Grow old my friend and know it may be graceful and it may not.
Grow old my friend and cherish change and together we will embrace our ever involving selves.
Grow old my friend, for my friends who do not, are the ones I mourn.
Grow old my friend and our wisdom will entwine and together we will stand strong.
Grow old my friend with the knowledge that every new day is a another day of love.

Never stop growing

old(er)

skb ’25

…and sometimes life’s not perfect 

…and sometimes it hurts a little more than we’d like to admit

But then again, sometimes you’re sat and realise that, all night a friend of old, has held your hand. 

And neither of you know if you held theirs or they held yours..

But you know you are loved…

skb ‘25

When your jealous of the cormorant
You see surfacing today
Fish in mouth
Nobody about.

Knowing she’s been underneath
Where the quiet isn’t eerie
Where the noise is muffled out
It comforts, it is peace.

Where the freedom lets you glide and the pressure holds you tight
weightless, timeless, other worldliness
and magically it floats you to the surface when your finally out of breath.

There sitting, bobbing, on inky black waters

Like liquid mercury, reflective

Running deep.

skb Bristol ’25

*The modern element symbol for mercury is Hg, hydrargyrum. Hydrargyrum comes from Greek words for “water-silver” (hydr- means water, argyros means silver).

To sit by sea and ponder
To hear the lapping waves
To see the water washing
All the dirt and frets away.

Calming are the ripples but equal darkness beckons…

Do we follow intrigue
Slipping easy in.
Or fight the calling instinct
Turn back to sandy shore

SKB Plymouth ’25

Giving
Attentive
Valued
Instinctive
Noble
Stunning
Treasured
Respected
Immeasurable
Dearest
Esteemed

Kayaking, saw a kingfisher twice, and so blue and sparkle bright.
Saw a kestrel dancing on the airwaves but silent as night.
Saw a dead rat, wet, upside down, his reputation gone before him, drown…
…he also stank,
I poked him with my oar, not to check just to inspect.
Curious girl went kayaking cause she likes the outdoors.
SKB – canal kayak Oct 24

I close my eyes
and spin 3 times.
Say a nursery rhyme
and cross a stitch
In time
and hope and this time pray
(to a god I know I dislike, but I’m willing to try)
When I open my eyes
You will open yours.

So I can fit my hand in yours and feel that squeeze so tight
with your farm fingers crooked and skin weather beaten, by all weather types.
Feel the warmth of that Yorkshire heart, so knackered yet, still hanging in.

May than stubbornness you gave to us all, this time, do you some good
and bring back my dad, to the land of the living,
Please
Just see him through tonight,

Please like I’ve never said Please before.
Love you
Lollypop.

Sometimes the worlds so beautiful and my heart opens so wide I don’t know what to do with the void left inside.

As the sun rises, bright, never before have I fallen so in love with the pink light that pours in, pure.

As we question is anything pure anymore?

skb

“Brooms should never be stood on the bristles, as in time this will result in the bristles getting crushed.If this has happened, they may be restored …The other day I saw someone in a shop attempting to herd some litter using a broom with completely flat bristles. There is a simple pleasure in the process of restoration. It is like turning back time. Steaming over a kettle needs precaution and care but can remove the need to replace ….”

Restoring a Crushed Broom:

Made up of a series of fibres, some physical other in our consciousness, woven together.

We start empty and clean, smooth, and strong ready to receive, to work and play, support and absorb, forming and transforming as we go. Held in our hands and at the hands of others we are used and sometimes abused, as we swirl and sweep our way through life picking up the fluff and stuff of everydayness. The extraordinary of the exceptional we find makes for the remarkable which can take its toll, and with that we need to lean on the incredible.

In times of quiet. A peace with an unknown. A corner in the sunlight, still. Silent we rest. Left.

Bristles bright, becoming brittle. Accidentally lent on, abandoned, only to be found when times are tough. When life’s not so pretty or clean, when the dirt is dark and deep. We hit the floor hard but maybe without care. Too much pressure unable to gather, the gaps appear missing the dust when we hurry past too fast to see the destruction. The frustration that the ability to stand alone has gone. Overused and upended, the realisation that the fibres which made us stand tall are unwoven and weak, the fluff of yesterday stuck, not shaken off. Fragile, damaged, we despair.

We crave repair and the stubbornness finds a spark which will ignite and start the burn, which in turn, sets fire to the frustration. Transforming all that weighs us down into steam, rising it cleans. Carrying away the grot and unwantedness up though our consciousness, stripping back all the excesses, leaving only the pure so that we can restore.

Regenerating so that we can resume, not new but used. Stronger with knowledge of what fuels us, the joys which lift us, the souls and hearts which fill us with love and lightness, that opens our eyes and make us sparkles so bright, so alive.

