THE CORNER 4 WOMEN

Saturday 18 May 2024

THE SKY by Becky Hemsley

"THE SKY"
by Becky Hemsley

He asked of me why it was raining

He asked was it tears from the sky

And I replied yes

That this was the case

That even the heavens can cry

He asked of me what was the thunder

He said it was hurting his ears

And I told him that sometimes

Even the clouds

Need to scream so that somebody hears

He asked of me what was the wind

And why was it whirling and swirling around

So I explained

Even the sky takes deep breaths

When it’s trying to calm itself down

Yet often, we keep our tears secret

And we swallow our own cries for help

And we think that it’s weak

To be catching our breath

So we don’t let our struggles be felt

And yet, if the clouds never emptied

If the sky never screamed through the storm

It would sit growing darker

And darker until

It was simply no use to us all

So throw all your fears to the wind dear

And toss all your tears to the clouds

And you will discover

The infinite power

The heavens hold over the ground

See, it’s normal and natural to struggle

And it’s healthy and human to cry

And if anyone questions

Your power my darling

Just tell them it’s matched by the sky

*****

Becky Hemsley 2022

https://www.facebook.com/talkingtothewild

Beautiful artwork by Maria Zeldis

‘The Sky’ is the last poem in my second collection

https://a.co/d/5yL72E7

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LISTEN TO THE WORDS by Joanne Boyle

"LISTEN TO THE WORDS"
by Joanne Boyle

Again I sat and played,

with the demons in my head,

setting my pulse on fire,

as my body filled with dread.

Looking out of the window,

wondering why it's always dark.

Praying for some silence,

from every noise and bark.

Once more I feel the sweat,

that falls upon my brow,

caused simply by the thoughts,

as I question how?

How do I escape?

To run from my own mind.

To keep digging for an answer,

knowing there's none to find.

To sit upon this chair

that ties me up in chains.

To know that no one cares

and nothing else remains.

To hope and pray for an answer,

for someone just to see.

Beneath this mask I wear,

will someone look at me?

But still, I do not tell.

I let my demons win.

No one really cares enough,

so why should you let them in?

Instead I'll sit and rot,

the stench consuming my soul.

I will lock the door,

and climb into that hole.

The world outside will listen then

to all the words unsaid.

Then they will really care,

When I am in my final bed.

We cared for you, my friend;

We simply did not know.

We only saw you smiling.

We saw what you did show.

We are sorry you never noticed,

when the the sun did shine,

or found serenity from the music,

as you drank red wine.

We are sorry for those chains,

we wish we had had the key.

We did not read your eyes as

as they begged for us to see.

We are sorry for your family.

For all who hurt today.

We are sorry you didn't trust anyone

to be able to say.

We are sorry for your pain.

We all now pay the price.

We only wish you had seen

that people can be nice.

So now we live and learn,

from one battle that is lost.

That we will build an army

due to the lives it's cost.

So my message to all of you,

is don't listen with your ears.

Our eyes are more perceptive

to see a person's fears.

Listen to the words,

the ones that no one says.

This is how we shall win the war

of our future Mental Health days.

********

Author Joanne Boyle Heartfelt

#mentalhealth awareness week

https://tc4women.nicheebookcollections.com/NEWSLETTER-EBOOK-LIBRARY-SIGNUP.html We now have over 1700 e-books on our library shelves for your reading pleasure, so do come along and check us out.

More articles by Su DeNyme (our resident writer) & John A Elliott are available here: https://www.nicheebookcollections.com/TC4W/ARTICLES.html

I MISS THOSE FLUTTERFLIES by Joanne Boyle

"I MISS THOSE FLUTTERFLIES"
by Joanne Boyle

Sometimes I miss those flutterflies,

the ones that I used to get.

The ones that stole my appettite

every time we met.

Sometimes I miss those flutterflies

that reminded me I was young.

The ones that would make me dizzy

as if I had been spun.

Sometimes I miss those flutterflies

that would dance inside my heart

the ones that never slept

even when we were apart.

Sometimes I miss those flutterflies

that sung inside my head.

The ones that wouldn't silence

even when I went to bed.

Although I miss those flutterflies

I love the Butterfly more.

The one that taught me meaning

of what love is really for.

The Butterfly keeps on fluttering

through all days good and bad.

It never leaves my side

through emotions happy or sad.

Sometimes I miss those flutterflies

but I wouldn't change a thing.

The Butterfly never leaves me.

It is my everything.

