Archive for October, 2015

the light is our landmark
in the death of darkness
we followed the rhythmic

swell of a tempestuous sea
hungry for wood and flesh
to take to the bottom

the light is our sign
that we are close to home
and the warmth of safety

that we have a chance
of surviving this night
that we live to love

our families once again
the light gives us
hope and courage

to continue on
without the light
we would be
swimming with the devil

Another very moving blog from Wendy Pratt for Baby Loss Awareness Month


There will be just this one and one more post for Baby loss Awareness Month. I wasn’t expecting to find it as difficult as I have and have ended up feeling very bleak and depressed. What it has done is force me to address some of the stuff that perhaps was hanging over me, that I haven’t dealt with yet. Things like the way all the baby things are still haunting my bedroom. Mostly things are packed away and stored on top of wardrobes, under the bed etc. But there are two full drawers in the bedroom which are full of bedding, clothes and baby toys. It is now five and a half years since we lost Matilda. I have been in limbo waiting to see if we would have another baby, but that limbo is keeping me a prisoner in this box of grief and I took the decision…

View original post 629 more words

Source: A Poem by Rebecca Goss for baby Loss awareness week

my mother and father

would plant vegetables and flowers

in the garden or the allotment

anywhere where earth could be dug

digging through different

shades of mud and clay

planting dull, drab bulbs

that transform into colourful

shapely vegetables too good to eat

tiny seeds left deep underground

turn into flowers creating a paradise

in a corner of nowhere

my mother and father

planted all the colours

seen on earth and beyond

reproducing them perfectly

as nature intended

how i wish i could go back

and watch them dig and plant

all those bulbs and seeds

and learn from their gardening ways

and reproduce nature

as they once did…

Source: Readings and open mics. : A beginners’ guide

Sunday Poem – Jack Underwood

Posted: October 11, 2015 in Uncategorized

Source: Sunday Poem – Jack Underwood

A second very moving blog from Wendy Pratt in recognition of Babyloss Awareness Month


Today’s photo was actually taken today while I was up putting gold and cream roses on Matilda’s grave. It’s a view of the cemetery where Matilda is buried. It’s a beautiful, peaceful place that I haven’t quite managed to capture in this photo. From this view, her grave is actually behind me, but I wanted to try and catch the way the trees are a spread of colour at this time of year. I go up there about once every two weeks. I used to go up weekly, I never imagined I would be able to go a week without seeing her. When we first lost her I went every couple of days and when I would drive up the valley, towards home, I would imagine I could see her grave from the other side and I would say to her ‘I love you, you are not forgotten’ because every…

View original post 535 more words

you loved the light

how it entered my bedroom

every morning with you

turning on my light

hanging, still, on its own

in the middle of

a pure, white ceiling

momentarily blinding me

i am confused for a second

before i rub the nights

sleep out of my eyes

and blinking see your shape

silhouetted against my bedroom window

holding a curtain in each hand

for me a saint on a cross

opening the gates to heaven

before stepping aside to

allow the first rays of sunlight

to create a rainbow in the

corner of a teary eye

and breathe new life

into her young son

as he takes in the light

of this brand new day

A very moving blog from Wendy Pratt


Today’s picture is not sad, it’s not raw, it’s not anything to do with miscarriage or stillbirth to anyone else but me. Today’s picture is of the lane into the village where I live. It is a picture I took while out walking my dog in mid winter. I use it here today because the road and the winter and that perfect moment of calm, that moment of me being out with my dog in the clean crisp air, moving forward, one foot in front of the other is a picture of hope.

Losing Matilda changed our lives. It took about five years to feel like a person and not a great gaping hole of grief. I will never be the same person again. When you lose a child it is like being completely destroyed, like a bomb going off inside you. It takes a long, long time for all…

View original post 1,013 more words

Source: Knowing your place. Polished gem [10 ] Roy Marshall