Siren Whispers

Siren Song


6 Comments

Photographs

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


4 Comments

Museum of my heart

img_1974

The museum of my heart is full of rooms

that describe me

but do not define me.

Walls painted with joy and pain.

Hung with the memories

of family and friends and lovers.

Floors set with mistakes and successes

Ceilings lit with laughter and love.

This museum of my heart is not a place of glass cases,

where you look but do not touch.

It is a place of discovery,

where every corner is interactive

and rooms are added

continuously.

A growing archive

to how deeply I live

and to how profoundly I love.

:

Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Photograph taken from Tumblr, unsourced


4 Comments

New ones

IMG_9045IMG_9038IMG_9039IMG_9485IMG_5847IMG_9042IMG_9043IMG_9334

They will go without me, to this place I grew to love. Rugged and wild, it spoke to my deep-seated need to be by the sea; to feel her power and her fury, watching her in awe from a distance.

My children will hike to the top of Bray Head and sit and marvel at the Irish Sea, knowing I am across the water looking back at them from my own perch. But I will miss that hike, through the woods, cool and dark but dappled with occasional sunlight. Eventually we’d make our way out into the open, looking down at the town and looking up to see the cross at the very top of the mountain. A place of pilgrimage.

These memories are vivid, stacked upon each other from each year we created them. A tradition. Each visit different and yet the same. The path was well-worn and my feet knew every inch of it. I never looked down to see where I was going, my eyes were far too busy looking around me to see if anything had changed; drinking in the view as if it were the last time. Two years ago it was. I knew it then and every moment was bittersweet. I devoured those days and I hold them close now. I might return, but not in the same way. This year I will not sit high atop that mountain with the sea hundreds of feet below me. Draped in blessed silence and reverence. White tipped waves rushing over the blue green like horses. I will not take the path along the cliff walk to Greystones, my heart swelling with every step as I am bracketed by the sea to my left and verdant hills alive with gorse on my right.

I will not make those memories this year. I will make new ones. My own.

:

Copyright © SirenSong1208

All rights reserved

 Photographs taken by SirenSong1208

 

 


3 Comments

Come closer

aFullSizeRender

Click here for audio

Come closer

Find me

Light having been leavened

Where darkness had abruptly fallen

A path cleared

On two fronts

.

Come closer

Find me

Upon the path this maze of words you’ve created

Has left me

Adorned with memories

Dressed with your signature

Formed with touchstones

You know I will recognise

.

Come closer

Find me

See my words

Hear my voice

Come closer

And touch me

In all the ways

That we know

That we’ve shared

That we adore

:

Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Photograph taken from Pinterest, original provenance unknown.


4 Comments

Sentimental stirrings

Waylaid by sentimental stirrings

as unintentional memories

are found folded in my pocket.

The faint scent of those yesterdays

clinging to the paper,

the creases telling a tale of yearning

and regard,

when words were the currency

of our affections

and the way we held each other close

through the night.

:

Copyright © SirenSong1208

All rights reserved

Photograph taken by SirenSong1208


4 Comments

Words become gravestones

IMG_2127

Words become gravestones

To memories

A cemetery never visited

The flowers wilted upon the grave

Of forgotten love

Silence

A grey mist that saturates

Emotions sealed up

In a casket

Lined with what could have been’s

As muffled lamentations

Fill the air

:

©SirenSong1208 – 2017

Photograph by SirenSong1208


3 Comments

Come closer

aFullSizeRender

Come closer

Find me

Light having been leavened

Where darkness had abruptly fallen

A path cleared

On two fronts

.

Come closer

Find me

Upon the path this maze of words you’ve created

Has left me

Adorned with memories

Dressed with your signature

Formed with touchstones

You know I will recognise

.

Come closer

Find me

See my words

Hear my voice

Come closer

And touch me

In all the ways

That we know

That we’ve shared

That we adore

:

©SirenSong1208

Photograph taken from the internet, original provenance unknown.