hopes,
for passion, for you.

But the heart wanted to give you a poem,
Show you that your hopes and dreams soared to
dance with the angels,
to mingle with the stars.

Show you that the heart is free;
and alive and full of grace
and beauty.

That nothing can hold it back.

lost journal – the journal’s tale

Only slowly does it dawn on me
that motion has ceased.
It is silent for the first time
in a long while.

I cannot make a sound
to attract attention.
I wait so still,
hoping.

It is warm between
the Financial Times
and Vogue.
But I shiver.

Swoop, arms gather the
newspaper and detritus
of flight BA0589
from Milan Linate.
I slide out under the
seat in front of you.

Will they come with vacuum
cleaners?
Not this time.  I hear the
hum of new arrivals.
Distant first,
then nearer.

Am I going back to Milan?
I recall cosy bedrooms,
grand galleries
and a few moments at a café,
when I was loved.

I miss the motion of her
pen, the flicking of my pages
and the close attention of her
eyes rereading and sometimes
looking away.

I miss the triumphant tick
in a small blue box
the sigh of satisfaction
and the sometime quick
snap-shut of a distraction.

What’s that?  Far from being
cornered by another
bag, I am being retrieved
by a total stranger.
I hold my covers tightly
shut through sheer willpower
to no avail.

Alien eyes peruse my pages.
I hope her writing turns
to scribble just in time.
My pages are flicked back and forward.
‘There’s no address’ I observe
unnoticed.  Only ‘private’ and
maybe hidden clues, who knows?

With relief, I remark
a kind of gentleness of touch.
Hope glimmers – perhaps I might
be restored to my owner?
I know she is looking for me
amongst the other
lost possessions, can hear her
hopeful tap-tapping of her plea
to find me.

I am being
slid in
to someone’s business bag.
I smell leather and Apple.
My pages snag on chargers.
For the first time, I am afraid of the dark.
I want to go home.

And I know I won’t.

toppled

I toppled
into
a
hole
the other night.

I didn’t realise
I was falling
until I landed
in the mud.

The cold mud
untouched by light
for
ever such a long time.

At first I thought
I was mistaken.
The cold mud started
licking at my
bare ankles.

I didn’t realise it was
pitch dark
at first.
My mind was busy.

But then the
cold crept up
into my heart
and I was afraid.

I felt too ashamed
to call out.
But an older
wiser me insisted.

I picked my most
reliable friends.
They crowded around.
The hole was too small
for a visitor.

They sent a hug,
a happy story,
encouragement.
‘You’ve survived
holes before!’

‘Don’t worry you’ll be
out before you know it!’

‘You only ever fall into
holes when you’re
concentrating on something
very important!’

Slowly, their words
formed a ladder of grace.
supplemented with
romantic comedies,
the ironing, and
favourite piano tunes.

But the cold held on.
Outside the hole,
I was afraid of falling.
Looked only at the ground,
missed the sky, and stars,
missed smiles and stories.

In the end, I stopped.
I dug my cold heart out
and warmed it in my hands,
whispered to it,
lifted it up high and
showed it all the wonder
of the universe.

‘The world is
full of hope.’
I told it.  You have
nothing to fear.
It is true that holes
exist.  But they are
rare.  Look!
The beauty of the
world is yours to
choose.  Do not
let it slip away
through fear.’

My heart sat
trembling in my hand.
Time stood still.
Eventually the shaking
stopped.  My heart
grew warm again.

I placed it carefully
within me,
and walked on
with a slight spring
in my still-cautious
steps.

in the wordsmith’s workshop

Following a magical visit to the goldsmith’s workshop, now it is the wordsmith’s turn.

The wordsmith had visited the goldsmith’s workshop to help her with some writing because she does not find it easy to tell her story.

The wordsmith took the tools of her own trade with her to see the goldsmith – just a little silver laptop computer and a warm heart.  As the goldsmith talked, the wordsmith captured certain phrases, facts and stories.  Using questions wrought from the wisdom of experience, the wordsmith tugged at tales and pulled at pauses, and waited patiently in silence, knowing that in time precious nuggets would emerge.

Which they did, sometimes one or two, sometime more, with their own timing and rhythm as the goldsmith remembered, lit up, hesitated and shared.

