“…is there a good day to die…”

Today is not a good day

It’s a raw day

A cold day





Me to the floor

“…my cancer has returned…”

This is not me speaking.

This is my friend

Her tenuous thread chased hold worn and weary grip of life once filled by and with the strength and hopes of life, now is loosened.

“…three weeks…three…”


“…I’m not ready to die…”

Arms that speak of a thousand million words open soundless and close about my friend. We hold tight as we move helpless between the immensities.

Stop all the clocks

Stop all the clocks

This is not a good day

7 thoughts on ““…is there a good day to die…”

    • Hi, thanks for your kind reply. Stop all the clocks was taken from a poem by WH Auden. I’m sure you will have heard it. I can’t read it without it digging deep within me. I first read it just after the death of my brother…synchronicity… Here it is in full

      Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
      Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
      Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
      Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

      Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
      Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
      Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
      Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

      He was my North, my South, my East and West,
      My working week and my Sunday rest,
      My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
      I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

      The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
      Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
      Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
      For nothing now can ever come to any good.

    • Hi thanks, I thought it might be a bit of a cathartic exercise…articulate it…let it out. Didn’t work. A lot of aw clenching and tears to be honest. Its a myth about the British stiff upper lip. Kind regards

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