November 16, 2012 at 11:33 am (literature, Poems, poetry, politics, Stories) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

The quick flick change dealt by the day

is hard to reconcile

when trauma preys on happiness

and grief tugs on its tail

and like a rusty spring, resolve

grows brittle over time

so every heaviness weighs more

than once, when we were primed.


But do not turn away from me

to spare me from your care

I also suffer silently

don’t be afraid to share.

Perhaps, if we tessellate our years

collaborate our smiles

we’ll find new ways to gird ourselves

to bear life’s rocky miles.




  1. nobodysreadingme said,

    I like the resolve/rusty spring/brittle simile very much
    i read your subtle words, then look at my swashbuckling blog writing, and wonder how on earth we both got to like each other’s work enough to follow each other.
    I’m off to Twitter now to broadcast this.
    I hope you have a good weekend. I’m off toe a murder mystery dinner (lots of people I don’t know, AAAARRRGGHH, take deep breaths. Should be fun, but a bit tense making all the same

    • Julia Dean-Richards said,

      Enjoy the mystery – watch out for the ticks and tells x

      • nobodysreadingme said,

        If you’ve ever played Cluedo you’ll know that 9 times out of 10 it’s the Rev Green.
        So right off I’m putting the character of the Bishop in the frame, since he’s a clergyman.
        Then I’ll probably too much

please feel free to comment on these poems - all feedback appreciated. :)

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