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Posts Tagged ‘death’

 

#TheMidnightCaller

Death comes calling

 

The Midnight Caller

∼ 

Twas death himself I’m sure

Waiting silently outside my door

Though no door I’ve ever seen

Could keep him away once lured.

∼ 

He held out his hand

Pale and slim

Yet warm and strong

Inviting

“Take my hand and walk with me

You know that’s what you want it to be

No more pain and strife

No hurt or tears

Not even one more for this sharp life”.

∼ 

But as ever before my answer came

To these beguiling words from Death

“Even for the heartsore

I cannot follow you yet.

My time is not right now

There are others her in this life

Who still need me on this side

They may not know just why or how

But deep inside I know this.

I cannot leave this life

Nor desert them in this way”.

∼ 

This life is heavy

My heart bowed down

No answers can be found

In despair I stand and pray for answers

My belief: that they can be found

∼ 

I sensed a smile play around his mouth

A sparkle in dark eyes

“I see you have not yet given up the fight

So, one more I must bid you, Goodnight

Remember though, I am always here

Waiting for your call

When midnight chimes awaken you

Remember, I wait for you too.”

Blessings, Susan ♥

© Susan Jamieson, 2014

 ∼

Image courtesy: michellemonique-deviantart-com

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#TheRevenge

                                                                                 

She found them lying broken

Beyond the smoking remains

Broken by deaths embrace

Father, brother, their killers to trace

Mother to save, offering solace

She buried them swiftly

A cairn a small solace.

From the ashes dipped

Fingers to face

She painted dark lace

From when came the knowing

She knew not nor cared

Yet deep in her heart

Knowledge set

Her feet on the path

To follow.

Through forest unknown

She followed their trail

Twig, leaf, hoof print

Never to fail

Finally a light

Shinning fitfully in the night.

 ≈

A veil came down

Clouding her mind

Narrowing her senses anew

Wood smoke and whiskey

Blood and…..more.

Tied to a tree she found her

Broken and abused

Her knife severed her bonds

A cloak to cover her pain

Slipping away

Foes to be slain.

The curtain fell once more

Blood haze before her eyes

Softly through the trees she melted

In silence Death moved unseen

No sound from her passing

Claiming due vengeance

One by one

Til there were none.

Back to the only home they knew

To build a life anew

Time for wounds to heal

Memories to seal

Vengeance claimed, no appeal.

In this time

We may never see it

Never have to believe it

Not for us to keep score

No evil goes unnoticed

No evil goes unpunished

Not for you, nor I to judge.

                                                                                  ≈

 

Blessings, Susan ♥

© Susan Jamieson, 2014

© Executive Sorceress, 2014

 

 

Image courtesy of:driftingdruid.tumblr.com

 

 

 

 

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#IWon'tDoThat

image from unikorna.blogspot.com

The days of magic and sorcery seem long past. There seems little evidence of Wizards or Witches, Sorcerers or Sorceresses, Elves and Gnomes, Fairies, Sprites and Sylphs. Yet underneath all the trappings of our great modern world there lies hidden the old beliefs that all these still exist. We simply need to learn to look quickly out of the corner of our eyes and we can see them still.

But that is another tale for another time. Tonight, the hour is late and music seems to soothe the savage beast.

So I thought of something that captured that imagination of the savage beast, the magic and lust for life and found a song to do all that. It’s an oldie but still good. Who could forget Meatloaf’s rendition of “I’d do Anything for Love”?

Inspired by The Phantom of the Opera he captured the essence of the tormented magician/sorcerer in love with the beautiful woman. Love conquers all – as it should. I hope you enjoy it.

 

 

 

Blessings and a happy weekend, Susan ♥

© Susan Jamieson 2014

 

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#What's the Safety Word?

Image from footage.shutterstock.com –

“It is an absolute human certainty that no one can know his own beauty or perceive a sense of his own worth until it has been reflected back to him in the mirror of another loving, caring human being.”
John Joseph Powell, The Secret of Staying in Love

Everyone has heard about the ‘safety word’. The safety word is the serious-I-mean-it-now time-to-stop word. The word the ‘client’ arranges when he visits his S&M bondage person so he doesn’t accidentally get himself killed during the ‘play’.

