Ruth's Real Life

Horatio - Stone of Heart & Hope “’Hope is the thing with feathers” Before lockdown, all dressed up and ready to go. I taught English for 39 years. For most of those years, I had a faithful classroom companion. My pet rock, Horatio. He became a legend. If you ask him for his story, he will maintain a stony silence, but I feel compelled to speak on his behalf and on the behalf of all unrecognized treasures that give us hope. I love stones and rocks; I have always had a passion for them. I can remember as a little girl of seven or eight, spending a Christmas holiday searching a lush Uvongo tropical garden searching for the perfect stone. There were banana trees, frangipani and hibiscus hiding ants and geckos. I adventured like a little Durrell amongst them until I found my stone, it was beautiful. The smooth surface was cool in my hand, solid and telling me stories. I washed and wrapped it. I can still see the paper, green with tiny silver stars. On Christmas morning...

It's time to adventure again. Last night, I dreamed I was lost on the Great Wall of China. I was climbing a never-ending stairway alongside which a magnificent river rushed into a dark green gorge. Even in my dream, I knew it wasn’t the Wall. I have climbed a section of the Great Wall and it was nothing like this. In 2005 I undertook, what in my head, was a pilgrimage to China. I was in a state of flux in my life and when the opportunity to go presented itself, I  didn't  hesitate. I went on my own, knowing very little of what awaited me. One thing I was determined to do was to journal my experience and to try to extract a lesson from each week that I was there. I came away with my eight China lessons but after my return I understood that I had journeyed  26 000  kilometers  to learn the power of just two words. Let go. And I did. I let go of toxic opinions of myself. I was able to see myself in a more powerful way. I felt a newness of ...

There is always the possibility of an unfolding. This poem began with a piece of paper. I had a blank sheet in my hands while I was invigilating an exam. As I walked between the desks, I folded and unfolded the piece of paper. Life is a little like this I thought, as the possibility of a blank page presented itself as I unfolded the paper. There are pages in my life that I’d like to rip out, the deaths of my brothers Paul and Michael, the loss of my mother too soon, my father, perhaps too late as he became trapped in dementia. I’d like to erase bad decisions and pencil in decisions not made because my heart lacked courage. I’d like to rewrite words that hurt and shape them into something gentler. Those things will never happen, the past is written in indelible ink. Nevertheless, today is still to be unfolded. This poem is dedicated to my partner, Julia, who with tremendous courage chose to unfold a new page in her life. I think though, that it also applies to all who feel...

Dream big dreams This poem was written a number of years ago in response to the following story about a very special girl called Amy. Amy’s parents went away. In their absence, her grandparents came to look after Amy and her brothers. At five, Amy already had an adventurous spirit. This was a girl who loved to climb trees. Amy loved to climb the tall tree in the front garden. Her little feet knew the safe places on the trunk. All the knots and branches carried her upwards. Always, there was the longing to rise. One morning, Amy’s gran came into the garden looking for her. She saw Amy in the tree and was terrified, as any reasonable adult would be. She demanded that Amy climb down, so she scrambled down and sat on the low veranda wall. Amy promptly fell off the wall and broke her arm. The moral of this story for me is simple. People, who love us dearly, will often call us down from what they perceive to be the dangerous places. Children dream big dreams and adu...

There are times when life seems to be nothing but a mad, unconsidered rush to get ‘things’ done. This new poem is a reflection of a longing for stillness. It is a longing for the space and time to go deeply within the forests of soul and of nature, there to find the essence of self that I know has not been lost. Will you take a moment to sit quietly with me? If you are quiet Still, there must be time (and time) – For the Old Gods: Gnarled, gentle fingers Roots dipped in molten core – Wait – bluebalancing summer skies On a rainbow of green on green. If you are quiet, You may enter in beneath the boughs On moss slippered praying feet, There, They will meet with you, Barked-feathered-bright-eyed, Quivering with Life. If you are quiet, They will let you hear A wild of wind, Winding itself around the world, Whispering the stories of stories Of things you always knew. And if you dare, And if you will, You may find the old self, ...