Kay Reed | Kays Poetry

Kays Poetry

Friendship

True friendship is timeless
As sand on a shore.
It is a lifetime companionship
And as comforting as the Saviour’s love.
Once formed it may last an eternity,
But sometimes the light of that love
Is dimmed by Satan’s doom
To end in an emptiness and longing
For the once embracing comfort
That only true sisterhood offers.
Now I reflect to yesteryears
To a braver and stronger me
When I gave love freely in joy.
And maybe that familiar glow,
In service returned to my bosom,
And yearned for the fold I knew.
But bitter blows bruise the soul,
Partly destroying the warmth only God knows,
And shows each of us the way.
I am lost in hurt by those I once loved
And helped with affection and courage.
This kind of love I have lost
By those I thought I knew,
Even by those I thought I knew best.
Now there is no way forward,
And the ease of joy is no longer mine.
Now the Gospel offers a stranger’s spell,
And the coldness only loss fills,
Bereft of the warmth and comfort
True friendship offers in the Truth.
That beautiful land that followers
Strive for all the days of their lives.
Even paying for the privilege and
Sometimes forgetting life’s true purpose.
Yes, even to Eternity,
Where life bonds are forever.
The love we share is the Saviour’s,
As He led the Way, comforting the sick,
Poor and needy. So he gave his life.
I have learnt hard lessons later,
That we only find true friends
When we really need them.
And sadly too often
There are so few if any.
And so, we search for that
Inner strength and peace,
That only the Saviour offers.
Snippets of lost spirituality
Rise and fall, lost and found.
And I realize whoever we are,
We are born alone,
And we die alone.
Now I am with my God.
And only my Maker
Will offer me that friendship
I seek even now,
After such harrowing times.
They forget precious memories,
Those I thought I knew.
Now times as difficult
As these days gone,
I realise my once warm memories
Are today as empty
As the friendships
I thought I once knew.

For Lloyd, My Grandson

When I was a little girl,
Like you are a boy small,
I had my dreams of life,
Learn to walk and stand tall.

Growing into a fine man,
Is a difficult path to tread.
Look to your family first,
‘A fool’, it’ll ne’er be said.

Be successful my child,
Always do your best.
Never walk half-hearted,
Boldly face life’s quest.

When your feet begin to falter,
Stand tall my child, be wise.
Life’s path will teach you much,
Always to the challenge rise.

Be happy my child,
Don’t crave for gold.
Pray for good health,
Your soul, ‘not sold’.

While you play, I watch,
See a tall and happy man.
One day you’ll walk proud,
And do all you can.

I pray you’ll be a success,
Make your parents proud.
You’ll come, see me when I’m old,
Even in my shroud.

I’ll always remember these days,
When you were my grandson,
The happy times we spent,
Life’s battles to be won.

Never forget where you came from.
Always remember your roots,
Be glad for family and friends,
Don’t get too big for your boots.

It’s a joy to be with you child,
Don’t push aside this time,
Look at life as a challenge,
With many mountains to climb.

When I was a little girl,
Like you are a little boy,
My Nana taught me many things,
But never of life’s ploy.

It has a habit of tricking us,
Lead us on the wrong path,
This is where your loved ones help,
To pick you up and laugh.

Life is but an obstacle course,
You’ll climb and you’ll fall,
But always get up my son,
And walk, yes walk, stand tall.

I wish I could hold you,
Carry you along life’s way,
But it’s a path we walk alone,
To travel each new day.

Never forget happy memories,
Of precious moments we shared,
Always remember your Nana,
Always remember I cared.

The Drummer

Unfortunately I am me,

I am unlike anyone I know,

I am owned, by right, by myself.

If it's not to your satisfaction

Then leave.

We each settle for our own patterns of existence.

Can I help it if I hear a different drummer.

Maybe you never heard the beat of those drums.

And maybe I am afraid to miss even one beat.

Kay Reed 1985

A Photograph

A photograph

Of a mother and child,

Fondness that eludes me,

Her indifference as far

As I look back.

Bonded by secrets,

Deceipt and pretence.

Her narrow outlook

Slowly crippling her

And spilling over me,

To almost hex my

Silent free spirit.

My first mistake of many,

The debt for her, settled

Only by that final parting

Quickened by sacrifice

And pain

Handed down through time.

For me, the debt yoke

Has never been appeased.

She has been dead to me

For an eternity.

Now stillness sails

The sea of life,

Deep as the ocean bed.

Once waves ebbed,

Flowed and flooded,

Consuming me with

Fear and rage.

A bad girl trying to

Justify her existence.

Hide me away beneath

My Grandmothers'

White cotton death sheets.

Maybe then all

Will be revealed.

To All Women

Should we climb the rooftops

Of every town, of every city,

And shout,

Would they hear.

Should we gather united

Throughout the land,

And stand,

Would they notice.

Would they help.

Do they know.

Do they know anything.

Anything at all.

Home recovery, Untreated post-operative breakdown.

Benjamin Maloise

a South African poet, was executed 18.10.85 in South Africa....