What I wonder, is the safety word when you’ve had enough of the ‘merry go round’? I’m referring to that time when you feel you literally cannot face another minute of the hurt, the pain, the torment, the abuse, the depression, the………. (just fill in the blank).

It almost sounds like the beginning to a play or a movie script. The notes followed by the story board before shooting begins. Except it isn’t part of a fictitious film, instead it’s a serious and real part of life. Not the calculated gambles people want to take with their fetishes or fantasies. If something goes wrong there then you almost have to say – ‘they knew what they were getting themselves into.’ But what happens when life pushes you too far?

Talking to people is easy. For some reason I’ve been fortunate that people find it easy to talk to me. I’ve been told many things. I’ve been blessed by sharing the good news of a daughter’s engagement, a son’s engagement, marriages, the unhappier news of divorces, accidents, windfalls and tragedies. It may sound strange to include windfalls as part of the unhappier news, but for many people it hasn’t brought them the happiness they hoped for. Sometimes yes, but many times they have found themselves in a much worse place than they were before their good fortune.

Sometimes there simply are no words to express how you feel. Sometimes you need to rely on a hug or holding someone’s hand and send them strength because there is nothing you can say or do to change things. Having to tell someone their child, husband or wife is dead is one of those times. Words just aren’t made to let people understand you feel their pain.

I had many talks with ‘Sharon’, a lovely lady who was always putting herself down. She simply couldn’t believe she was good at anything she did or that she was wanted or needed by anyone. Despite having a good job she was convinced she was stupid, since her husband continually told her she was. Even though she had two children she couldn’t persuade herself that there was any purpose to her being there. She convinced herself that they would be better off if she was no longer around.

Sharon took a bottle of pills and curled up waiting for the end to steal quietly over her. Her husband came home early and she was rushed to hospital. Unfortunately she didn’t get the help she needed and her unhappiness and feelings of low self-worth grew. Her husband helped her with that part. When she finally left him he embarked on a calculated plan to undermine her self-confidence and she found herself spiraling further down that dark hole.

She moved and I lost track of the family for a while. In trying to out run the influence of her ex-husband she isolated herself from everyone who knew her. She avoided anyone he knew and anywhere he was likely to go. There was nowhere for her to turn to. Her children moved out, as they do when they finally grow their wings and she fell into a deep depression. Depressed or not she still managed to work.

I met her again a short time ago. She often spoke to me of her struggle with ‘The Black Dog’, but being alone it was too difficult for her. She began trying to out run her problems. She would drive day and night when she was not working until she finally fell into a stupor to get some rest. But you can’t roll those dice for long before the stakes get too high. It’s almost like putting your hand in a basket of snakes and expecting not to get bitten.

Sharon told me she didn’t want to leave her children without some kind of support. She didn’t want them to be dependent on their father to “look after them”. Years later he still influenced how she thought and she didn’t trust him to do the right thing by his children. So her game of Russian roulette on the roads didn’t seem to make much sense on one hand, but knowing how her ex-husband had eroded her self-worth, it did.

It felt as though she was holding on by some tenuous thread and at times I wasn’t sure she really heard me. She did see a doctor and get medication, but it was going to be a long haul back.

Sharon died in a pile up on the motorway. She was on her way home from her mother’s funeral. A drunk driver had lost control and ploughed into the oncoming traffic. Her car was hit head on.

What was Sharon’s safety word?  I can’t help but wonder if she had a safety word.  Who could she have called out to, so that she could stop the merry go round? If she had a safety word when should she have used it?

Tell me, do you have a safety word?

