Mark my words!

punctuation wounded butterfly .png
Image Credit ~ Wounded Butterfly

 

“Sssh” he said, “now don’t you cry”

as he took her by the shoulders,

she reluctantly, met his eyes.

 

She said, “There is something I need to question,

here, that I would like to mention;

Can you please, stop and explain,

your breaks and separations”? she exclaimed

 

Turning away, she dropped down to her knees,

pleading repeatedly, “Can you help me, please?”

Muddled in helplessness, tears and sorrow,

she wondered, if he had actually known?

 

Flicking the hair out of her eyes,

trying to put, all of this together, in her mind.

Vulnerable and confused,

she didn’t know what to do.

 

Hatefully proud and not wanting to ask,

how she should accomplish this uncertain task.

She enquired, “Should I  punctuate or not”?

I get all nervous, if I get it wrong, or I’ve forgot.

 

“Do commas, hyphens and apostrophes still belong?

It seems to me, that some are ignored, misused, or wrong.

These ‘points’ make sense, of what I’m trying to say,

Mark my words… Don’t take the punctuations away”!

Victoria Healing ~ 18.6.2019

Mark my words…

“Punctuation marks are like road signs; without them we just may get lost… Those who disagree are in their usual hurried state…not giving pause where a breath is due.” ― Nanette L. Avery

Rhyme Universe
@rhymesvpoetry

 

 

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Talking with ghosts are you?

ghosts .png
Image Credit ~ LovePaperPlane

 

“Who’s there?”

 

The quality of the silence stilled the air.

shadows swaying, wavered everywhere.

Her heart pounded in her throat,

she felt secluded and remote.

 

Only a whisper of wind fluttered.

“Who’s there? she stammered and stuttered.

She knew that there were phantoms present,

myriads of spectres, glowing luminescent.

 

Apparitions of her ancestors,

she imagined, had answered.

Not daring to move,

she wondered if this were true.

 

Could this be a trick of the light?

or had she lost her mind?

Remembering back to days of youth,

all of the learning that had been imbued.

 

Sacred moments, spent with those,

dear faces, whom she had loved the most.

Descendants who’d brought her many treasures,

teaching about life, morals, ethics and pleasures.

 

A chirpy voice then called out from the blue.

“Aha,

talking with ghosts are you”?

she replied,

“No, I’m just recalling happy times”

 

Was it destiny, serendipity, or DNA in my blood?

culture, inheritance, call it whatever you want.

A part of them will always be alive in me,

when daydreaming in the refuge of my memories.

Victoria Healing ~ 17.6.2019

Talking with ghosts are you?

ghosts sky girl sophie bashford.png
Image Credit ~ Sophie Bashford

 

We’re all ghosts. We all carry, inside us, people who came before us.”
― Liam Callanan, The Cloud Atlas

 

Rhyme Universe
@rhymesvpoetry

 

 

Superfantastickal

 

poppins with feet on ground bird in flight nan susan .png
Image Credit ~ Mary Poppins

“With your feet on the ground you’re a bird in flight with your fist holding tight to the string of your kite.” ~ Mary Poppins

 

“And who is to teach the child her lessons”?

 

She had magic shining from her smiling eyes,

our Fairy Godmother, enchantress of disguise.

She was Superfantastical,

sprinkled with supermagickal.

 

Tripping the light, she led our way,

all knowing, intelligent, fierce and brave.

Behind her, lights flickered and burned,

spirits of ghost shadows, twisted and turned.

 

Ritual gatherings, were held frequently,

chatting about ancestral customs, lores and mysteries.

Beyond the mystical of past and present times,

sweet surrenders, of secrets were aligned.

 

Mom and I, held captive and enthralled,

hearing the mythology of olde Welsh laws.

Her stories held exciting mysterious powers,

we’d listened in enjoyment and wonder for hours.

 

Narrating divine and ethereal perspectives,

were her ultimate, story telling objectives.

Customs long hidden, from our Welsh origins,

trusting, her tales, should not be forgotten.

 

Feelings of expectation, seeped into the air,

Mom and I adored popping in to visit her there.

Ancestral compasses, recovered and found,

when visiting my darling Great Grandmother,

sweet Susan Howells.

 

So precious was she, that my middle name,

Mom had christened me;  is “Susan” the same.

