I have Malignant Melanoma, my son had Testicular Cancer. We collect my mum from the care home, take her shopping, and then have afternoon tea together with my sister. The roses looked absolutely stunning and incredibly resplendent; a pink and coral burst of colourful hues. We spend time in reflective silence, just thinking about you. You were taken far too soon, and none of us was ready.

I am delighted to announce that my Lifesaving Poems. Series of blog posts is going to become a book. Will be publishing the anthology in June 2015. To put this notion to the test I began copying out poems, in inky longhand, into a plain Moleskine notebook. Sometimes weeks would go by without an entry, only to spur.

The room was still and quiet. My sister was dozing again, or maybe just closing her eyes against me so she could think. I felt the tears spill out and their tracks down my cheeks. I felt them drop silently off my face and wet my neck. I turned my head towards the window and the view which was no longer spectacular.

On the Journey through time to find time. Judge people on their ability to be themselves, rather than their preferences, accomplishments, or features. When will I die? July 22, 2014. It is this same morbid question that we ask ourselves on a regular basis. When will I die? What will I achieve before then? How will I be remembered? Without a clear personal direction is the desire for self improvement for the sake of itself beneficial and even sustainable? I came across this w.

This week has been filled with such a variety of musical experiences and it has been such a pleasure to share them with both family and friends. This week and can thoroughly recommend it. Not only is she a lovely person.

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Rag and Bone Shop of the Heart. Inserting my own peripheral IV catheter.

My love dwelt in a Northern land. A grey tower in a forest green. Was hers, and far on either hand. The long wash of the waves was seen,. And leagues on leagues of yellow sand,. The woven forest boughs between. And through the silver Northern night. The sunset slowly died away,. And herds of strange deer, lily-white,. Stole forth among the branches grey;. About the coming of the light,. They fled like ghosts before the day.

It is not often that I feel the need to write about terrorism, war, peace and everything in between. PS This goes out to all people affected by war and terrorism, now and in the past. Paris is merely an excuse to remember, reflect and realise we are better than this. Terrorism, war and violence are by-products of a society in trouble. We need to face the facts and act accordingly.