#What's the Safety Word

image from s279.photobucket.com

Blessings, Susan x

© Susan Jamieson 2014

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Swirling tendrils of forgotten shadow

Creep slowly across yonder moor

Twirling columns of silent clammy mist

Writhe upwards across the tor

Between yon monument from aeons past

And the craggy gnarled trees death had left

Strange echoes keen from long ago

And follow along in the wake of the silent shade

Slowly she glides across the land

Where no human foot could stand

Nor the sound of a footfall can be heard

Gossamer threads of moonlight

Break softly round her form

Where she comes from none can guess

Drawn like a magnet  lightning struck

Towards a life long ago lost

From afar is heard a mournful sigh

Seemingly called from on high

Perhaps the dead atop the tor

Are calling her nigh

This eerie sound made by no bird

No animal I have known

Could make that mournful keening sound

That crossed the mist filled moor

Alone the lady wandered thus

Searching for…..

Some peace of mind or soul

Or the arms of a long-lost love

For surely no man will ever know.

image from flickriver.com

Who can tell the strength of ties that bind the heart?

© Susan Jamieson 2013

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Titanic started a voyage through history when it sailed away. One century later, there is still no port at sight.”    ― Marina Tavares Dias

The RMS Titanic sailed on her maiden voyage on April 10 1912 and sank on April 15th at approximately 2.20am. There were boats for only one-third of the persons aboard. Ships sent to collect those who didn’t make it to a lifeboat or safety were overwhelmed by the number they found and unable to embalm them left them to their watery grave, choosing to bring back the wealthy who had more chance of being identified. It was an unimaginable tragedy.

Last night I had a vivid dream and this morning woke and wrote this. This is for all those who lived and died on Titanics’ unsinkable maiden voyage.

I believe I dreamed a dream

Tho it was so real.

I saw myself standing there

Dressed in a gown so fine

With diamonds twinkling in the light

Both at my throat and in my hair

So beautiful, so pure.

From high above the others

I looked down upon them, watching unseen

And saw a scene from hell

An unimagined watery hell of sheer horror.

I saw a group of hard-working men

Their shirtsleeves rolled tight around their arms

Their trousers dark and baggy held up by heavy braces

All kneeling round a stairwell.

I heard a voice from far away

“Time to get you outta there lad”.

Under the icy water, murky and dense

I saw a body floating there

Searching for anyone still trapped in that watery hell

His hair so fine looked like a halo softly shining

From that dim light glowing far above.

A hand, callused and strong reached into that icy grave

Reached down and took hold of those braces

And with a strength borne of desperation hauled him from his death.

I knew him well tho I know not how

All I could do was stand and watch

Then stand and watch the scene repeated again

Unable to come any closer nor say a word.

Who was that man? Who was he?

And who was I standing there, a silent witness?

Whoever you are I know you well

And in my heart I know you both do dwell

Not far apart as you were then

But together, forever, in loves sweet embrace

Beneath the icy water of your tomb.

image from the-void.co.uk

I have no proof if my dream was about the Titanic. As I lay in bed and these words poured onto the page I felt in my heart that I was right.  It is indeed strange that such a dream, so vivid, should come within weeks of the anniversary of her sinking. Rational thought, at times, needs to take a back seat to the truth that you feel inside.

Perhaps it could have been avoided if the radio operator on the Carpathia had not remained in bed and received the CQD call (the early SOS). We shall never know.

The final words belong to those who put the tragedy into its own perspective.

“The greatest source of pathos in the Titanic tragedy was its eminent avoidability.”

“If she had only proceeded more slowly.”

“If she had only taken the Southerly route, avoiding the icebergs.”

“If only the watch had had a pair of binoculars (Clinch Valley News, Tazewell, VA, April 26, 1912).”

“If only the order to abandon ship had come more quickly.”

“If only the Californian had not ignored her distress calls and flares.” … from an article by The Library of Virginia on the centenary of her sinking.

Blessings and love for all lives lost.

