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JoAnna (also known as Juliet or Helen)

New website

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Thankyou!

Just trust

No choice - but to trust now
A reluctant choice…
But one that enlarges, strengthens
Changes me

The controls … out of my reach
Nothing I can do…
Will alter things…
I must just walk, faithfully
Choosing your peace
When anxiety would overwhelm

Every desire, every instinct
Is to sort things out
Change things for the better

But … I can’t reach the controls
That shape my life
Forced…
To live … one day at a time
Not knowing what tomorrow will bring

Can’t plan for the future
Too many unknowns

No security in jobs, finance
Or planning.

I dreamt I was going somewhere
Peaceful to think things through
Plan … find a solution

But that was just a dream

Instead - I must learn to live with
Uncertainty, the unknown
To trust …
Hold on to your word
That when one source of supply
Runs dry
There will be a new supply…

My attempts
To sort things out
Has left me worse off …
Than before.

No choice…
All I can do is trust
Put my future…and harder
than that …
the future of those that I love …
in Your strong hands
and simply trust
You…

Memorable Meal

This is a poem which is based on an experience I had - when we had to sell our home, due to the failure of my husband's business, when his business partner was diagnosed with terminal cancer. The 'story' is partially fictionalised, but inspired by our true story.

Memorable Meal


They sit amongst cardboard boxes and rubbish sacks,
dirty crockery stacked on granite work-tops,
take-away containers, half-eaten plates of Sri-Lankan food.
One final meal in the home they have taken twenty years
to create, hastily eaten with friends… come to help
dismantle their life: take it apart piece by piece, like the
old wardrobe, now lying with hinges unscrewed and bolts undone,
dishevelled, displaced, in a heap on the kitchen floor.

She clenches her eyelids in a futile attempt to stop the tears
as she sorts through her children’s toys, throws her
daughter’s drawings away, her son’s first pair of shoes,
trying not to tear his favourite posters as she removes
them from the room where he was born, their lives
destroyed by the words: ‘six months to live’…
Future plans discarded, memories and treasures
hurriedly packed away, perhaps to be resurrected one day.

Inverkirkaig Bay

I wrote this poem, when holiday near Lochinver in NW Scotland in 2007 - an attempt to describe the beautiful and peaceful location, which inspired the poet Norman MacCaig, to write many of his poems!
I hope to go back there again soon!



Inverkirkaig Bay


A clock ticks away the solitary hours
the occasional cry of a bird
wind sighs through blue-green firs
a single car makes its way
slowly...
along the shore road
The sleepy sound of water
swaying against the stones in the bay
the hushed chattering of crickets
a bee buzzes past my window
meandering on its way
collecting nectar
from purple flowers on the hillside.

Lazy sunshine peers through white mist
silver-sparkling patterns on grey wrinked waters

So far away from the busy-ness
of London life
this wild, remote countryside
where poets are born.


Note: Inverkirkaig Bay (North West Scotland) was a favourite haunt of the poet Norman MacCaig.

Poems - Wales

*
Aberystwyth Beach


Walk along a pebbled beach

on a bright spring's morning

Sea-birds floating

beneath scattered

tumbling clouds

White-crested waves

dancing

laughing

chasing

Hear my whisper

in the cool salt-laden breeze

Delight in My presence as I delight in yours



Watch, a little later

the sun in golden fury

Paints the sky

with pink and crimson flames

Angry waves battle

against unyeilding rocks

Darkness creeps silently

a blanket spreading from the east

Through the storm

hear My voice of peace



Return when night has filled the air

the sea lies calm at last

Restless waves now murmuring

rocking gently

Be comforted by the stillness

As stars watch over the slumbering world

know My love for you.

Hebridean poems

*

Midnight on Lewis


Endless sky, translucent blue

fading to white where it touches

staccato blackness -

gorse, heather and broom.

The steady pounding of a hammer

breaks the silence

a lone crofter repairs his fence

in the dusk-light.

A yellow orange glow

gleams, square from the croft-house windows

Blue-grey clouds hover like dragons

motionless in the bright midnight sky.


------------------------------------

Sollas Cottage



Across windswept moors,

barren rocks flung carelessly

by a giant hand

fierce-looking highland cattle

block the road.


Over the crest of the hill

an old croft-house,

white-washed walls, red tin roof.

A spiral of smoke rising from the chimney.

The aroma of peat pervades the air.


Our car bumps along the grassy track

across dung-sprinkled fields

Through the rusty metal gate,

we enter the acre of rough scrub-land

that makes up the croft.


Through a cobwebbed window

in the thick stone wall

we peer into a tiny bedroom.

Flowery curtains,

age-stained wallpaper,

iron bedstead, dark oak wardrobe,

a fire burning in the grate,

vainly attempting to disperse

the all-pervading damp.


Deep within my pocket

I find a rusty key,

unlock the heavy front door, enter

the sparsely furnished kitchen.


Later I walk into the garden,

wade through unkempt grass

peer over the dry-stone wall

at the vast expanse of silver sand

Stretching for miles

across a tidal strand to a deserted island

and ruined mansion.

*