Sitting quietly on the ramparts of the castle fingering the necklace around my neck. My lovely family heirloom gold and green so glad I put it on this morning before we took this trek.
We had taken this trip to Italy, my husbands gift to me, a thank you the little life that is growing inside of me.
Now do you remember the tale I told before of how I met my namesake from hundreds of years before.
Yes it was back in England on my family’s estate, don’t get the wrong impression we have nothing but debt upon our plate. I had been spending too much time on the internet working on my family tree,it had started as a bet. Something strange had happened on a picnic with some friends. I had somehow slipped through time and met my ancestor who even shared my name we both recognized each other as we both looked just the same.
Carmel had seen my necklace she had wanted it at once, I had of course let her see it. The light in her eyes as she looked at the green stone set in gold showed me how much she loved my necklace. I let her examine it and she seemed to think it had been made at a place near by, which at the time had made me smile.
At the end of our time together as I stepped back almost into my time I saw her husband , a knight true and proud. He had bought her a the present of a necklace, the image of mine. He had bought her the present because she was expecting a baby.
It was all so strange because I too that same day had discovered I was pregnant. Here I was sitting the Tuscan sun day dreaming thinking back to that day. I just felt I was about to slip through time again I had that luscious warm feeling of time sun and being, melding. Then just as I was about to slip through time I could just see some figures coming towards me.
When “Come on dreamy head I am taking you to lunch! ” Oh! well I thought what ever that was it will have to wait.
The two stories this is connected to can be found at The first at
Tears are friends I know them well they spend more time with me than I care to tell.Harsh words are loud inside my head they pound and pound as lie in my bed.
Lost and lonely I walk the line looking only to find what is rightfully mine. Peace, is not too much desire. I am exhausted by this hate, anger and fire.
It will consume me if I do not brake free soon. I stand alone and cold and appeal to the moon. I have followed this trail all my life I have never been me , a mother yes and a wife.
I only ask for what is mine, it is not too much to just ask for time. Escape from the noise that is strumming in my brain, I just ask for help ……………. freedom from pain.
FAR away, where the swallows fly when our winter comes on, lived a King who had eleven sons, and one daughter named Eliza. The eleven brothers were Princes, and each went to school with a star on his breast and his sword by his side.
They wrote with pencils of diamond upon slates of gold, and learned by heart just as well as they read; one could see directly that they were Princes. Their sister Eliza sat upon a little stool of plate-glass, and had a picture-book which had been bought for the value of half a kingdom.
Oh, the children were particularly well off; but it was not always to remain so. Their father, who was king of the whole country, married a bad Queen who did not love the poor children at all. On the very first day they could notice this.
In the whole palace there was great feasting, and the children were playing there. Then guests came; but instead of the children receiving, as they had been accustomed to do, all the spare cake and all the roasted apples, they only had some sand given them in a tea-cup, and were told that they might make believe that was something good.
The next week the Queen took the little sister Eliza into the country, to a peasant and his wife; and but a short time had elapsed before she told the King so many falsehoods about the poor Princes, that he did not trouble himself any more about them.
“Fly out into the world and get your own living,” said the wicked Queen. “Fly like great birds without a voice.” 5 But she could not make it so bad for them as she had intended, for they became eleven magnificent wild swans. With a strange cry they flew out of the palace windows, far over the park and into the wood.
Getting off the bus and heading for home, she was tired her feet ached but she was determined not to moan. This was important , it had to be done she needed to put her whole being into saving her youngest son!
Pushing the front door shut behind her putting the bags down on the kitchen floor she looked into the living room but there was no one there. No television no shoot’em’up games standing in the hallway she called out both boys names.
OH! well, she put the kettle on and maybe she’d ring around she had both their mobile numbers but they did not always want to be found. The doorbell rings , damn she had only just sat down she, walking toward the door the phone begins to sing.
There it is the sight every mother dreads , a policeman and a policewoman , OH! god she thinks someone must be dead.
The hospital was noisy but she didn’t hear a sound her lungs were filling up as she were about to drown. She had been waiting for an age now ,would no one take her in. She was feeling really sick now and and felt like things were crawling on her skin.
It was so cold in there and he only had a sheet on . God he looked so pale but she supposed that was what you would look like when all your blood was gone.
Lost Boys
She woke up with the headache she had had since that day the shock of the police visit and what they had to say. She she knew she had to get up she knew she must today, it was the funeral and that would not go away.
Things had been different he elder boy had staid home he seemed to want to help his mother and not leave her on her own. She dare not hope he had changed but she was glad that he was there. She slowly put her face on and then she brushed her hair.
His friends were at the church like they had been that day , he was not not with them. Would this pain ever go away. The priest seemed glad to see her and he offer his support, she felt close to this man who was with her boy when for his life he fought.
