There is much I could say about these two people, my parents, but I think that is for another audience, but you may read between the lines.
Toxic Parents
The thought of my father
Dead
Hovers on its cold energy
A remembrance, no
A recollection, maybe
At arms length
It must not come close
Too dangerous, you see.
The thought of my mother
Dead
Earths itself, bonding
To the discharge of belief
Negatives need feeding
So insulate, survive
It must stay that way
Too dangerous, you see.
The thought of me, dead
Skulks close out of sight
In a corner of sadness
Like failure at night.
Embraced with the dawn
It will not last
I’ll not be a victim
Of those things of the past.
1999 ©JohnDaniels
I wrote this after reading ‘Toxic Parents’ by Dr Susan Forward
Lament
We, your children
would insert this joke
“.….who art in Manchester.”
if
one of use spoke
of you “Our father……”
Remembrances such
as this are no longer true.
Unlike welling sorrows,
not bitter,as for rue,
just for our tomorrows.
And, if there is a place
that we might go a while,
go we shall with flowers
to part again and part reconcile
three hundred thousand hours.
Too afeared, too late in life,
communion can only inward be.
Like tears upon the waters
our words cast silently
and,
if we can,
rechart the man,
your son and your daughters.
Our father…..
who wert in Manchester,
whither thou art now?
John Thomas Daniels
1/ 1/ 1926 – 12/ 8/ 2000
©JohnDaniels
All at Sea
Skipper
What was it that drove you on holding your course?
I know it was not all your fault, the way you were.
Perhaps you saw the harmful force and thought it best to leave,
Casting us off unto seven generations.
Mate
Why was it you hid the truth using another chart?
Neither was it all your fault being the way you were.
Perhaps you could not admit your part and clung on too hard
Searching for what was lost, but never was.
Crew
We did your bidding, learnt your ropes.
Your passage making is now bereft
So we’ll unpick the knots around our hopes
To run ashore with what time is left.
My mother had dementia and spent her last year in a nursing home. She had a fall and broke her hip in April and she never really recovered even though the hip joint was replaced. The two months after produced this flurry of poems.
Mum
If you should go today
If you were not to stay
At least we sat warm
Whilst you dozed
Soothed words on your brow
Twined our hands just in case
This turned out to be
Our very last embrace.
6th May
©JohnDaniels
Peace
Today is a ‘good’ day
Sat in her chair
“That’s not mine!”
But is –
Comfort and calm restored
With Cherry Blossom in her eye
Sleep comes easily
Peace after morning coffee
Peace
Does she know peace
as her world shrinks?
Peace as her family gathers
Half recognised
Embraced
Peace
Against the odds
Perhaps she does
Perhaps.
6th May
©JohnDaniels
At last – gentle words
Some say we are here to learn.
I would say –
Surely your lesson’s done,
But who am I to say it is so
Or if your fearful battle’s won.
Some say the unforgiven burn.
I would say –
Surely they do not know,
But who am I to say it is true
Or if ‘The Gods’ would stoop so low.
And you,
Maintained we were your main concern.
I would have to say –
Surely this burden under which we grew
That pleached our minds insidious so
Your main concern – was really you.
But, in spite of all, really it is now all right,
For we are working this history through
And this I too, am sure is so –
For once, with love, you can gentle go
Gentle into that long good-night.
7th May
©JohnDaniels
Awe
Does she recall the awe
In her deepest parts of being
Of when I was first born?
For I recall the awe
Of Tom – my son
The awe of what we had done
The enormity
And the disbelief
As breath replaced breath
And all was as it should be.
Does she recall the awe
In the depths of her dying
Of when her mother passed away?
For I recall the awe
Of Nanny
The awe that she had gone
The enormity
And the disbelief
As no breath came and still
I was as it should be.
Now it is the time for awe
In the distance of waiting
For death once more.
I can feel the awe
Of life
The awe of how close it lays
The enormity
And the disbelief
As breath rattles breath
And though it is as it is
Or should it be
For sure
My time will come
To face my awe
And let my breath away.
3rd June
©JohnDaniels
Bedside Manner
Do we whisper
or put on an upbeat show?
Do we sit
or bounce unrelaxed?
Do we ignore the pain
or suffocate with care?
Or
Is there another way through this affair?
Is it us who can not cope?
For she has no choice
Nor can she give
Her mind and fear a voice.
Outside this room
Reality shrinks till all that’s left
Is
Counted breath
The timed medications
The nurse’s visitations
And thoughts of, how long?
And she is deprived,
The memories that grant context,
The knowledge that might reassure,
The comfort that all is as it should be.
We wait and watch
We gather and return
To the unreal world
To gather again
Being there
Is all
That’s left
For now.
Little intrudes into the remains
Of her existence, except
The significance of discomfort
While it lasts
And
What of the end?
Who might descend
To give her that peace
We wish for
And
What of her soul?
Her mind, her body – gone.
The final mystery
Unsolved,waiting
On our own discovery.
3rd June
©JohnDaniels
Holding breath
Four breathings held
Until the first gives way
And we start again
Soon
Four will hold
Only three will go on.
Meanwhile
The movement
Beneath the blanket
Is watched
Mesmerised
Not really able
Otherwise
To do
We watch
The deep
The shallow
The irregular
And hold…..
3:45 pm 4th June
©JohnDaniels
I did two versions:-
Reduction
i)
We live in a world
Of wants driven on
By media’s time
No space to fill
Impatient for
The next big thrill
Precious are the moments
In which time takes
A backward stance
Eternity enters, unobserved
Presently revealed
And
Everything reduces
To a point
A singularity
In time
Where
We may only
Watch
Catching our breath.
ii)
In a world of wants
Driven on media time
Every moment filled
Sublime
Impatient for when
We next be thrilled.
If time should perchance
Take on a backward stance
Shy eternity presently
Will make itself
Known and everything
Tends to a singularity
As the Falcon on the wing.
We
May only
Catch our breath
Enough till once again
The piper bids us sing.
4th June
Between the lines
They say there are no words
At times like these
Other than worn platitudes
We have learnt to smooth
Our embarrassed inadequacy
They may not be spoken,
But there are word like
That return like bats
To settle in your mind
Fluttering and disturbing
Until each a space is found
Settling in the mind
That flutter and disturb
Until a space is found.
Such words
As can be spoken
Oft no justice brings
To common emotion
But, with care
Can be read
Between the lines.
4th June
©JohnDaniels
Insolent day
Insolent day
Gives not a whit
Disregarding
All the joy and grief
And we ignore this truth
Wishing it would
Reflect our mood.
4th June
©JohnDaniels
My mother died two days later early in the morning, we were there, my sisters and I.
Today is the anniversary of her birth, she would have been 95yrs old.
Patricia Cane 10/ 1/ 1925 – 6/ 6/ 2006
Waking the Baby 