Susan xx

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bureau with drawers open

image courtesy of dollshousespastandpresent.com

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“When they talk of ghosts of the dead who wander in the night with things still undone in life, they approximate my subjective experience of this life.
Jack Henry Abbott

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As strange as it may sound, the first physical evidence of my other worldly visitor came one sunny day when I was at home alone.  I was studying for exams and it was very quiet – without my brothers around! I was sitting in the lounge, surrounded by my books when I thought I heard a noise upstairs. At first I put it down to the neighbour moving things around, but a check revealed the neighbours were out.  Ten minutes later there was another sound, louder and longer, the sound of furniture being pushed across the floor, coming from my parent bedroom.  You simply cannot mistake the sound of a heavy bureau being pushed across the floor.

.

I stopped, listened intently and was about to begin studying again when I heard one of the drawers being opened. This particular bureau was quite old and the drawers had swollen,whch meant they squealed loudly when they were opened and closed. This had now become something I was feeling decidedly ‘not amused’ about. Not only were strange and unexplainable noises coming from directly overhead but there was no-one within cooee who was at home or expected home any time soon.  Then there was a flurry of drawers opening and closing in rapid succession!

.

Books closed and held tightly I sat there staring towards the ceiling. I have no idea what I was expecting to see, thankfully nothing.  Quiet ensued. I was just beginning to persuade myself that I had imagined the entire episode when the cutlery in the kitchen bureau, directly behind me suddenly rattled as though someone was rifling through them. OH NO!   I was not impressed. I couldn’t decide if I was outflanked or trapped.  The only way out was through the kitchen, right where the kitchen bureau was. This was developing into a Laurel and Hardy comedy, only I wasn’t laughing.  Over heated imagination? No-one would ever convince me of that.

someone getting a fright

image courtesy of jigsawslair.blogspot.com

.

Heartbeat returning to near normal and determined to remain inside to continue studying, I had just laid out my books again when I heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps, footsteps laboriously coming down the stairs from our bedrooms. My eyes glued to the door into the lounge as I grabbed my books as quietly as I could. Why? I have no idea, my visitor knew I was there so who was I kidding?  The footsteps continued slowly as I counted the steps down.  At the bottom there was a pause. As the door suddenly creaked open I was rushing madly for the kitchen door. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the garden studying, alternately watching the upstairs windows and the kitchen door.  Whilst I saw him in my brothers window looking out I thankfully didn’t hear any further noises downstairs or near the door.

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That was my one and only scary episode. I still saw him in my parents room and the cold became even more intense from there. So much so that my mother remarked on it. They never mentioned the bureau being moved so I cannot explain it, except to say that’s exactly what it sounded like and the picture in my head bore that out.  I felt his cold ethereal presence in my room on occasion when I couldn’t sleep, or if I suddenly woke, and at those times I feigned sleep.  He didn’t make me feel comfortable enough to let him know I was awake.  It was the same feeling I got when I was walking around Port Arthur many years later, where I know unimaginable horrors occurred.

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The epitaph to the story. I learned that the previous owner had been left by his family and he had become terminally ill. He had committed suicide in my parents bedroom.  Apparently the house had remained empty for a long time, several people had bought it but hadn’t stayed long before reselling it.  The rest of my family didn’t feel or sense the unhappy fellow, although Mum made some unusual comments many years later about feeling uncomfortable in her room at night, on occasions, and how cold the room became.   If I had known then what I know now it may have been a different story.  As trite as it sounds I know I was fortunate not to ‘come face to face’ with my spirit at that time. He was upset and angry and I was ill prepared to handle that.

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Perhaps I made a small difference though. I heard from the new owners several years later that they were extremely happy in the house and there were no unusual happenings any longer.  ( A small town and everyone knows the history of  what had happened there). That being so I’m grateful I may have been of some small help to him. I know I prayed for him many times.  Perhaps that was why he was drawn to me.  I’ll never really know. It was an interesting time, exciting, a little frightening and  very enlightening.  If it happened again I would know how to handle the situation instead I made it into a comedy of errors which amused my family for a long time.

Patrick Swazye Ghost
image courtesy of  justpressplay.net

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One of my favourite films which shows Patrick Swayze about to go into the light after he had finished protecting his wife. Beautiful!

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