SPRING BUDS ARE HERE
Simple
Pleasures
Returning
Instinctively -
Nature’s
Guest
Bursting
Unashamed;
Dazzling
Splendour,
Arousing,
Renewing,
Energising.
Hope
Exhales;
Relief
Emanates.
Rachel McCoubrie 26.2.21
On Valentine' weekend, my husband challenged me to write a poem to accompany this MR image of a prostate with an heart shaped enlarged median lobe. Who says romance is dead?!
Well hello MR Prostate,
With your swollen median lobe,
Hormonal heart now on display
(Unseen by ultrasound probe).
Your love is overflowing;
A testosterone cascade.
The only way to stop it
Would be androgen blockade.
Meanwhile just lie there prostrate
Above the pelvic floor;
To me, there’s no vas deferens,
I’ve seen it all before.
Dr Rachel McCoubrie 13.2.21
At University Hospitals Bristol and Weston, our hospital charity Above and Beyond sponsor a poet in residence, Beth Calverley to work with staff and patients. We run a monthly Pause + Reflect group - an opportunity for creative writing. This month Beth gave us a writing prompt of 'Simply unfinished'. It struck me that a year into the pandemic, much of life is still on pause and many things are indeed simply unfinished. Here's my reflections:
Simply unfinished
House never thoroughly tidy
Nor garden totally trim,
Hair never carefully coiffured,
Nor waistline sufficiently slim.
To-do list gets longer and longer
Relationships struggle to grow
Children are all work in progress
Life’s journey some distance to go.
Meanwhile I’ll put on the kettle
And sit and drink tea with a friend;
Everything’s simply unfinished
Apart from this poem
The End.
Rachel McCoubrie 25.1.21
At University Hospitals Bristol and Weston, our hospital charity Above and Beyond sponsor a poet in residence, Beth Calverley to work with staff and patients. We run a monthly Pause + Reflect group - an opportunity for creative writing. This month, with a theme of light and touch, Beth gave us a prompt to write about an inanimate object seen from a different point of view. Here's mine:
Soft and fleecy, white and grey;
You wrap yourself around me,
You give comfort,
You provide warmth.
I pick you up on demand,
I toss you aside when I’m done.
I’ve never stopped to ask,
Is that okay?
Do you mind?
Rachel McCoubrie 25.1.21
I wrote this at the end of December 2020. It had been an incredibly difficult year for everyone. The pandemic had taken its toll in so many different ways for different people, and certainly working in the NHS had felt so much more stressful than usual. As Winter Solstice came and went, I read a comment on Facebook about the shortest day and that from now on, each day will be a little longer and lighter as we move towards spring. This, and the news of a vaccine for COVID being rolled out, felt like the start of something more hopeful, more positive to look forward to.
The shortest day is done.
Dawn breaks with a promise;
each day a fraction longer,
a sunbeam brighter,
a feather lighter.
From deep earthy darkness,
seeds of hope take root,
tentative shoots push
towards the surface
where light and air abound.
With a deep breath,
determined, they stand tall;
fat buds burst triumphant,
rainbows of resplendent flowers
jubilantly declare better days are on the way.
Brighter, lighter, promising hope.
Rachel McCoubrie 22.12.20
