Mother’s day

 

Flowers, cards, balloons and bears,

The season’s here again,

That one day, an annual event,

Celebrating the trip down motherhood lane.

Let’s remember and thank,

Not just our status quo of motherhood,

But everyone, who helps to nurture the child.

The mothers, step moms who take on the role,

Foster mums who care as if their own.

Nans that help us to bake,

The surrogates that grew bumps of love,

Eggs donated to families now grown.

The women who were like mothers to us,

The confidant, the carer, the teacher and such.

Dads who play both mum and dad,

The strong, the quiet, the resilient care givers.

Let’s take a moment to think of those too,

Who once were a expecting, or have an angel taken too soon.

The women out there hoping that the next Mother’s day is theirs,

For the gift of holding a child they want to share.

To all of you, wherever you are,

There’s no one path to this role, nor no right one to take,

It doesn’t matter how you got it,

What your title is,

Thank you for nurturing, caring, and believing,

On this Mother’s day.

Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2017.

Photographic image by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2017. Available as a photographic print, please contact us directly to order.

Mother's day rose
‘Mother’s day rose.’ Photography by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2017.

The oxymoron week – Weekend coffee share.

I would pre warn you that this week, for me at least (and the business) has been an oxymoron kind of week.

My warning will probably be before we even reach our drink destination, so to not drag up the joy and anguish by surprise. The sun has been shining at last, maybe even an outside seat could be in order. After how this week has presented highs, lows and some considering thinking, a cake is in order too. Calories and sugar don’t count in time of crisis and of pondering.

I would ask if you and your family are ok. I would hope that you were not affected by those events in London this week. That I would explain this is why there has been a lack of posts this week, trying to show some respect to the event and those involved. Briefly touching upon my own work, that hours before the events unfolded, there I was ready to post new photography and poetry too. Badly timed, or something else, it was my first piece of political themed poetry. That and the decayed rose petals seemed insignificant, even distasteful after the tragic news broke.

This would not be a rant about religions or the person or persons behind it. My main concern would be those affected. If my two pence was ever wanted or asked for, I would say that this event, killings, murders are not acceptable, nor needed for any religion, ethnicity, gender or country. There is never an excuse for what happened, and so horribly I can now only predict that this could result in further, maybe unnecessary restrictions and assumptions. These by the political knee jerks to the event, to also those tarring all those with the same religion, race, or skin colour with the same brush. This event was unthinkable, life changing for those involved and affected. Not just London, but no country, no humans should lose their lives or have them affected in this manner, ever.

I would hope that the conversation didn’t get too deep, too soon, and I would listen to your views too with an open mind. It was the above that led to the delays in sharing the new stuff, because it didn’t seem important at the time. A mouth full of cake, to sweeten the mood, and I would welcome you to share your new products and developments from this week.

If you asked about mine, there is one poem already mentioned, ready to post at a later date now. There’s another poem, almost song lyric like nearly finished about being invisible. New photography of rose petals. On the Facebook page Rose-Sky Journey Pieces Facebook page (external link) there’s been new doodle art shared, as well as the start of the latest craft project. So far three hours have gone into something, which, looks to be a week to complete.

Finally on to tomorrow, Mothering Sunday for us here in the U.K. A date, which whilst filled with joy and appreciation, I believe just the same as Valentine’s and Father’s Day that the acts shouldn’t just be undertaken or shown on just one day a year. To the mothers, foster mothers, adopted mothers, step mothers, grandmothers, aunties, mother-in-laws and ‘just like a mum’, thank you to you all for the role you’ve played for bringing children into the children, and helping to raise them. To the father’s who are also mum and dad, kudos to you too. To all those wherever you are, however you do it, that help to care, to bring the best out in children all over the world, you are appreciated, needed, wanted, loved and thanked. If you are celebrating tomorrow, I hope that you have a lovely day, there might even be a flower or two as well!

It would only be right to ask about your own family traditions about these special days, and anything you have planned either for yourself, or for those you love.

The cake is going down well, in fact too well! It’s not flattened the sugar craving, but at least it’s subdued for now.

I thank you for listening to the rant, the thoughts, pondering, and updates. I wish you, and everyone else a safe week to come. To be blessed and grateful to be alive, to be here in the present, and to be the best you that you could be.

‘Live the life you love, love the life you live.’

For now,

Rose-Sky Journey Pieces. x

 

Rose remains – World Poetry Day!

What could be said about those remains,

Did they expect the beauty to slip away?

Age must tamper with it’s worth,

The lines and cracks, faults, not stripes earned.

Once too bright, youthful, so in your face,

Now tired, depleted, slowly wasting away.

Rejecting needle fixes,

Starkness, reality now burned.

The rose laid bare causing quite a stir,

No filters, nor plumping or deceiving shapes.

Still compelling attention,

Rose remains an enigma yearned.

Rose remains – poetry by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2017.

Photography by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2017.

 

Rose Remains
‘Rose remains’ Photography by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2017.

Yin and Yang

Yin and Yang,

Black and white,

It’s so simple they delight.

Grey and mono,

Blurred and mixed,

What about those shades they fright.

Mix not divide,

They did call,

A grey scale rainbow for us all.

Poem : Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2017.