His favourite track finished and the last notes drifted away she stood up and looked at everyone and said she had something to say.
She knew that there was no work and that there was not much hope but joining gangs and using guns and knives was not the way to cope. Please listen she pleaded you are slipping away too many lives are wasted too many die this way. Something must be done and it must be soon we are loosing a generation it might be two is something is not done soon. How many more mothers have to suffer like I have we really need to sort this out……… her voice trailed off to silence as she repeated, how many more mothers like me.
He awoke with a jump. It was his brother rolling in drunk! Damn only 4am please don’t go over what’s to happen again. I know I must do this. I must prove myself.
It was all too easy a year a go when his best friend introduced him to the boys “you need to know” It had been simple things at first making old ladies jump, stealing traffic cones all laughing fit to burst.
When he was really trusted, got himself a name.Things became more serious it suddenly was a whole new game. They met the older boys, the ones with big fast cars. They all wore hoodies, bling and they all had facial scars.
It was money and messages that he had to run he was fit and had a bike.Now that is how easily it had begun. He often skipped school though not always willingly. There really was not any choice, what the big boys said, had to be.
His teachers all asked him why his work had slipped away he had a brilliant future and he had thrown it all away. He was a little worried but he shrugged his shoulders and wondered off, his teachers called him back but his friends told them to f### off.
Mum, she was desperate working on her own doing all she could to keep the house,the boys and make for them a home. The oldest she had lost him he had gone to drugs. She had tried so hard but he just robbed her blind and made her look a mug.The young one she had dreams for she had prayed to the Lord each day but now he was on the wrong track and now he was slipping the same way.
He knew he had become a waster, he knew that he was bad . It was the only way to be accepted and safe but the pain in Mum’s eyes made him feel bad. So he just avoided contact and hardened to her pleas. He was knocked back the other day when she begged him to stay home down on her knees.
He tried to ask his brother who ran with an older crew but he was useless as he was trapped there too. What chance was there, his brother asked, what was there for them to do there was no work or opportunities running with lads was at least something to do. It was all about status and how hard you are , what clothes you wore , what trainers and did you have a scar.
His brother had one, his was on his face, from a fight with a rival gang. Okay it hurt , six days in hospital 17 stitches but he was now a big man?? Today was his chance to join the glorious crew. To take part in the big ruck was all he had to do.
Two weeks he had known about the fight , where and exactly when. It was on his mind both day and night . His thoughts were full of dread , through his blood ran pure fear it was nearly six now, the day was finally here.
Later in the kitchen when he was taking the knife , his mother caught him and shouted at him. He raised his hand to her for the first and last time in his life. Luckily she was small so he pushed to one side he crashed through the door and out the gate . His mother sat on the floor and cried.
Later he met the guys when mum had gone to work , they knew a squat they could use to complete their plan. By 4o’clock they were jumpy they were ready to a man.They left the squat and through the railing ran. Jumping , punching the air and making feral calls they had it now they all knew the plan, they had all the balls.
He wished he’d picked a smaller knife this one was too large . As he was changing it’s position into him a couple of the lads all barged. At once he felt a sharp and stinging pain as he fell to the floor, it felt worse again. His side felt wet and his forehead was cut where he had scraped along the floor..
By Banksy
What’s wrong man, stop messing we haven’t got the time it’s 5 oclock now hear those church bells chime. Oh! hey you’re hurt man what did you do. You stupid f### you stabbed yourself. We have to leave you here, no good to have a burden on the crew.
His best friend helped him in to the church and sat him at the back , hold on, he said, laters then ran off to join the pack.
So he alone now, life ebbing from his side thought of mum, school his brother and he cried. He asked the lord for comfort but comfort did not come. He prayed a childhood prayer from deep inside his mind. The priest found him,and he was very kind. He wrapped his chest and held him and asked him not to go . He tried to but he couldn’t stay he felt too tired too low.
He heard the priests’ desperate call as he slipped away forget the ambulance he though and just pray for me today. The priest felt him go, but he would not loose his grip he felt he needed to guide this lost boy, some mothers pride and joy.
It was quiet and dark and the sun through the window was warming him just enough to keep him alert now his fight had begun.
The bench was hard but he could take that it was the pain in his side and chest which filled his being everything else was flat.
Fear gripped his mind, he was so cold inside yet a sweat was rippling down his back.His sight was blurred was he going blind.
Slowly a long hidden memory came to the fore. His mother had taught him it long before he had changed. “Gentle Jesus meek and mild look upon me a little child”
OH! Jesus if you are there help me now, I did not need you then but I do now. Jesus this pain is f###ing me, help me help me please. Slowly he slipped forward onto the floor a darkness washed over him and he new no more.
