A Little Adventure – poem

Here is a new video of two of my poems: A Little Adventure (written a few months before my mother’s passing) and Half-Way There (written a few days after my mother’s passing).

A Little Adventure

Why are you worried?
It’s just a little adventure.
There’s plenty more to come.

It won’t be long
and we’ll see you again.
We’re never far apart.

You’ll barely be gone
and, once more, we will 
be uniting to restart.

Continue reading “A Little Adventure – poem”

Letting Go

My home of more than twenty years, where my three children had been loved and raised, was about to be demolished. The developer kindly said that if there were any remaining plants I wished to take, to do so. I had already taken what I could when the house was sold but, of course, I had to leave the garden in the lovely state that we had enjoyed for so long. Any gardener knows that gardens take many years to make. One cannot just plant stuff and presto, there is a garden. No; gardens have energy. Like houses, they become part of the energy field of the family living with them and, in particular, the person who has cared for them the most.

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The Great Death – poem

I stood at the back of the funeral room. 
Very still.
Black dress. Black coat. 
It’s cold.

Purposely alone. 
Ears closed.
Not wanting to hear 
the tirade of sweet lies.

Did they not know you were already dead? 
I think they did.
They walk with the dignity 
of a funeral crowd into the tea room.

I can see them chatting 
happily through the window.
“What a fantastic guy he was. 
Cheese or meat sandwich?”

I sit outside, next to you. 
No one can see. No one bothers to look.
Sinking to fresh earth, 
I ask you why you did that to yourself.

Why did you cling to that 
which fed you a slow poison?
Why did you betray that 
which was guard to your soul?

There is no reply.
The words get taken by the chill wind.
You cry in your sleep.
The tears are gone by morning.

The sadness is not this death.
You are not even dead. 
You are just over there.
The sadness is the other death.

The death that doesn’t end.
The one that follows behind, 
ever-present with its 
grey, hollow touch.

Walk a bit further. 
There is a different land not far away.
The people in it have the magic 
to break the icy fingers of the great death.

I hear you don’t even have to pay. 
You do, however, have to find their door.
And it is only found by those 
who pay the other price.

No lazy mind 
comes to poetry. 
For poetry goes 
where we are 
reluctant to travel. 
Travel we must.  

This little book of Donna Goddard’s poems and prayers is an effective source of healing, realignment, encouragement, and inspiration.