Lynne Rees

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Haiku

on September 30, 2025

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                     almost October
                     the pumpkins allowed
                      a few more days of grace

haiku october

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Poem ~ Never

Never For Mam, 1st December 1932 ~ 25th March 2021 Grief keeps changing its shape – a weight like a kilo bag of sugar compressing my lungs, sometimes a water smoothed stone that fits perfectly in the palm of my hand. Yesterday the heaviest of winter coats that refused to keep out the chill. Today, I woke and heard birdsong through the early morning mist and remembered the last words you wrote the month before you died – It’s good to be positive and looking ahead, Lynne . So here I am running the lanes looking for all the things I would have shared with you: the planting of young laurels along the hedgerow on St Vincent’s Lane, the way the moss has grown sparsely on one side of the stone bridge but thickly on the other, and how someone has laid a plank across the stream to cross from bank to bank. I think I understand now that grief remains with us. And I never had to say, Do...

Poem ~ Superposition

Superposition ‘…the quantum effect where particles exist concurrently in multiple places – has, historically speaking, only been thought to apply to tiny, subatomic particles.’ Dr Stefan Forstner, University of Queensland. If the speed of human thought is 10 bits per second then for a tenth of a second this morning I was both running alongside the A20 and at home still curled beneath the duvet, as if I was experiencing a parallel life, as if I was existing in two places at once, for a moment, the blink of an eye, a heartbeat, an instant, a jiffy, a trice. I know about the expansion of time in dreams, how hours are compressed into minutes, how our subconscious taps into a limitless store of thoughts and feelings, an infinite number of things touched, smelled, heard, spoken, or seen. But how in a waking state could I be so convinced of being concurrently here and there, both moving and still? The sky is a persistence of cloud, its low mist erasing trees,...

Poem

It takes practice to be like this self seeded sunflower - we're not all naturally equipped with an acceptance of possible failure or prepared for the possibility of standing alone. Can you say though that this wasn't worth it?

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