I’m sorry you’re so unwell
I shall keep to your nom de plume
I know you don’t like a fuss
I hope you’re out of hospital soon

I love you more than words can say
Although I’m a verbose old bag at times
There are no words for how much I care
Particularly ones that rhyme

You’ve been there for me in so many ways
Your quiet humour I treasure
You helped me to survive the toughest of days
You are a man beyond measure

You’re one of the joys of my life
And it sucks that you are sick
Sometimes that bastard fate
Can be such an annoying prick

You’d better get well soon
My fun filled special man
Coz Jon Bon Jovi needs us
As backing singers in his band

Tricia 21/2/2014

Big Ted – A precious gift of a poem from my dear friend, Pooky.

Big Ted.

Eli The Published Author

Hello Eli,
If you’re the Australian author who posted about therapy and included an amazing link to a ‘visual conversation’ could you please send me a link to your blog. I was following you, and because I’m such a computer doofus, when I went to change the status of your updates I inadvertently unfollowed you, and now I can’t find you.
I’m hoping you’re still following me so I’ll be able to reconnect with your blog.
Tricia – The woman whose knowledge of computers would fit on the head of a pin.

Apple store last Friday. New iPad and new computer. :)

 Apple store last Friday. New iPad and new computer. :)

Nojy and me. Lisa is behind the camera. I would be lost without my loving companions and helpers.

Love Lingers

Love Lingers

Each time he kissed the top of my head
I lifted my hand to caress his cheek
How I love that man
Even though it’s almost 5 years
I can close my eyes
Feel his kiss
Instinctively my hand reaches
For the absent presence
Behind my chair
And I know
In the depth of my being
How deeply
I was loved
Death can steal many things
But never the knowing of love

Tricia 2/2014 (Inspired by Pooky’s Poems – Affirmations?)


I’m sorry for not replying to comments or reading blogs but my iPad has been slowly dying for some weeks. I have an iPhone but with my cataracts it’s very difficult to read much.
My wonderful Nojy and Lisa are taking me to the Apple store tomorrow so I will hopefully begin to catch up soon.
Keep your fingers crossed they can retrieve my poems that are floating around in the ether somewhere.
Take care all



For years she wore a mask,
like the Fosse character
in All That Jazz.
Pop a pill,
look in the mirror
There was a time when
she was the entertainer,
laughter followed
the Pied Piper of Partytown.
These days she finds the thought
of wearing her old mask
sadder than her sorrow.
doggedly defiant,
with neither the energy
nor the inclination
she refuses
to maintain the illusion.
She still laughs,
she cries a lot too,
and that’s ok
with her.
With a few she feels the weight
of expectation.
She’s learnt
if she doesn’t hide her pain
they’ll stay away,
and that’s ok
with her.

Tricia 11/2013

Ode To An iPad

Ode To An iPad

My iPad and me we’re such great mates
But her life it would appear
Is in the hands of fate
One by one each function disappears
I’m trying to remain calm
Please Ignore the steam from my ears
When 500 photos ‘went west’ I got shitty
Hissy fits, swearing,
A sever bout of self pity
The iPad help line thinks she can be saved
I’m not so sure
Although I’m trying to be brave
When I measure my life’s losses a dying iPad’s quite small
But she’s not just an iPad
She’s my link to you all
I can’t get around much yet I travel the globe
Sharing life, love and laughter
Plus the occasional ode
When my family have time we’ll visit Apple’s shop
Where hopefully they’ll retrieve
Photos, poetry, The Lot
Once bitten twice shy the old saying goes
As well as having her repaired
I’ll buy a new one coz who knows
It may sound extravagant but loss mangles trust
And yes it just an iPad
But I’ll do what I must
Because for me it’s more than a technological aid
It’s my link to the world
When I’m sad or afraid
Or when I’m happy and bubbling longing to share
Something special with someone
To show them I care
I’ll now catch up on comments in case WordPress dies too
If it does please understand
I did the best I could do
I have an iPhone but with cataracts it’s difficult to see
Words appear to be written
With the stinger quill of a bee
And yes I know this doesn’t fit the poetic criteria for an ode
But maybe if you squint and hold your mouth right
It’ll fit the irregular ode mode

Tricia 22/1/2014

Fickle Feelings

Fickle Feelings – For my dear friend, Christine, at journeyintopoetry.wordpress.com/

She’s surrounded by much
that is wonderful
and she is grateful -
most of the time.
Then there are the times
Frustration packs Gratitude’s bags,
chucks them on the front verandah
and tells Gratitude
to take herself off for awhile.
There are days
Frustration needs time
to just be,
without Gratitude telling her
how she should feel.
Gratitude enjoys her time away
free to frolic, meditate, contemplate.
Frustration too spends time
meditating, contemplating, but
Frustration’s not a frolicker
she’s more the kicking and screaming type,
and my how she loves to swear.
Eventually Frustration welcomes Gratitude home
and they move on with life
in their sometimes tenuous,
mostly amicable
marriage of convenience.

Tricia 1/2014

Telling Not Showing

Telling Not Showing


The above link is to an article on alcoholism written by Dick Cavett. I don’t agree with all Dick writes, e.g. Dick implies that he sees nothing wrong with some people taking a small drink as a means of coping with stage fright. In my opinion, using alcohol to self medicate for any reason is unhealthy. Addiction in all forms is a subject I have strong feelings about. Both stories in the link are compassionately written (there’s a link to a second story contained in the intro of this one, you just click on the word ‘here’.). They touched me deeply. My father was an alcoholic and I have battled various addictions during my life. Addiction and mental illness run like a winding river through my family.

I loved my dad and miss him very much. He had 10 years sober (bliss) when a chronic illness (not alcohol related) forced his early retirement from a job he loved, a job he’d held since he stopped drinking. He’d found his niche, took pride in his promotion to manager, I think he discovered his self respect in this job. Not long after his retirement he began drinking again, telling us (and himself) he could now be a social drinker. It only took a few months for my loving, gentle, delightful dad to once again become an alcohol obsessed, often morose stranger. He died just after his 67th birthday. We were all with him, and we all loved him.

My son adored his Poppa Thomas, and was devastated by his death. He wrote the poem, Thomas, after dad’s funeral. After years of battling depression then drug addiction, Ken , ‘followed’ his Thomas, 8 years after he wrote the poem. As many of you know, Ken died by his own hand.

I’m reposting Ken’s poem, Thomas, because I believe his words show far better than I can tell, what it’s like to love a person who suffers from any addiction. Ken’s words also show that it’s possible to see past the addiction to the heart of the person.

Tricia 1/2014


A picture is all I have
To remind me of your life
This emotion runs so deep
Oh why can’t I follow you

Your wisdom and your heart
Greater than your legacy
Of the ones you left behind
Oh why can’t I follow you

I long for the time
When your smile meet mine
Tucked gently inside a bottle
Oh why can’t I follow you

I weep at the reflection
In the eyes of your wife
For since you said goodbye…
O why can’t I follow you

A soul so weightless
The wind took you from me
I never got to show you
Just who you were to me

This lid is sealed so tight
On your final kiss
Tasting death on your lips
Please wait for me

Kenneth Bertram


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