Where are you going son. No, out, will not do. Listen to me boy I am asking you. Why must you run with that pack it seems to me now there is no coming back. What has happened to you, you were such a good boy at school I had hopes that you’d go far but your just like your brother playing the fool. No your not wicked but your not a fool and I am telling you this, in my book you’re not cool.
What are you doing with that? Give it me back , don’t you threaten me son I’ll give you a smack. OH! Please will you listen to me don’t take that knife it will not set you free from the boredom in your life. It will not get you a job, it won’t make you a man what has happened to you and your world changing plan? You had vision and hunger for work a decent and pleasant boy not as you are now , just a jerk.
Clearing up quietly the priest approached the the last row when something on the floor caught the suns last glow. Red and sticky he knew what it was but he prayed to his God that it would not be true. The boy lying his arms out wide blood flowing from his side. A thought crossed his mind but he dismissed immediately. He looked like Jesus did, you see. Arms out wide , blood from his side a cut round his for head dripping blood in his eyes.
He took out his mobile and took a deep breath as he dialled , ambulance , police he begged his mind running wild. The operator was telling him what to do, “Keep him warm and stem the blood is what I want you to do.” He ripped off his cassock and swaddle the lad he then notice blood on his jeans ( the best ones he had) He cradled the boy and prayed in his ear “keep trying to stay ask now, Jesus will hear.”
It was half an hour until anyone arrived the paramedic crew gently moved the priest to one side. It was too late the boy was gone, then with their radios crackling loud, the police taped the area off,with people from everywhere arriving, such a crowed.
Standing back and looking around the priest said a prayer with out making a sound. “Dear God take the soul of this boy who died here today and give him some peace, and if you have time help me find words to sooth his family, at least ” Then sat down exhausted, he was just a man even though he was called priest.
A woman on her way home from work regretting an argument at the start of the day was wondering how to fix things and what she could say. She always said never give up, never leave a good word unsaid. Never leave things, sort them before you go to bed. Passing the church she saw her youngest boys friends , he wasn’t there perhaps they could make amends.
The sky is almost indigo with wispy clouds outside my cage, inside there are bubbles that I blow,blow, blow.Sitting here I burn incandescent with rage,rage, rage.
Oh! how many bubbles I do not know but inside each, taught emotions grow,grow,grow. How many thoughts can you sow unto barren cold ground?? They cannot grow, grow, grow.
My black hair flows in the wind that through my cage blows, blows, blows a red trim in my hair flows. I am wearing a black bask with ostrich feather trim trim trim. It make my bust look good and my waist thin, thin, thin!
Sitting here on my silver swing, I look at my sexy purple leather knee high boots, boots, boots. I count the bubbles, grief, loss, anger, pain and irritation. Some of the bubbles are bursting and water drips from them like irrigation. Below my cage the ocean ebbs and flows deep and dark and with the liquid from my bubbles it grow, grows, grows.
Lets blow some more bubbles greed, avarice,lust ,why yes those three are a must, must,must.I am tired of sitting here on my own. Lonely grows she who sits here on the swing throne, throne, throne. A few more bubbles pride, prejudice loathing, enough, now like my bubbles I shall go roam,roam, roaming!
I stand alone apart from all the others. I stand alone because of fear. If I should reach out to say hello they may reject me and banish me from here.
I am one of many in a country on a planet in a galaxy within a universe one of the lost, one of the cursed.
I stand alone in a room full of people some I know, they smile and say my name but then they turn away to some one more interesting …. it is like a cruel game.
I stand alone at work I do the things the others do , I use the computer carry files take notes speak with clients nothing new. I eat my lunch at my desk or walk in the park , I leave the office late and get home in the dark.
I stand alone in the bar where I have joined my workmates for a drink they seem so together . The alcohol does not help in fact it just makes my heart sink. I say goodbye but no one notices they are all too busy. I leave the bar and hail a cab the alcohol and night air conspire to make me dizzy.
I stand alone in my flat again, and cry , on my own as ever and I do not know why. I do not always what this just to be a place I own. I want it to be happy I want it to be a home. I need to make the effort I need to reach out , but always in the backgrounds echoes the doubt.
sadness
What am I to do,why did I build that invisible barrier why do I not let anyone in. They all think I am coping well living life to the full. If I told the truth would it be such a sin. It is so hard to drop my guard I do not know what their reaction will be , to open up is so very hard for me.
I stand alone in the bathroom and look at my reflection it is not so good just look at my complexion. Sunken and gaunt my eyes look dead and I am just so pale. I have had enough I just no longer care if I succeed or fail.