Art work and photography of art work : Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2017.

yinyang
‘Yin and Yang.’ Complimentary, interconnected, but life is never as clear as black and white. Art work and photography of art work by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces. 2017.

In the making!

Forgoing the thoughts of those quarter and mid-life crisis options ( Quarter life crisis… ) , instead I’ve been keeping the hands busy with earring making and painting!

One of my paintings from this week was posted to the blog yesterday, and you can find it here – Rainbow bursts . For now, back to the earring making….

I’ve made two pairs of earrings this week, in very different designs. The first are completed with wooden beads, and gold coloured spacers for a summery look.

 

Hand-made earrings
Hand-made earrings, made by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces. With wooden coloured beads, and gold coloured spacers.

The second are a mis-matched pairs of earrings, using plastic playing cards. These would be great for a night at the casino, or for a Harley Quinn cosplay look.

Playing card earrings
Playing card earrings, hand-made by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces. 2017.

I am able to make these earrings to order for £5 each + p&p, and this will include an organza pouch gift packaging.

Rose-Sky Journey Pieces.

 

Rainbow bursts

Oh if only the world would rainbow speak

Speak clearly what they’re thinking

Thinking only what’s nice

Nice, bright and rainbow colours

Colours of love, not lies, nor hatred

Hatred of negative, self-obsessed news

News that’s lead to a new wanting

Wanting to rainbow speak.

 

'Rainbow bang' art work by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2017.
‘Rainbow bang.’ Art work  by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2017.

Poetry by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2017.

Art work by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2017, photographed also by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces.

 

Never again

Her tiny frame, vowed never again. Never again, would she listen to what was endured. Never would it have to be endured. Never again, would she play third party…

Having only been asleep for what seemed like minutes, she stirred in her room. The room small, dark, yet usually comforting and familiar. Trying to decode why she was awoken, realising there is no sunlight glaring through the curtains, she laid there, still.

Her heart beating, and although no exertion was required, that heart started to thump. The beat faster, stronger, almost ripping through her frozen still body. A sound she would know too well, the voice not of a stranger, but of the one who should protect her, guide her, love her even. The father’s voice billowing around the house despite the night time hours. Tuning in further, she recognised those cries from her mother, the other protector.

He was mad. Vulgar with his language, his tone. The swear words that girl could not comprehend, the names called she had never heard uttered before. Volume of his nasty ways getting louder, the ping-pong between shouts to cries getting faster in time. She couldn’t move, for fear of being heard. The tears stinging her cheeks, but no noise could escape her mouth. Another episode, memory etched of being that one in five statistic.

Slam! The little ears heard her mother’s body hit the stairs. Not a comedy slap, but a heart-sinking thud as the body collided with those steps. She could hear that he was stood above the body still not content enough to let this slide. Bang! The porch door bounced better than the mother did. It flew open with such retaliating aggression. Delicate ears hearing the scramble for the front door, the shaking of the door handle as the female tried to escape that aggressor. No keys, and it was locked. His retaliation was to lock her between the front door, and that solid porch door.

What must she felt to be locked out, yet in, in the middle of the night? Was she trying to be quiet for the sake of us, when we could already hear the drama involved. Was she cold, afraid, or angry?

It didn’t matter what she had done, what she had said, or promised at all. For the child just begged in her head that he would walk away, say sorry, or just get up and leave one day. Whatever had rattled that big cage, did not excuse what the girl could not un – hear that very day.

That little girl was angry. Angry for being awoken. For not being a normal child, asleep, dreaming of the next day. Bitter for not being able to stop the monster. Fuming for what he had made her mother endure. Scared for where he would head next, if he could find her awake. Fear froze her to the bed, but in her head, she was already downstairs opening the door, chucking him out, calling the police. Phoning anyone, for this was all their little family secret. Tucked away from family, friends, prying eyes.

No recollection of when she did fall back to sleep, or when she awoke. No memory of whether it was a school day, or a special day, for it had already been tarnished either way. The mother in bed, sleeping like a baby. Covers first, and then clothes later on, hiding whatever damage had been done. Scanning the room for evidence, to squash the thought it might of been just a bad dream, she finds them. The broken glasses, the bent and cut wedding band ring.

Her heart sinks, and sick rises. There was no dream, no nightmare, no make believe. This time there was evidence, something to show their special family secret. She willed, begged for someone to ask about the missing glasses, the forgotten ring. But mother was not brave, maybe blessed with forgiveness, a second, third chance, who knows. Verbally, the lies started to unfold, the girl listening, watching to excuses pile up. Nobody would believe the girl, that laid awake in the middle of the night, when the two protectors, life givers would construct such a barrier of lies. So it stayed consumed for a number of years, eating away, causing nightmares, worries, stress onto the child. Just as predicted by that young soul, when it did emerge, it was still denied. Rubbished by all, minimised, excused. He swarmed and charmed in a suit, and with that car. Yet, the exterior however flashy, can’t hide who you are, the real past.

The monster on the stairs has yet to face real consequences for what happened that night, that week, month, year and years. Perhaps his real sentence is a lost daughter, grandchildren he has never heard laugh, nor speak.

Never again would she listen to those excuses, to hear those whimpers upon her pillow. Her patience with those actions would vanish that starry night. No one, no exceptions should have to fear for their life.

Rose-Sky Journey Pieces.

Written 2017.

Photography by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces.