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After what has seemed a very long three weeks and two days, my Mam, Marjorie Holmes's funeral was held yesterday. A beautiful service just as she wanted was held at the Crematorium in Rotherham, led by Rev Mick Neal and arranged with the help and support of Jeremy Neal Funeral Director . Thank you to everyone who came to the funeral and all those who sent kind messages of love and support to us all.   Welcome to Autumn The summer may be over, and winter drawing near So now let's light a candle, for loved ones we hold dear. There's purple on the mountains, and beauty all around With here and there a summer rose Still waiting to be found It's time for reminiscing, recalling Summer days For sharing hope and happy thoughts in many quiet ways  A time for being thankful for all the happiness and joy Which created  Autumn memories that Winter can't destroy Gone From Sight I am standing on the seashore. A

She lived a long and beautiful life, as beautiful as herself. Full of love and grateful to the world. A true Angel; the best Grandma anyone could wish for.  I am truly thankful she was ours 💕 🦋 Dear God, Thank you for allowing us to have the best grandma ever ! A friend as well as a gran, who was always there for us, even at the end when at 93 you'd think she would be a bit selfish and cantankerous, and definately be entitled to, but no. Only 2 weeks ago I was moaning to her about all the mundane jobs I had to do before work - the ironing and washing etc. and she placed her hand over mine and said, "Don't worry, you can do it" ! Bless her.  One of her most known phrases was "sorry for being a nuisance". Always thinking she's a nuisance when she's not ; she couldn't have been any less trouble if she tried and it was a privilege to be able to spend the last 3 years just down the road from her. As children, we longed to just nip

Saw this on Facebook today and thought it also needed posting  For the Man Who  ... ... For the Woman Who ... by Brittany Latham F or the man who still leads from the front even although he’s lost inside. For the man who was fired for his fourth late because he has been awake for a straight week with a sick child. For the man who makes an "extra stop" after work every evening, to get something to make his woman smile. For the man who is mourning the loss of a pregnancy that nobody else knew about. For the single dad who doesn't know how the utilities are going to stay on this month. For the man who has gone through 2 IVF's and has tried for five years without success but still is happy for his friends whose women throw baby showers. For the man who still hasn't forgiven himself for the abortion for the abortion of his child 20 years ago. For the man who has a line of judging eyes on him and his children as he counts out coins

On this father's Day 2018, I'd like to pay tribute to a father who I can confidently say has never been wished a good day by anyone, ever. I am not speaking here of my father, my children's father or my grandchildren's father, even.  Nor any famous fathers that we hear about regularly  - or infamous ones which we also hear about regularly.  This is Bill. (he's a little shy and wouldn't turn his face to the camera) Bill is a cockerel. He was hatched with a batch of eggs about two and a half years ago, along with two brothers and five sisters. Sadly, a few months back his brothers and 3 of his sisters died in a dreadful incident which is now known in this household as "The Catastrophe". The cause of this has never been proved - but I have a strong suspicion - and evidence - that it was cats. Bill was traumatised after the attack. He was silent for at least four weeks, before he had the courage to crow again. He felt, I am certain,

     “I write fiction  and I’m told it’s autobiography. I write autobiography and I’m told  it’s fiction, so since I’m so dim and they’re so smart, let them decide.” Philip Roth 1933 - 2018 One of the signs of my advancing years and certainly since I began life in my 6th decade, is that I discover great writers, only when they have died.  Sometimes I have read something of theirs over the years, during enforced study or just through recreational reading. Sometimes, I have not known who the writer was at the time. But more often, I haven't heard of the author or their works.  This sends me into a kind of panic, that there is so much wonderful literature in the world that I can't hope to get around to reading, appreciating and maybe be inspired by.  Perhaps, if I had been an "academic" for longer, this might not have been the case. Before the technological age really kicked in and we only had real books to inform and entertain us, I read widely - or as

Poem In Process I start in the slush queue  Un noted, un seen, un read  Waiting for anothers perusal for the start of the journey. Perhaps with a request for change coming from a holding place. Revised, replaced, released I go on my way towards acceptance and publication or to be felled by the scarlet slashes of the correcting pen. But maybe, I will silently withdraw and leave myself curious and wondering.