 

Victoria “Susan” Healing ~ 15.6.2019

Superfantastical

rhyme when I was born .png
Image Credit ~ Wonder Lust

 

With fond memories of my darling Great Grandmother ~ Susan Howells.

Born in  Neath Port TalbotWales.  Cwmafan

 

Her life was a blessing, her memory a treasure,

loved beyond words and missed beyond measure.

 

Rhyme Universe
@rhymesvpoetry

 

nan susan ancestor tales badbs cauldron
Image Credit ~ Badbs Cauldron

The Visit

 

“But we can’t go in, it’s not really my place”

 

Sometimes, we would go to visit the Queen,

the most majestic lady, I ever did meet.

Sitting, on her stately throne, head held high,

to visit her was a privilege, a grand royal delight.

 

The atmosphere, static and motionless, silent,

it was good manners, we knew, to keep quiet.

Her palace was immaculate, pristine and clean.

a musky fragrance in mid air, set the scene.

 

Her hair was tightly plaited at back of her head,

an identical twin of Queen Victoria, let it be said.

Everyone would sit and glance at each other.

not a word would we dare to mutter.

 

She, who had commanded our respect,

as we sat quietly, not venturing to jest.

A china cup of tea and biscuits in our hands,

sat upright, muted, we could understand.

 

Her communication, a telepathic transmission,

“Sit quietly, absorb this stillness, listen”!

Her smiling eyes, stared curiously and intensely,

i had loved, admired and cherished her immensely.

 

Sadly, on our last visit we found her in bed,

just before she exhaled, her last breath.

We had taken our newborn baby ‘Steven’

she held her Great Great Grandson, dearly.

 

She “loved his old fashioned name”, she said.

the following day, sadly, she was Heavenly sent.

That was the first time, i had heard her speak,

her imperial blessing, means the world to me.

 

Dearest noble monarch and matriarch of our family,

She is my Great Grandmother, Queen Emily.

Victoria Healing ~ 14.6.2019

The Visit

 

To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.”
― Thomas Campbell

 

Her beautiful soul, will never be forgotten.

Forever in my heart

Emily Margetts (nee Wilcox) ~ 10.11.1889

 

To Nit, or Knot?

nan to knit or knot star girl

 

“Awesome, eh”?

“That’s beautiful, I’ve never seen anything like it.

it is quite amazing,  I am feeling excited”

 

Knit one, purl one, cast on or cast off?

Fisherman’s rib, stocking stitch or slipped knots.

Yarns of wool, scattered and strewn about,

while knitting needles clicked, in rhythmic sound.

 

Seated upon her plush, deluxe chair,

whiling hours of her time, she sat, knitting there.

Crafting vivid garments, in stylish fashions,

we knew that she had, had, an extreme passion.

 

She was a trendy knitter and garment maker,

teapot cosies and our heirloom, blankets creator.

Although, her ultimate talent and gift to boast,

was that she created, our iconic dolls clothes.

 

Measuring each doll by their shape and size,

producing up to the minute, her latest designs.

Nothing was too difficult or challenging for her,

mod dresses, Red Riding Hood capes and mini skirts.

 

Known for her artistic and personal approach,

she was always humble, we never heard her boast.

We each made a fuss and called her a star,

but remaining ever modest, she’d reply, “tra la la la”

 

If ever there was a good yarn to be had,

our Nan would be at the top of your class.

Pouring her love into each strand of her stitches,

how on earth, could I have missed this?

 

It’s ironic, as now that I’m looking back,

that she’d always give our scalps, a bloody hard scratch.

Shouting out “Have you got any visitors in there”?

if you’ve got “NITS” they’d better fall out of your hair!

 

This was my darling Nan, Beatrice Booker, who,

was my co-conspirator and guardian angel too!

Victoria Healing ~ 12.6.2019

To Nit or Knot?

nan best knit or knot .png
Image Credit ~ Growing up in U.K. 50s 60s 70s

 

Those that touch our hearts, stay in our lives forever.

In loving memory of my dear Nan, Beatrice Margetts (nee Booker) …

When someone you love becomes a memory, their memory becomes your treasure.

 

“Given good yarn, good workmanship, and good care, a knitted shawl can outlive its knitter, providing warmth and pleasure to several generations of family and friends.” ― Martha Waterman

 

Knit~ The word is derived from knot from the Old English cnyttan, to knot.

Did You Know ~ Studies have shown that hand knitting, provide several significant health benefits. The rhythmic and repetitive action of hand knitting can help prevent and manage stress, pain and depression, which in turn strengthens the body’s immune system”,[35] as well as create a relaxation response in the body which can decrease blood pressure, heart rate, help prevent illness, and have a calming effect. Pain specialists have also found that hand knitting changes brain chemistry, resulting in an increase in “feel good” hormones (i.e. serotonin and dopamine) and a decrease in stress hormones.[35]

Hand knitting, along with other leisure activities, has been linked to reducing the risk of developing Alzheimer’s disease and dementia. Much like physical activity strengthens the body, mental exercise makes the human brain more resilient.[36]

knitting can positively impact your life is improving the dexterity in your hands and figures. This keeps your fingers limber and can be especially helpful for those with arthritis. Knitting can reduce the pain of arthritis if people make it a daily habit.[2]

Rhyme Universe
@rhymesvpoetry 

Tiny Tears

tiny tears little girl speak.png
Image Credit ~ Little Girl Speak

 

The twitch of the doorknob startled me,

“Hello my darlings”, she whispered

 

Was it too fantastic to believe?

that she actually had existed.

We had both been eager accomplices,

our love had been swift and instant.

 

Two blinking, rock a bye, blue eyes,

she, fashioned into a perfectly, miniature size.

We, beguiled and spell bound,

by her angelic, smiley mouth.

 

She was fed, bathed and rocked to sleep,

her soft floppy body, warm and sweet.

Not only did she laugh, but shed real tears,

our other girly friend in early years.

 

Teeny bare feet, perfectly formed hands,

there was one for me and one for my cousin Anne.

Mine wore blue and Anne’s wore pink,

our Nan had brought, these precious gifts.

 

Those “Tiny Tears” baby dolls were all the rage,

for young girls, back then, of our age.

These words that trigger happy recollections.

treasured moments of childhood reminiscence.

 

I learned about life from my Tiny Tears doll,

to cry my tears out, before carrying on.

never to withhold sadness in, for too long.

to listen to my heart, where in, I most belong.

 

This may not mean a lot to you,

but it means so much more to me.

My beloved cousin Anne, left this world at only 29,

These are the cherished moments, of our happier times…

Victoria Healing ~ 9.6.2019

Tiny Tears

 

tiny tears best

 

Dedicated to Anne, my brave and dearest play-mate.

My beautiful Cousin who passed away at the tender ago of 29 years young,

from ovarian cancer.

Forever in my heart, my darling ~ Anne Wheatley ~ 10.5.1958.

Rhyme Universe
@rhymesvpoetry

Solitary

close friends best

 

“Oh, you will learn from it, believe me,

I have plans for you my friend”

 

And so, with that being said,

she moved forwards, to where she was led.

a long narrow pathway, ran beside the house,

treading softly, as quiet as a mouse.

 

A gateway opened into a tiny, concrete yard,

enclosed by brick walls, bleak and stark.

Eerily still and strangely quiet,

imaginary games, playing, in silence.

 

The sun was hidden, behind the roofs,

dark windows, staring, seemingly viewed.

Spiralling buildings, towered around.

there were no traces, of anyone else found,

 

Those first eight years, playing alone in the back,

she wanted for nothing and neither did she lack.

Riding around on her three wheeler bike,

Mitzi, her poodle, played happily alongside.

 

Self-awareness, independence and inner growth,

this was how, these traits, were learned, I supposed.

Some, would feel, lost, abandoned, or rejected,

but, this is where, my solitary self, I detected.

 

Loving the peace of being alone,

deeply connected with a feeling of home.

Victoria Healing ~ 10.6.2019

Solitary

born when i was born

Latch Key Kids

They said we were the forgotten generation, like no one wants to remember who we are but yet we were the latch key kids as some would call us or ‘free range kids’

I have heard people say that we were unsupervised, raised wrong, lazy, lackeys, and careless. To me you can say what you want about us because we learned how to be self-independent. ~ (Anon)

Rhyme Universe
@rhymesvpoetry

 

Thanks for this reminder  ~ aguycalledbloke.wordpress.com