This is a poem that I wrote last year and recited during the Poetry Open Mic Evening at the Swanwick Writers’ Summer School 2018. It is about the scattering of my Mum’s ashes.
I posted it on my blog, but it has had no hits. That is probably because it is hidden away under my Titbits tab. If you’d like to read more of my poetry or you are ready for a few COL (chuckle out loud) moments, you should take a few minutes to explore some of the short items in the Titbits section.
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Hint: You’ll “hear” it better if you read it out loud.
The Bonar Bridge Rock
incorporating lines from Elisabeth Barrett Browning’s sonnet 43
Scatter my ashes on my rock,
On my rock where I played.
With Grandpa at the back of our croft,
On the rock on my hill
At the back of Rhinamain,
On my heather-strewn hill: Lydsurach.
Promise me, that you’ll scatter my ashes
On my rock on Lydsurach,
Where I played with Grandpa
And my lovely collie dog – Meg.
She was killed by an adder.
I can still hear her howl.
So, we scattered Mum’s ashes
On that rock where she played
With my great granddad,
Behind his croft, Rhinamain.
A few words from my sister.
Some tears from my Gran.
Uncle Chris splashed whisky:
Uisge beatha – water of life
On her rock – on Lydsurach.
How do I love thee?
Let me count the ways.
I recite, out of context – sonnet forty-three
But THIS love was Mum and me.
I shall but love thee better after death.
Low-flying tornadoes roared over us.
“Trust June to arrange her own fly past!”
Quipped Uncle Chris.
. . .
Her spirit bird rose, as her ashes scattered
Over her rock at the back of our croft.