The Three Women
Posted: May 25, 2017 Filed under: Photo, Poem 4 CommentsThis poem came on the 5th May 2017. It is in honour of, and with high regard for, the lives of Ingrid Beazley, Rosemary Beazley and Brenda Joughin.
May they rest well. Deservedly so.
The Three Women.
Maisie and I tumbled and blew up the mountain.
Carningli, grumbling in the wind blown heat.
And I laid three bunches of posies from Penrallt
At the cairn, where others too are remembered,
A horse shoe, soil from Sicily and the USA,
A small plastic goat,
Fragments, incomplete.
Set the flowers down amidst the small rocks
As crows swept across, in shrouded flight
Jinxing their way towards Morfa Head,
the sea below them
indigo saltwater blue,
silver trailed, swirling,
dancing ever towards the Westerling night.
Three women,
today, your lives we celebrated.
You are resting, sleeping, beyond age and now,
by life’s sometime trials,
untainted.
But you were :
Workers, mothers, sometimes warriors,
Creators, comforters, wives and wise,
lynch pins of this vexing world,
in your own,
differing ways.
The flowers are flags, splashes of colour to lighten our darkened world,
Honouring you lives, your loves,
the canvasses on which you so vividly painted,
across the years, the months,
the weeks
the days.
We turn away now.
Homewards bound.
This May afternoon is muted, hushed.
Thrift, gorse, bracken splashed.
Splintered with sunlight.
Quietened by your passing
and by our loss of choices.
We, your family,
your friends,
your devotees.
And yet, perhaps,
now and then,
we will hear your voices,
enraptured, kaleidoscoped,
catch your cries of delight.
Lingering still
on the hot breathed breeze.
Absolutely beautiful. It made me cry … again!
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A week so far of heart break of all that has happened in Manchester, then I open my computer to read a poem by you which shares so beautifully the end of life in old age,i cannot explain how but it calmed my pain for all who were hurt on monday and I am so grateful for the words that seem to flow from your pen,Words that any of us can read and understand and I suspect feel they were written for “me”,and there are so many “Me’s” in this world of ours.Bless you.J.R.
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A moving tribute, Marc.
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You definitely will hear their voices Marc. Beautiful, touching poem from the heart.
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