*******

Author Joanne Boyle Heartfelt

Art by Steffi Krenzek

https://tc4women.nicheebookcollections.com/NEWSLETTER-EBOOK-LIBRARY-SIGNUP.html We now have over 1700 e-books on our library shelves for your reading pleasure, so do come along and check us out.

More articles by Su DeNyme (our resident writer) & John A Elliott are available here: https://www.nicheebookcollections.com/TC4W/ARTICLES.html

THE MARRIED COUPLE

"THE MARRIED COUPLE"

(author unknown)

My husband is an Engineer by profession, I love him for his steady nature, and I love the warm feeling when I lean against his broad shoulders. Three years of courtship and now, two years into marriage, I would have to admit, that I am getting tired of it. The reasons of me loving him before, has now transformed into the cause of all my restlessness.

I am a sentimental woman and extremely sensitive when it comes to a relationship and my feelings, I yearn for the romantic moments, like a little girl yearning for candy. My husband, is my complete opposite, his lack of sensitivity, and the inability of bringing romantic moments into our marriage has disheartened me about love.

One day, I finally decided to tell him my decision, that I wanted a divorce. “Why?” he asked, shocked. “I am tired, there are no reasons for everything in the world!” I answered. He kept silent the whole night, seems to be in deep thought with a lighted cigarette at all times. My feeling of disappointment only increased, here was a man who can’t even express his predicament, what else can I hope from him? And finally he asked me:” What can I do to change your mind?" Somebody said it right, it’s hard to change a person’s personality, and I guess, I have started losing faith in him. Looking deep into his eyes I slowly answered : “Here is the question, if you can answer and convince my heart, I will change my mind, Let’s say, I want a flower located on the face of a mountain cliff, and we both are sure that picking the flower will cause your death, will you do it for me?” He said :” I will give you your answer tomorrow….” My hopes just sank by listening to his response.

I woke up the next morning to find him gone, and saw a piece of paper with his scratchy handwriting, underneath a milk glass, on the dining table near the front door, that goes…. My dear, “I would not pick that flower for you, but please allow me to explain the reasons further..” This first line was already breaking my heart. I continued reading. “When you use the computer you always mess up the Software programs, and you cry in front of the screen, I have to save my fingers so that I can help to restore the programs. You always leave the house keys behind, thus I have to save my legs to rush home to open the door for you. You love traveling but always lose your way in a new city, I have to save my eyes to show you the way. You always have the cramps whenever your “good friend” approaches every month, I have to save my palms so that I can calm the cramps in your tummy.

You like to stay indoors, and I worry that you will be infected by infantile autism. I have to save my mouth to tell you jokes and stories to cure your boredom. You always stare at the computer, and that will do nothing good for your eyes, I have to save my eyes so that when we grow old, I can help to clip your nails, and help to remove those annoying white hair. So I can also hold your hand while strolling down the beach, as you enjoy the sunshine and the beautiful sand… and tell you the colour of flowers, just like the colour of the glow on your young face… Thus, my dear, unless I am sure that there is someone who loves you more than I do… I could not pick that flower yet, and die.. ”

My tears fell on the letter, and blurred the ink of his handwriting… and as I continue on reading… “Now, that you have finished reading my answer, if you are satisfied, please open the front door for I am standing outside bringing your favourite bread and fresh milk… I rush to pull open the door, and saw his anxious face, clutching tightly with his hands, the milk bottle and loaf of bread….

Now I am very sure that no one will ever love me as much as he does, and I have decided to leave the flower alone… That’s life, and love. When one is surrounded by love, the feeling of excitement fades away, and one tends to ignore the true love that lies in between the peace and dullness.

Love shows up in all forms, even very small and cheeky forms, it has never been a model, it could be the most dull and boring form.. . flowers, and romantic moments are only used and appear on the surface of the relationship. Under all this, the pillar of true love stands… and that’s our life…

Love, not words win arguments

https://tc4women.nicheebookcollections.com/NEWSLETTER-EBOOK-LIBRARY-SIGNUP.html We now have over 1700 e-books on our library shelves for your reading pleasure, so do come along and check us out.

More articles by Su DeNyme (our resident writer) & John A Elliott are available here: https://www.nicheebookcollections.com/TC4W/ARTICLES.html

GRANDPA'S OLD HANDS

"GRANDPA'S OLD HANDS"
(author unknown)

This is good. I'll never look at my hands the same! Grandpa, some ninety plus years, sat feebly on the patio bench. He didn't move, just sat with his head down staring at his hands. When I sat down beside him he didn't acknowledge my presence and the longer I sat, I wondered if he was OK. Finally, not really wanting to disturb him but wanting to check on him at the same time, I asked him if he was OK. He raised his head and looked at me and smiled. "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you for asking," he said in a clear strong voice. "I didn't mean to disturb you, Grandpa, but you were just sitting here staring at your hands and I wanted to make sure you were OK," I explained to him.

