For many years my good friends have given a Memorial Party at their lovely home –the group varies somewhat but generally has the same cast of characters. After the party I usually send them a poem as thank you note, but I chose not to last year.

  death held all our hands -softly without malice

Our voices combined to speak of life beneath the chatter of our talking

I could hear a determined mummer, a hum perhaps a hymn  perhaps a tender promise.


We were a worn and battered group/friends

Some were missing and some will not return


We gathered in the memory of

our vibrant middle age

no longer ours

We are old


 We pretend for the afternoon to be joyful

Masking our fragilities

The shadow of our mortality

Providing a cloud on a sunny afternoon

We are hiding from the reality

of our worn bodies /lined faces


Our life force draining from us

Certain/ inescapable

Quarrels, passions, ambition, anger, love…voided

More will be absent next year and next year and next year




Someone’s fond memory

Vacant Chairs