A poet died this very day

In some distant far off land,

Where blood spills free, persecuted flee

The almighty oppressors hand.

Sometimes alas, they catch the mass

With guns and masks and might.

They beat and torture, kill at will,

As if it is their right.

These are the days when madness reigns

This fertile native land.

Black blood runs red, the people led

The freedom of the band.

Crowds gather round outside that place,

Seek comfort in their grief,

They wail and chant, and chant and wail,

In horror and disbelief.

Benjamin Maloise died today

Despite world-wide opinion.

The man is dead, this poet red,

Alas not our dominion.

Persecuted all his life,

The colour of his skin,

He died a wealthy man this day,

His rights the fight to win.

For Keith - On Love

Hold love gently cupped in your palm.

Do not clench your fist

Lest you crush this most precious gift

You do not mean to harm.

It is there by the grace of God

To be cherished above all else.

Hold it ever so gently,

Gently cupped in the palm

Of the hand.

Kitty

In my hand I hold a photograph

Of a man; not a stranger.

Haunted eyes lost in a lined face.

But the image is not familiar.

Time grows into memories,

Even a childhood

Racked with illness, sadness and loss.

Hers was the ultimate sacrifice,

Doomed to a young death,

Although sudden and tragic.

For he was yet young, frail and reliant.

And she was his rock in a ravaged youth.

Sometimes, I glance not too obvious

At those sad eyes and I ponder if

He still thinks of the one he misses,

The one who could love him

As only she could.

He felt safe then

With her.

Now in later years

His eyes haunt me

For the unmatched love I offer,

And the love he can never give

Because it belongs to her.

Where's My Pants?

'Mam! Where's my pants?'I hear him cry.

'They're in the cupboard', I reply.

'I can't find them!', soon he shouts.

I feel like giving him a couple of clouts.

If it's not his pants, it's his socks or shirt.

It's out for a pint and a girl to flirt.

He's nineteen on Thursday, eleventh of September.

Thank goodness, I think, I dread to remember,

All of the years gone by so fast,

He's all grown up now; it's all in the past.

Soon there'll be no more, 'iron this' or 'iron that'.

I've rights you know, I'm not a doormat.

So open your eyes and you will see,

Your home's not a hotel. Look at me.

I pray for a son who's now a man.

He can do it. I know he can.

One day he'll move out from the family home.

In the big wide world he'll wander and roam.

Then he'll settle down with a wife of his own

And I'll look at him, and suddenly, he's grown

Into a man, not a boy as I remember.

He's nineteen on Thursday, the eleventh of September.

Written for my son Paul

Why?

Dawn's chorus beckons me,

Sunrise colours an empty sky,

While my world sleeps nearby.

Dew's pearly grass under bare feet,

Prop up a lifeless form,

God grant me peace this morn.

Give me power in my bones,

And serenity in my soul,

Strong, yet broken by life's toll.

Outstretched, I see his hand,

I stand still as stones nearby,

While a familiar voice cries. 'Why?'

Reflecting back to 1985 - Untreated post-operative breakdown

An Unnamed Poem

Rivers rage in the day's meanness.

Emotions ebb and flow.

Somehow I am appeased.

Better this than fear......

As it was then.

From that night's doom,

I thought I had moved on.

But today,

Fragile as a petal,

After the rages of yesterday,

I stand unconvinced.

Endless time has passed,

Yet I am still there.

Thank God, now, for me

Rage owns more comfort than fear.

Pain!....Go away!

Not today....please!

Maybe sometime, somewhere else.

Always is a big word. And difficult to comprehend.

Eternity?....No!...

No thank you.

Set me free

From that place called history.

Release me from that rage

That contaminates my life.

Please God grant me peace.

Even now.

Even tomorrow.

On verge of relapse during reduction of medication at home

The Picture

For the first time

I see a picture

Of a life and

It frightens me.

Someone once said,

Your children

Must never know

How you feel.

One more secret.

They began

Somewhere

In a distant

Childhood.

Now a maze

Of secrets

That make up

Who I am.

A hidden life

Never lived.

Someone

No-one knows,

Not even me.

My pen reveals

Bits here and there,

Fragments

Of past denial

Too painful

To face then.

Now reality

Shocks a once

Disturbed mind.

But this is a

More confident fear

Than the other one,

The one that

Nearly destroyed me.

These days,

Not quite as bold

As the Phoenix,

You know,

The one that

Arose

From the ashes.

A life of secrets,

Not to protect

As I believed,

But to protect

So many people

Who harmed me

And walked away.

Their debris

Created a life

Lost to me.

Where do I

Begin.

Derwen Fawr

Those were easy days on the eye,

When beauty spilled over the countryside.

As a child I could hear a cry,

And echoes called across the valley,

Come! Come!

Wild Honeysuckle and roses hedgerows dressed.

Winberries, blackberries filled mam's pies.

With happy memories I am blessed.

And echoes called across the valley,

Come! Come!

The land was as wild as the river

That snaked before the 'row',

Where rats played and trout slithered,

And echoes called across the valley,

Come! Come!

This dream was as real as a lie.

Stars shone through a hole in the roof,

Pans placed aptly kept me dry.

