I’ve done Nanowrimo (that novel is stil waiting for a reboot as a young adult fantasy piece). What an experience that was.
Those characters still call me and say, ‘when are you going to do something about me?’
‘Sorry guys I will listen to you soon, promise, on my to do list, ‘ I reply with my fingers crossed behind my back, and a pair of runners begging to be put on my feet. Well seriously I did have a few friends reading it and they did want to know what was going to happen so one day I will get my act together.
This year I am going to participate in PiBoIdmo for the first time. The idea is to generate 30 ideas for picture books in 30 days. Considering I have presently completed only one(and it has been sent off to a publisher for consideration, cross…
In a room to pretend
for a short time
we had a normal family life
our baby celebrating with us
but there’s no sound of her tears
what we would give for her cries.
In that space we discover
small gifts
from those who have lost their
loved tiny ones
only to be left with
little footprints
on cards.
The bed spread is covered in butterflies
so bright
so light
and we have time to take photographs
to treasure
as if she lived
before we must surrender
the one we love to lie on a bed
of our salt water.
The midwife, Clara,
is so strong
treating us as if we are
like any other parents
but our
hearts are made of tears.
She gives us just enough space
but not too much, catches our tears
as the butterflies fly off the bed
spread and around the room.
I remember the kicks
the time she lived
and danced
inside of me.
Jackson
remembers
playing her favourite music and
the way she would respond.
We must celebrate that she took a
few breaths
she did live for a few minutes.
Yet we are made of tears for her.
We long to dance with her not
for her.
We have to believe she is an angel
with butterfly wings now.
She flies through the clouds
of our tears.
(c) June Perkins
Jackson and Miranda in the bereavement room after the loss of their child. They are fictional characters but their emotions are real. I was watching a moving story about mid wives, and how some hospitals have a bereavement room where they take parents to, to give them time with their child before she or he must be buried. I am thinking of writing a piece from the perspective of the midwife. This documentary was so touching. I may rework this piece too, but this is the continuation of the poetic series. The plot is revealing itself.
The day we lost our child
I had a dream
of her possible future
with us.
I wanted to comfort Miranda
to share her sorrow
to take our first steps
beyond
grief.
I couldn’t tell her about
the dream
of our future
lost.
I looked at her
unable to see
where to begin
except without words.
Our little one
lost her spin of life’s wheel
she would never
take first steps
with us.
Only in dreams
would we be together
life forever
unreal.
My heart like a brahminy kite
flew away to the calls of
our daughter and Miranda
wanting to land
somewhere
we could all take
flight
beyond
mortal frames
to be a family
once more.
I knew we would
have to settle on
a name for the one
who took her flight first.
(c) June Perkins
In this poem Jackson Wheeler speaks of the loss of their child. He wants to comfort Miranda. He wants to name their lost child.
This one goes out to all of my readers making decisions at cross roads of their lives. I am doing a lot of planning this week, after a friend asked me some questions about what I wanted to do with my writing and how I was going to do it. I am taking a deep breath and then moving to the pathways!
I am picking out a path
to navigate my life
standing at the mid point
wanting to move forward.
I am looking to within
through the dreams that
I still have.
North, South, East, West
which way is best?
I am searching for some focus
reflecting where
the confirmations blossom
and the path only dead ends
Or perhaps needs a push down
of the walls.
Birthdays come and go
people come and go
but the constants
love, compassion, wisdom?
stay in my journey’s pocket.
Ripple Poetry 