Siren Whispers

Siren Song




Like a wave born of a swell

another year is upon us, racing

to the shore

pulling the remnants of the previous year

away to memory

we bid farewell to the old year

a time of growth


joy and loss

a new year beckons

with the promise a new day brings

tides turning

presenting new opportunities

possibilities to grasp 

with both hands

before they slip away

with the tides…


Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Watercolour art by Lia Melia

*May I extend my best wishes for a happy and healthy 2019 to all of you who find the time to read my words, who are generous with support and comments, who I am privileged to call friends. Happy New Year!


News from the front

December 29, 2018

I am thrilled to share that two of my poems, Cerulean Dreams and Tremulous, have been published in the sixth issue of Voice of Eve, an online magazine featuring women writers.

I hope you enjoy!


October 24, 2014

My work can be found within the following publications by Fray’d Tag Publishing under the nom de plume, Sweet Christine. 

Available through

FullSizeRender2The Wood Knots, A Poetry Collection; Published July 2014

FullSizeRenderThe Best of Poetry Project 2014; Published March 2015


My words can also be found on Instagram. Link here. 

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my own design

footing lost

fog descends

repetitive motion

every thought


drawn, drowning

sounds of demise

fill my ears

pulled into smothering darkness

unfortunate fantasies

reality compromised

this wake

of dandelion dreams


Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Photograph taken from Pinterest, unsourced.




The way she falls

She was a discovery waiting to happen

The moment he saw her he knew

Evocative of the unexpected scene you come upon

As you wander an unknown path

The eyes widening just a bit

The smile flirting at the edges of your mouth

Something to enrich your senses

To take your breath

And oh how he wanted to get lost

Lost in the way she falls

And in the way he catches her


Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Photograph taken by SirenSong1208


Every smile

I sat upon the sand

watching as he played amid the waves,

catching each swell as I’d taught him.

With every rise and fall,

and every smile and laugh,

I could see the past years

and the pain and stress he endured

melt away

and for those few carefree moments

he was a kid again,

one who had no worries in front of him

except for whether he might swallow too much

of the sea…


Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Photograph taken by SirenSong1208



Photographs tell stories, at least to me they do. They have always been the way I’ve captured memories to revisit at a later time, to share with those who’ve been absent. They have told the stories of what I have loved and who I have loved.

I’ve been photographing everything around me from a young age. When I had children, this increased exponentially, suddenly the camera was always in use as I captured every moment, every first.

But what do you do when you must put those photographs away, pretend like they don’t exist? How do you bury reminders of a past, of memories that are still ripe and sweet, years later? How do you do this when keeping them out are constant reminders to someone of a past they want to forget? Of a person they no longer are, outwardly? How do you expunge those years, and should you?

Some things can’t be forgotten.

I wrestle with this. On the one hand I want to be sensitive, these photographs remind them of who they no longer are, but on the other hand these same photographs remind me of a happier time, when the future was bright and hopeful. They are not only a tangible reminder of the past but they are a part of me. I am the photographer. I am the mother. In this case, I am the creator of both art and life.

I’ve tried my best as a mother: to provide understanding and support, to teach them the skills necessary to navigate life, and to be more resilient, but above all I have tried to show them how loved they are. Unconditionally.

Sometimes this falls short, no matter my motivation, no matter my actions.

As a parent you put your child’s needs ahead of your own, but sometimes your needs and theirs are at war. As it is for me now. I have robust memories, with many of them being photographic, and now I must put those away and with them a part of myself. At times it feels like one more piece of me is being buried and I cannot breathe. I am banging my fists against the lid but no one hears my cries.

The photographs are the latest in a line of things that I have had to turn my back on. I am not prone to pity parties but I grieve, oh do I grieve.

Some might think this is selfish, to feel this way about photographs, but it is really about more than captured images. It’s about forgetting 15 years of a life. It’s about surreptitiously reliving them. It is what I struggle with. It’s not that I am not thankful for what I have, but it is a loss and as such it behaves like the tides, ebbing and flowing, but never ceasing.

The changes wrought are incalculable. I grieve for the past and for the future. There will be things I will never experience and things I experience but in a way that is more challenging and isolating than I ever anticipated. This truly is a matter of only understanding if you walk in my shoes.

But these are small things and, in some cases, future things.

We adjust as we go along. Tentative steps taken, often with a heart that aches with loss but also one that feels a modicum of joy as things align. It is the past that is rearing its ugly head. As we go forward into this new life I am no longer allowed to revel in those memories. I must be secretive about the happiness I felt because it makes someone I love uncomfortable.

It’s the latest of cuts, and probably the deepest, and I feel as though I am bleeding out. How much can I lose and do I have the right to feel this grief when it’s not my life that will be challenging?

I don’t know the answer to that. I’m just searching for something to staunch the flow of blood.


Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Photograph taken from Tumblr, source unknown


Lies and betrayal

There’s a lot said about grace

and letting go of hurt and anger,

but they never tell you how to manage that.

One day you’re fine and the next day knocked senseless

by yet another wave you didn’t see coming.


You start to wonder if the lies told about you

by someone who should have known better,

who should have known you,

were told to another 

and now that person looks at you differently,

treats you differently.


When does this end?

When does it stop stinging?

When can you truly move on?


You know you will never get any recompense or apology,

and truth be told they probably still think they were right and justified …

but is it ever justified to speak ill of another when you can simply talk to them?


It is their own wounded pride talking,

you were just the fall guy for people who wouldn’t be straight with you.

You tell yourself you are letting it go,

you’ve chosen not to pursue it or make your feelings known,

it’s water under the bridge.

Only it’s not. 

Because suddenly the current picks up and washes that fragile structure away,

and you are reminded of all you tried to forget.

Your attempt at grace feels flat

and the flavor left behind is not one you want to taste again.


Yet you do,

because the repercussions of this act reverberate

and it becomes a wound that never quite heals.

The place they held in your heart becomes a mess of scar tissue you run your fingers over, reminding you to caution yourself,

because when push comes to shove


with some people


you think you have a place by their side

but you’re about to be thrust off a cliff.


Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Photograph taken by SirenSong1208