I have to try harder if I am to live. I know somewhere inside I have lots to give. So it doesn’t matter how much it hurts me I have to make the move and set me free. It has come to this, the choice I have to make. I either make an effort with the world or I attend my own wake.
I stand alone in the bedroom I am looking in the wardrobe I need to pick my brightest colours my highest heels I need to lift my soul. Tomorrow I will decide if I knock down the barrier and let them all inside or if not to look my best so they can say “she looked beautiful when she died.” Shall I choose life or suicide?
Who is this hiding in the dell, flowers in her golden hair slowly awaking. It is Susie preparing her summer spell.
Gently the evening light on her shoulders falls as her sister Silver gently calls. It is time for her to wake and her fabulous changes to make.
She is Silver’s older sister, she is summer and she awakes as Silver leaves , though not before Susie has kissed her.
As she stretches she sends a warming breeze among the the trees. Taking off the last of the blossom from the branches so the leaves and fruit can have their day.She sings her gentle song inviting the beasts of the fields to come out and play.
Now she really is awake and her presence she asserts , the women working in the fields bare their legs and lift their skirts. She warms up the deep blue sea and on the golden beaches children dance and play and run free.
She has laughter in her eyes as she paints blue her summer skies. She loves ice cream and BBQs and lemon barley no wonder at the end of her reign she has gained a pound or two!!
Beautiful Butterflys
She stays up late and she is early to rise and she spends hours painting butterflies. She has a pallet bright and new with gentle bush strokes she uses every hue. The fields are full of colours, yellow rape and poppy red , lilac flowers pansies too there are so many for you to view.
She can be moody don’t be fooled she will throw a storm at you . Then in flash she makes the sun return and all the wet with heat she will burn, leaving everything fresh and clean and smelling so sweet with diamond silver droplets the best you have ever seen.
Her sun sets are the best they tie you to the ground and draw your eyes west. And her sun rises are full of surprises golden warm lighting up the skies of glorious blue. When at night the skies are red Susie suggests a picnic she is good at getting in your head
Dancing in and out of the trees and flowers Susie leads her bees for hours.She lets them stop to collect from the lavender to make the best honey when it is fresh it tastes so good it is worth more than money. OH! we love her special treats soft grass to sit, strawberries and cream to eat and bubbly singing streams in which to dip your feet.
Dance Summer Susie dance stay as long as you can take a chance. We love your sisters truth to say but you have the longest and the warmest days. Yet I really have to say thank you Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter too , you all have your job to do. ……..
I stand alone apart from all the others. I stand alone because of fear. If I should reach out to say hello they may reject me and banish me from here.
I am one of many in a country on a planet in a galaxy within a universe one of the lost, one of the cursed.
I stand alone in a room full of people some I know, they smile and say my name but then they turn away to some one more interesting …. it is like a cruel game.
I stand alone at work I do the things the others do , I use the computer carry files take notes speak with clients nothing new. I eat my lunch at my desk or walk in the park , I leave the office late and get home in the dark.
I stand alone in the bar where I have joined my workmates for a drink they seem so together . The alcohol does not help in fact it just makes my heart sink. I say goodbye but no one notices they are all too busy. I leave the bar and hail a cab the alcohol and night air conspire to make me dizzy.
I stand alone in my flat again, and cry , I once had a lover but they are gone I stand alone and wonder why. The space I stand in now all my own was not always a flat it was once a home. Even when he was sick and we new knew he would die I did not cry for I never envisage he would really leave me on my own.
what am I to do
What am I to do,why did I build that invisible barrier why do I not let anyone in. They all think I am coping well living life to the full. If I told the truth would it be such a sin. It is so hard to drop my guard I do not know what their reaction will be , to open up is so very hard for me.
I stand alone in the bathroom and look at my reflection it is not so good just look at my complexion. I look so pale and gaunt my eyes look dead no wonder they avoid me they must think I am there to haunt.
I have to try harder if I am to live he would not want to see me so. Self pity he could never forgive. So it doesn’t matter how much it hurts me I have to make the move and set me free. It has come to this, the choice I have to make. I either make an effort with the world or I attend my own wake.
I stand alone in the bedroom I am looking in the wardrobe I need to pick my brightest colours my highest heels I need to lift my soul. Tomorrow I will decide if I knock down the barrier and let them all inside or if not to look my best so they can say “she looked beautiful when she died.”
Welcome to my “Heartland Echoes,” where I aim to share my poems with the world, along with my survival story and autobiography of childhood abuse, motivational quotes, and much more. Through my words, I hope to inspire others to share their own stories and experiences. Each poem is a piece of my heart and soul, along with a story of a traumatic past, crafted with inspiration, Hope, faith, love and passion. I believe that by sharing our art and emotions, I’ll be able to connect with others on a deeper level and create a sense of community.
willowdot21 
