This week my dad went into hospital once again. He was diagnosed with congestive heart failure in February 2010. Heart failure. Where that organ so attributed to romantic “whimsy” cannot cope with pumping the blood around the body as the vessels are weakened. My dad has been smoking for about half a century which has probably been the major contributor. On Wednesday he had a pacemaker put in – thank you National Health Service – and boasts about being “semi-bionic”. My dad has arrhythmia – where the regular dance of the heart is irregular leading to dizziness, the need for a rainbow’s worth of colourful pills. The pacemaker that he had put in on Wednesday means that this cocktail of drugs can be slimmed down, and that the device will “nudge” his heart into a more regular beat. He’s OK which is the important thing. For now.

This week, then, has been a bit of a write-off in terms of work; worry has lead to writer’s block. As an academic-in-training, there are large amounts of words to compose, papers to sculpt and script, a short film to edit. All are put to one side as the parent pops into the head…

So, not brilliant but that’s what urban nature is for – to help stomp out your feelings, to breathe the wind that slips through willow and silver birch. To walk off that grief. To share your tears with spring budding trees and the kingfisher that skims over a trolley dumped in the Mersey.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

A brief wander along a different route, followed by a coffee and writing session at Rhode Island Coffee. Forced to pick up a pencil and notebook in mental payment for this caffeinated treat. Using the prompt from NaPoWriMo day 16, this is a poem written in the form of a terzanelle – I’ve not written in this form before, it’s rather lovely to work with. (The poem isn’t one of my favourites that I’ve written, but hey, it’s an exercise!)

Insomniac Hours

Some things are better off said unsaid.
(I wish that I’d told you how much I loved you.)
Some things are better off left unsaid

or left in the head. I’m buried deep in blue,
there are oceans more shallow than this regret.
I wish that I’d told you how much I loved you.

Insomniac hours, eyes dried with sleep debt,
I lie on my back count the cars that drive past.
(There are oceans more shallow than this regret.)

Sleepless for decades? I wonder how long this will last.
The ceiling flickers with bright, coloured light,
I lie on my back count the cars that drive past.

The colours blend into a brilliant white,
I count the times that I’ve been tongue-tied.
The ceiling flickers with bright, coloured light.

I wish that I’d done more, I wish that I’d tried –
some things are better off left unsaid –
I count the times that I’ve been tongue-tied.
Some things are better off left unsaid.