My Hero | It will always be You

My grandfather and I.jpg

To be loved unconditionally. A gift that no one can ever take away from you.

For my grandfather

The man whom I called “little father” was taken from me just as I stepped from childhood into my teens. I miss him so. Yet his boundless, generous love is mine still, many years after I could sprint down the stairs to greet him at the end of a hard’s day work, to be enveloped in the warmth of his arms, my cheek grazed by the familiar stubble as I reached in for a kiss. His hands smelt of fresh-cut grass… the scent of the earth in his hair.

He taught me to delight in the simplest of pleasures: a loaf of bread fresh out the wood-burning bowls of a clay furnace, the feel of the grassland against my bare feet, the smell of mushrooms picked in the woodlands, the white froth atop the mug of milk that was mine every morning. Summers turned into autumns under the mellow sun of my childhood, winds caressed my hopeful imaginings, rains cooled my fears and everywhere was peace and contentment. 

I grew up at his side, a free wild thing with boyish ways, a pixy spirit. There were treasured mornings when he would bundle me up onto the back of his horse at dawn and we would take to the fields. 

I remember standing in the middle of a field peppered by the early buds of spring, breathing in deep the silence and making a wish that I would never forget that moment. Perhaps I intuited that memory is untrustworthy, that time can steal what it had once gifted freely. Perchance I foresaw a day in the far distant future – for the future is always at a distance to a child’s heart – when I would need to come back to that moment of stolen bliss.

Daily Prompt: Heroic

Memento Mori

The grass was soft underfoot, freshly mowed.  Ismay breathed in its fragrance: her favourite smell. It reminded her of her grandfather, the long walks and horse rides he took her on when she was a child.

For many years after her grandfather died, there were a few dozen smells that reminded her of him. She could still remember the smell of his cheek after a hard days’ work at the farm: sweat mingled with a trace of rolled up tobacco. His hands were earthy when he patted her head.

His scent underwent subtle changes through the seasons: baked apple, cured ham, dandelions, pea shoots, sunflowers, grapes.

Time had been cruel. It robbed her of what she held dear. And little by little, it picked away her memories too. She was grateful that some still lingered, even if only as brushstrokes, impressions, moments captured within.


Memory Pod


Memory Pod

There’s the little blue car
That journeyed to France:
Wind in my hair
And love when we dance.

Here’s that sweet yellow bike
You carried me on,
Kissed my tears away,
Said “You’re never alone.”

Seashells taught me to hear
All your deepest desires;
Keep them all in my heart
Which of you never tires.

There’s the pram that will make
Our couple a three,
And we’ll bud mem’ries new
On the family tree.

Thank you to TheSeekersDungeon for bringing this prompt to my attention: and to Rochelle for coming up with it:
Hope you enjoyed my unorthodox approach to the challenge.
I bid you goodnight 🙂

with flowers in my hair … I Am a Rock

Flowers in my hair

Today I had a date with my seventeen year old self.

There is something cathartic about time travel; that warm feeling you get when you meet someone who was dear to you once, a gem of a memory from a time of innocent bliss. You remember it with fondness over the years. It is a part of who you used to be, a stepping stone to who you’ve become.

I unearth my treasure-chest full of stardust, frayed at the edges, yet still very much alive with brightness and wonder.  I retrieve each marvelling sun one by one. Here, a dusty tram ticket nudges a perforated corner. There, a forlorn posy of violets scents a day long past.

That was me. A girl on a mission. Searching for a nugget of sunshine.

She had a helping hand or two along the way. All was lighter when shutters ripped open.

A part of her stays with me always. The rest is dewdrops, lost in the vivid colour of all the days lived since.

One night stand

The alabaster of his skin

Lights up her morning slumber.

In the refracted quiet light

Their dreams are swept asunder.


Eyes meet across the downy slopes,

Hands reach for one another:

Too soon dawn came, the time too quick

To part, when stay they’d rather.


The sweetness of her kiss goodbye,

Its wretchedness in valour…

Her absence hence robbed all his nights

Of their vivid colour.


And, as she watched the amber skies,

His tenor’s soft recalling…

Her weary frame in sleepless nights

For his sake only falling.


So raw today, as years pass

Their passion will grow weaker,

Until one day forgot be he

And he’ll neglect to seek her.



The waves afar…

Their movement calm.


Swelling within:


Back and forth

Wounds. Embalm.


Sheer tempest.

Atone for all

No sorrow. No remorse.

Thy fleeting time…


Window without

The waves afar…

Thy fleeting time…

No sorrow. No remorse.

Their movement calm.

Hypnotic. Atone for all

Sheer tempest

Swelling within.

Memories Shout!

Back and forth

Wounds. Embalm.

For my grandfather

I stretch my fingers forth

Towards the frozen ground,

There just beyond my reach

Your stilted body lies.


No matter how much hope

To turn the tables round

Had been within instilled

I know it was just lies.


Your hands will never move

Whole lands to have me near,

Your whispers will not soothe

Away some naïve fright


You will not draw me closer

So that to better hear

My sorrows all, my hopes,

Into the star-lit night.


I cherished every moment

Life gave me at you side.

With every breath, still treasure

Your memory and love.


I wish I still believed

That heaven awaits yonder…

But losing you has robed me

Of faith in the above.