"Have you ever looked at your hands," he asked. "I mean really looked at your hands?" I slowly opened my hands and stared down at them. I turned them over, palms up and then palms down. No, I guess I had never really looked at my hands as I tried to figure out the point he was making. Grandpa smiled and related this story: "Stop and think for a moment about the hands you have, how they have served you well throughout your years. These hands, though wrinkled, shrivelled, and weak have been the tools I have used all my life to reach out and grab and embrace life. They put food in my mouth and clothes on my back. As a child my mother taught me to fold them in prayer. They tied my shoes and pulled on my boots. They have been dirty, scraped and raw, swollen and bent. They were uneasy and clumsy when I tried to hold my new born son. Decorated with my wedding band they showed the world that I was married and loved someone special. They trembled and shook when I buried my parents and spouse and walked my daughter down the aisle. They have covered my face, combed my hair, and washed and cleansed the rest of my body. They have been sticky and wet, bent and broken, dried and raw. And to this day, when not much of anything else of me works real well, these hands hold me up, lay me down, and again continue to fold in prayer.

These hands are the mark of where I've been and the ruggedness of my life. But more importantly, it will be these hands that God will reach out and take when he leads me home. And with my hands, He will lift me to His side and there I will use these hands to touch the face of Christ." I will never look at my hands the same again. But I remember God reached out and took my grandpa's hands and led him home. When my hands are hurt or sore I think of Grandpa. I know he has been stroked and caressed and held by the hands of God. I, too, want to touch the face of God and feel His hands upon my face. Let us all, say a prayer for the world and watch God's answer to prayer

https://tc4women.nicheebookcollections.com/NEWSLETTER-EBOOK-LIBRARY-SIGNUP.html We now have over 1700 e-books on our library shelves for your reading pleasure, so do come along and check us out.

More articles by Su DeNyme (our resident writer) & John A Elliott are available here: https://www.nicheebookcollections.com/TC4W/ARTICLES.html

HARDER by Becky Hemsley

"HARDER"
by Becky Hemsley

The harder we love

Means the harder we grieve

The harder it is

To go on when they leave

The harder to sleep

And the harder to wake

To know they’re not here

With each breath that we take

It’s hard to look forward

And hard to look back

Stuck in the middle,

Imprisoned and trapped

Where the harder the darkness

The harsher the light,

The harsher this world

That keeps spinning with life

But when that world’s feeling

So painful and hard

And you can’t imagine

Escaping the dark

It might help a little

To know it’s because

The harder we grieve

Means the harder we loved

******

Becky Hemsley 2023

Beautiful artwork by Regina Lyubovnaya

'Harder' is from the book 'When I Am Gone'

https://a.co/d/8549bUL

https://tc4women.nicheebookcollections.com/NEWSLETTER-EBOOK-LIBRARY-SIGNUP.html We now have over 1700 e-books on our library shelves for your reading pleasure, so do come along and check us out.

More articles by Su DeNyme (our resident writer) & John A Elliott are available here: https://www.nicheebookcollections.com/TC4W/ARTICLES.html

Friday 17 May 2024

WITHOUT YOU by Joanne Boyle

"WITHOUT YOU"
by Joanne Boyle

Without You (inspired by a time my daughter was getting surgery) She was OK but this is how I imagined my life without her.

You came back for me

and took me to wherever you went.

Leaving a shell of non existence

in a world I now resent.

My laughter dances with yours

as it echoes in the air.

My vision of a future

without you is no longer there.

I walk with this empty hole

that only you can fill.

I no longer search for memories

when you left my time stood still.

My feet keep walking forward

yet my batteries have ran out.

I am numb from head to toes,

what am I about?

I search for you in my dreams.

To feel alive again,

but I keep walking into the nightmare

too numb to feel the pain.

An existence without motive.

A life without any hope.

Eyes without a vision

Emotionless enough to cope.

********

Author Joanne Boyle Heartfelt

https://tc4women.nicheebookcollections.com/NEWSLETTER-EBOOK-LIBRARY-SIGNUP.html We now have over 1700 e-books on our library shelves for your reading pleasure, so do come along and check us out.

More articles by Su DeNyme (our resident writer) & John A Elliott are available here: https://www.nicheebookcollections.com/TC4W/ARTICLES.html

Art Steffi Krenzek