We find the extraordinary of the exceptional has made us remarkable and we are incredible.

Our Space

Each piano key struck
turned a key in my heart.
Opening a space
where our synchronised breath
had room to combust.
Exploding
Reforming
Coexisting
Making memories to fill a void left
as you inhaled and caught back your breath.
Refreshed

sKB 9/22

Memories make my stomach dive deep, as I drive through the Leeds city centre side streets.

My stomach dives deep as I drive through the streets
Looking at buildings with histories long.
Grey pavements, grey skies
Red bricks and wall tiles.
Back-to-back terraces, regimented, stand straight
with rooms stacked up steep, to the heavens they reach.
Wrought iron gates, half never locked
Let out the grumble of stories from generations now lost.

Walking up side streets, flagstones my grandmother tread.
Above strung on pulleys, washing lines hang, drying the whites, across streets blowing bright.
Smells of teatime drift from doors left ajar, whilst kids play out endlessly with knees grazed and scarred.

Lasses in slippers, boast housecoats and pinnys, lay elbows on low walls and yak idle chat, echoes of truths mixed up in the gas.

With new generations take the blame, but really no difference from some older claims, swap woodbines for spliffs, it’s somehow the same.

Sneaking out nightly and up to no good. Hitching rides with the milk float which rattles on past. Morning has broken the dawn didn’t last.
Slip though the sash windows, avoiding floorboards that squeak, not waking up Father as he’s fast asleep.

My red brick Leeds throws back memories deep
My red brick Leeds in tradition it’s steeped
My red bricks walls throwback warmth from the sun
My red brick Leeds shared with generations yet to come.

SKB

Like black paper stars

Invisible

Till they float too near the sun

SKB

And with gracious wise words of wisdom that were easy to take, we talked.
She gave me time to breathe, to cry, to share.
Calming me. Holding me. Listen. Listening.
Vulnerability is not weakness. A reminder that the strength buried inside will shine again, and just because you don’t see your own does not mean it does not exist.
A jump of faith to trust again and with a knowing glance, a hand held tight, and a shy smile,
It was the right thing to do, and I, thank you.

SKB

My soul was on an all time low.

The earth didn’t even want to warm. May came but the sun refused to shine.

The green was reluctant and came only cause it had no choice,

and even then it didn’t shine against the grey.

SKB

Trust. 
When we have doubts, trust.
Trust what we have been told
Trust what we, in our depths know to be true.
Trust the people that have made us feel good
The people that have helped, that stood by. They will again. 
Thrust the people that they are friends with too.
Friends are friends with friendly people. 
They will like you too
When we doubt. Stop. And trust that tomorrow will come. The breath will keep coming and already the sun is shining. 

SKB

When you think you are being weak.

Others see you at your strongest.

You just have to believe.

If you are struggling to breathe. Relax. Inhale hard the ex will follow. The breath will come back.

The body, your body, is a pretty amazing like that.

Sleep, rest and trust your body to keep going till the next, the day after and the one after that, it will. It has your back more than you think.

YOU are STRONG, Just BELIEVE.

SKB

Being held so tightly. The simple act of holding another human so close, to feel their body next to yours. To feel warmth in your bones. When the whole world stands still. When you let go and nothing or no one can harm you. When everything can fall apart around you, yet in that embrace you feel safe. To take away hurt and replace with love. Love of the most innocent pure kind, a love that only be felt when a true connection is made. A hug.

From your arms wrapped around me on a chilly summer evening in a field up North, mopping up my tears, me trying to understand the world.

Being held tight in a class room, listening, not knowing how to express how empty I felt, but being taught how to talk, to open, to let the barriers down.

Laying with you on a soft sofa, feeling wanted and loved for the first time. Learning the meaning of home.

The placing of your hands on my spine, knowingly, in the library. Calming me. Giving me the strength.

In the snug, my head on your chest falling asleep in your arms, a growing understanding of what bond a mother and daughter could have.

Holding me so tight I can hardly breathe, on a underground platform or in a pub, a cafe, park, or just in the street. Taking away all my anger and replacing it with love. The feel of your strong arms. My world falling apart but knowing I will, always, be forever safe with you.

Walking in the sunny streets under your shoulder, hand and fingers grip my shoulder, my arm wrapped round your waist. Feeling the sense of loss and confusion being replaced with reassurance and love.

Sat head resting on head as my tears so gently fall, as you don’t judge, just sit in a calming silence, together as one for a moment of stillness in busy parks and streets.

When I am in your arms

I am safe.

I feel loved.

I remember each and everyone one of these moments.

Many people have, and still, hold me tight. I hope you know you will never be forgotten. That I carry your love and kindness, knowledge and wisdom with me every day. You all have, and continue to, shape my life in good and positive ways.

SKB