A Ceremony of Ashes

A friend shared this poem with me that was given as a reading by her son when scattering her husbands ashes.  I think it’s beautiful.

A Ceremony of Ashes
By Edward Storey

The wind was blowing from north to south
to give your wings their eager lift
from man-made boundaries.
Clouds were the continents you crossed,
hills the last frontier of a life
to reconcile histories.
What joy, what freed exuberance
suddenly leapt from Offa’s,
creating stars from mortal ash.
You rode like a king on the ancient dyke
to be one with a day that soon unveiled
the landfall of your choice.
You became earth and fire and rain,
tree-root and leaf, sun-shaft and frost,
where miles can never pin you down.
Whoever walks this hallowed track
will, without knowing, always have
your wise and jovial company.

The Laughing Heart

By Charles Bukowski

Your life is your life
Don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
Be on the watch.
There are ways out.
There is light somewhere.
It may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
Be on the watch.
The gods will offer you chances.
Know them.
Take them.
You can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
And the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
Your life is your life.
Know it while you have it.
You are marvellous.
The gods wait to delight
in you.

Make Them

Tonight, tears were not shed…..grief doesn’t always soak my face.
Instead, an empty feeling where the silence deafens.
It’s just me and my wine and a silent room where his voice once filled like pleasant interludes.

How arrogant to assume tomorrow is ours, that we own ourselves and the light that follows.
We are oh so fragile yet oh so strong.
We carry on, making memories.  Because we know that where life is short, a memory is long.  And it’s all we can do is make them.

7th May

I’ve been dreading today, this anniversary, when 1 year ago today, life changed forever.  I owe it to my man, to keep on fighting, keep on dreaming and keep on living.  To lead a life he would be proud of me for and be the best version of myself, that he taught me to strive for. To keep looking forwards, even though every part of my being is tugged to that day, in some attempt to process the impossible.  I know tomorrow is never promised, but tomorrow I will fight again.  Today, I lament our fate.


Smacked in the face with another event

The grief train is as punctual as ever, chugging along with its repetitive rasp.  Why can’t it pause at the last stop or take a wrong turn?  After all, the driver is a learner.

But no, it has a timetable and at the moment, it’s sticking to it.  Today is Easter Sunday and as I sit here contemplatively shouving chocolates into my mouth, I wonder why you haven’t risen again? If it was possible to rise again based on love alone, you’d be here.  You’d be here, tenfold.

C’mon Sweetheart.  There’s chocolate to be eaten.

Tomorrow is my birthday.  There’s wine to be drunk.