Category: Poems

The light and the dark

Living with long covid is a journey of emotional ups and downs.  Here are two examples:

The Light

11th March 2024

This was the second doodle that I was able to do.  Playing with 3 bright, light colours, reflecting the fact that I was able to get up, go downstairs, sit on the sofa and draw. Finding joy in the process.  I set a timer for 10 mins to make sure I didn’t overdo it, then rested lying down before doing a bit more.  It’s only small, but because I could only work on it for 10 minutes at a time it took 3 days to finish.

The Dark

13th January 2024. 

Still pretty much bedbound.  I wrote in my diary

‘Just getting worse, not better.  This illness just takes and takes, life shrinks, joy is leached away’. 

Followed by:

Again and again
I hit rock bottom,
only to find
the ground gives way
and I
keep
falling.

Immediately after I wrote this I felt emotional, and then I felt a bit better. I realised it was only half the story, so I wrote another verse.

Again and again
I hit rock bottom,
only to find
the ground gives way
and I
keep
falling.

And yet
each time I fall,
something tenacious in me
reaches out,
takes my hand,
eases me gently
back
towards
the light.

Roses

Nose-deep in a rose,

inhalation tumbles me

back

in time.

–

Small hands greedily

pluck rose petals

cram them into

jam jars

add water

and wait.

Next day

we dab on perfume,

glorying in the

short lived

scent

of summer.

Winter sleep

New snow blankets a wall

which is the summer home

of one of the garden slow worms.

And right now, somewhere deep

in hidden parts of the garden

slow worms are curled up,

hibernating.

Do they switch off like a computer

one cool day in autumn

and switch back on in spring,

unaware of the passing of time?

Or do they slumber,

conscious of the seeping cold,

burrowing further below rocks,

pulling leaves over like a duvet

before sinking deeper into winter sleep?

And do they dream?

Snowdrops

Snowdrops punctuate the January gloom.

Each year I am lifted by

this ordinary miracle.

I wrote this a few years ago. This year the snowdrops are even more welcome than usual.

Lockdown Days

I bob along on a stream of days

which blend and blur and

disappear

into the past.

Days without shape.

My normally tight grasp

on the calendar

slips,

and I am prone to moments

of disorientation,

wondering

‘Should I be working today?’

‘Am I supposed to be in a meeting right now?’

‘What exactly did I do last weekend?’

The future is full of haze and mirage,

the horizon obscured by fog.

More than ever,

the only thing that seems real

is this one

peaceful

ever present

moment.

Seeds

A parcel I ordered arrived today

full of vegetable seeds

and hope.

I am enjoying planning what I am going to grow this year and really looking forward to planting those seeds. Not yet though, it’s too cold. 🌨️

Word of the year

Have you seen those blog posts

suggesting that you find

an inspiring word

for the year ahead?

So far, all I can think of is

‘hibernate’.

It would be nice to sleep

until spring this year!

Signs of the light returning

The first few

white buds

of snowdrops

emerge

from frozen ground,

as lengthening

hazel catkins bring

a touch of yellow

to the hedgerows.

The evening stretches out

just a little,

and on those days when

winter cold recedes

slightly,

the birds sing

a different song,

louder,

livelier,

a prelude to spring.

It takes a while after the shortest day before I start to notice the light returning, reflected in the first few snowdrops and the changes in birdsong.

Snow, frost and silvery light have been a feature of my local walks recently. Now we are back in lockdown I’m walking the same local routes daily, and feeling grateful to live in such a beautiful part of the world.