from my poetry blog
Dead Bird The kids are fascinated by the varying states of putrefaction. Every morning we pause, compare it to yesterday's studied image. "Where have it's eyes gone? Have they sunk into its skull?" Half-covered by an overnight shroud of autumn leaves, provoking a conflict of opinion. The girl thinks it should be buried out of decency, the boy eager to glimpse its surfacing skeleton. Every day its stomach is drawn in, the ribs rising. Then this morning, stunned: the bird is gone, perhaps removed by a conscientious council worker. The boy thinks that it's been dragged off to be devoured by a fox, or a cat, but whatever it was it must have been really down on its luck, falling on that desiccated morsel for a feast. ©AndrewJamesMurray
Remembering Sharon Tate who, along with her unborn child and four other people, was savagely killed fifty years ago today by the Manson Family.
I read this moving letter, with a moving conclusion, on a FB post for Valentine’s Day. It is taken from the Imperial War Museum.
A letter from the trenches. 1917
Private Albert Ford wrote to his wife, Edith, on a scrap piece of paper before going ‘over the top’.
“My darling if this should ever reach you it will be a sure sign that I am gone under and what will become of you and the chicks I do not know but there is one above that will see to you and not let you starve,” he wrote.
“You have been the best of wives and I loved you deeply, how much you will never know.
“Dear heart, do think sometimes of me in the future when your grief has worn a bit, and the older children, I know won’t forget me, and speak sometimes of me to the younger ones…
“Dearest, if the chance should come your way for you are young and good looking and should a good man give you an offer it would please me to think you would take it, not to grieve too much for me…
“I should not have left you thus bringing suffering and poverty on a loving wife and children for which in time I hope you will forgive me.
“So dear heart I will bid you all farewell hoping to meet you in the time to come if there is a hereafter. Know that my last thoughts were of you in the dugout or on the fire step my thoughts went out to you, the only one I ever loved, the one that made a man of me.”
Albert was killed in action on 26 October 1917. His last letter was treasured by Edith until her death. She never remarried and as she lay dying in February 1956 she said she could see Albert in the corner of her bedroom.
From my poetry blog
I can’t believe it’s a year since I posted about the sudden death of Dolores O’Riordan, lead singer of the Cranberries. This first anniversary was marked today by the release of the song All Over Now, which comes from the album In The End, an album for which Dolores had recorded final demo-stage vocals for. The three surviving band members honoured Dolores with the finishing of the album, confirming it will be the group’s final one.
Another honouring was this video that I found online. Dolores was from Limerick, in Ireland, and Limerick artists of every genre came together to record a version of the Cranberries song When You’re Gone. It’s a diverse and moving tribute from her fellow hometown musicians.
The sofa features in the video as a reference to one that appeared on several Cranberries’ album covers.
I decided to also include the original Cranberries video at the bottom of the post, the initial inspiration. It was played at the end of the singer’s funeral last year.