At last the wordsmith shut her laptop, said goodbye and left the goldsmith’s workshop, ready for her own process of mulling, refining, and seeing what remained.

The wordsmith allowed the goldsmith’s stories to swirl around her imagination, and at last, sat down again with the goldsmith’s words, ready to start work.

As she pondered, she let the most important themes come to the surface.  Then she worked with them, adding little facts here and there from her notes; unwinding and bending phrases to become small facets of love and delight.  She brought the goldsmith’s passions and heart for people into a setting where they could be more easily spotted.  She highlighted the goldsmith’s bravery and pioneering spirit.

At last the wordsmith was finished.  She did a last check over her work, and then ‘ping’ sent it to the goldsmith’s team.

And then today, she visited them.

The goldsmith had loved the finished work.  It had helped her to recognise her own self, remember her great joy in her own work, its value and many riches.  It had helped her to see past the struggles and weariness, to regain her vision and strength.

The praise from the goldsmith’s team delighted the wordsmith.  She too suddenly realised the treasure of her work, its power to make things beautiful and full of wonder.  She felt encouraged in the middle of a day of challenges, and renewed for her own adventures into the unknown.

And now the goldsmith and the wordsmith are hard at work, in their workshops and at their desks, making…

things I want to tell my children but might forget – on the train.

Oh, look the train is moving!  It is funny because what often happens is that it looks as if the platform is moving while the train stays still.  But this is an optical illusion.  If we have already got a seat (hopefully together), we can relax and enjoy the train experience.

There are many aspects of train journeys which are interesting.  The first thing is that it takes a while to settle into the new space.  Sometimes I change seats several times, or find I need things from my suitcase which I have to get down from the luggage rack.  Sometimes I find the people around me are too noisy, or eating stinky food, or sometimes (if they are about two years old) screeching.  If we are together, we will need to avoid these things so that we don’t upset other people.  It can be hard to play quietly for a whole journey, but we will try.  Once we have settled into our seats, we might play a game, like ‘I spy’ or we might eat our picnic.  What would you like for your picnic?  I would like ham and cheese baguette with a few ready salted crisps and a raspberry jelly.  Then I would like an oatmeal and raisin cookie (a bit later on) and a piece of chocolate with a cup of tea.  Yum!  Picnics are the best.

Now probably you will want to watch a little video.  In the days when I was a little girl, you could not watch a video on a train.  You could read a book or do a crossword puzzle or look out of the window.  When I was small like you, I only went on a train two or three times.  When I went on a train, I just used to look at everything because it was so different to normal.  I don’t know yet whether we will go on trains a lot or a little, but I hope we will go on them quite often.  Did you know that your great great grandfather used to work on the railways, and when your grandmother went to visit, she used to play in their garden where trains went right past the garden gate?  In those days trains were propelled by steam, so they were very dirty and noisy.  The trains that we will travel on are much cleaner and quieter.

Sometimes on a train people don’t talk very much.  Maybe they are doing their work or reading their book.  But sometimes people get involved in conversations.  This is more common if the train is travelling between two small places in the countryside than if it is going between bigger places and London.  It is often fun to talk to people on trains because you can discover new things.  But it is also important to work out when a person no longer wants to talk to you.  The signs of this are that they look at their book or work more, or they look out of the window, or at their watch, or they leave long pauses in the conversation.  If this happens, just let the conversation fade and turn to another activity that you have brought with you.

Maybe then it is time for a trip to the buffet car!  This is like a tiny café on the train.  Sometimes there is even a chef preparing food.  The people behind the buffet have to make everything in a very small space.  Sometimes they are cheerful and sometimes they are grumpy.  It is a great thing to have a buffet car so you should always be nice and friendly to the person, even if they are a bit grumpy to you.

Every part of a train journey is special.  The start is fun because you can feel the feeling of embarking on an adventure.  But in a way the middle is even more fun because you are in a special space – miles from home but not yet near your destination – where it feels like anything could happen.  Then nearing the destination is also fun because it you get the feeling of something ending and beginning at the same time, which is a funny mixture of feelings inside.

When you arrive at the destination, it is very important to check that you have got all your belongings with you.  It is very easy to forget something so it is worth checking twice.  Pay particular attention to umbrellas, hats and scarves which are the easiest things to lose.

I hope you will love train journeys as much as I do.

This train terminates here. (That’s what they say on trains).