And echoes called across the valley,

Come! Come!

Night was as black as a witch's cloak.

Bats played in the great oak's boughs,

At my window tapping twigs broke.

And echoes called across the valley.

Come! Come!

T'was then dads worked every day

To keep their familes well,

While mams cleaned their lives away.

And echoes called across the valley,

Come! Come!

Robust children to the village school

Saw bluebelled fields through child eyes.

To leave all this I'd be a fool.

And echoes called across the valley,

Come! Come!

My home was condemned when I was ten,

No toilet, hot water and wet.

My paradise was too soon to end.

And echoes called across the valley,

Come! Come!

We moved a few miles away,

To a house, not a home.

I used to look back each day,

And echoes called across the valley,

Come! Come!

How To Be A Gentleman

Oh, to be a gentleman,
A gentleman I’ll be.
A Gaze into the mirror,
That’s what I will see.

I’ll open doors for pretty girls,
For the aged and infirm.
Upright, just and able,
In time I know I’ll learn.

I’ll learn to be responsible,
Do jobs and earn a wage.
Always kind and courteous,
Never to rant and rage.

For now I’m just a mere lad
Full of energy and fun.
Mischief when Sir’s back is turned.
Its look out – ‘Come here son!!!’

I realise the time has come
To gather up my senses,
Try to be a gentleman
With all of its pretences.

Reality

When we were young
We had our dreams.
Life has taught us,
So it seems,
To leave behind
Such childish things,
Grown up problems
Children bring.

We do our best
Tied to the sink.
The kids come first
Or so we think.
The years creep on,
Still unfulfilled,
The kids grow up
And we are grilled.

We see ourselves,
‘What a sight!’
Illness and pain
Is our blight.
We sit and ponder,
‘Is this it?’
Reality dawns,
‘OH SHIT!’

Post-hysterectomy

Didn’t I tell you to listen to me?
Didn’t I tell you!
You wouldn’t listen.
No!
You knew best.
Now you cannot understand my anger.
If you would just listen.
Listen!
Just once.
Just this once.
Even though it is too late!

For Keith

My Only 'Found' Poem

I left my heart at God's House

On my wedding day,

Seemingly so long ago,

So very far away.

I wonder should I find it still

That very place I stood

In that chapel sound and strong,

I only wish I could.

I wonder if I prayed to God

On such a glorious day,

Would he grant me back my heart,

Or is it thrown away.

1990

It was a great fear,

Deeper than the ocean,

Darker than the polluted sea,

Bad dreams I whisper,

Faces found in white clouds

Amidst darker skies.

My garden barren of colour,

Alone and frightened,

My world,

Imploded.

Kay Reed 2004

MY FIRST MONOLOGUE

Can you help me?
A tablet?
What sort of tablet?
May I ask you something?
Do you know me?
No!
Then how do you know which tablet to give me?
Do you know what gives me my pain? What causes it?
No!
Then talk to me. I’m human. I have feelings!
But then you know that don’t you?
You are my psychiatrist!

Kay Reed
30.11.03
Written for a past locum consultant who did not have my medical notes.

MY SECOND MONOLOGUE

Write!
Did you say write?
I write on my own.
It’s a lonely occupation.
Where are you going?
Out with friends did you say?
Oh! Out with the dogs!
Me? I’ve got lots to do here thanks!
If only you cared a little; treated me a little better.
My self-esteem is nil, somewhere between the washing machine
and cleaning the toilets.
A little happiness would be nice….. before it’s too late.
You did always promise……….
Oh! You can’t remember!
Well I’ll remind you shall I ?
When my children grew up and left, you said it would be our time.
Too many years now gone by…
As they say, ‘water under the bridge’ and all that.
Maybe too much water.
Is there anything left?
Now there’s me…….
I’m not sure where you are.
Here,…but you’re not!
If you know what I mean.
Somewhere I have a heart, it’s in a bad way.
Like my head…. Sound as a pound.
‘Keep taking the tablets!’
Forgive me, but I won’t thank you for the debris of our life.
I hate my life; my wasted tolerance.
And my children, oh, my children.
Now I have nothing left.
There’s you….yes you…
And what’s left of mr…. And the tablets.
Oh you!
Yes of course, we mustn’t forget you, must we?
The most important person.
How can I ever forget!

Kay Reed
December 2003

BORROWED TIME

It happens sometimes,
Life creeps around
An unsuspecting corner
When we least suspect it.
Events mount up
And we cannot see
We face nothing,
Deal with nothing.
It is too painful,
And we unwittingly
Move onto fresh pasture.
Time passes.
Hair turns grey.
We find ourselves crippled
With feelings called rage.
All that unmet disquiet
In our souls.
It serves nothing,
Only to destroy us
And our surrounding world.
At its worst we carry it
Unsuspectingly with no fear.
They say, ‘Lock it in!
Bury it! Keep it down! Safe!’
Where is doesn’t belong.
‘Rage, go away!’ I say.
Leave me with my solitude.
Pleasant thoughts,
Ultimate peace.

Kay Reed
Xmas 2003