Bits of me

 A shareable version for those who have asked.

"BITS OF ME"

"They" separate my body from my aching, broken heart.

Dividing my complexity into manageable parts

They amputate my mind from my body and declare

That there's no obvious reason for the symptoms that I bear

They search my cells, my immune profile,

They study all my genes

They use their centrifugal force to examine and to clean

My diet gets such scrutiny, eat more! Eat less, they cry

Whilst someone else thinks differently, eat less, eat none, here's why!

More protein, but less fat, and don't forget to count the carbs

The food police are out there wearing scrubs and medical garb.

You need an audiologist, a stroke clinician too, call diabetic medicine and the asthma guys should do

A little quick assessment and 

neurology as well

If the liver docs could join us then that would just be swell.

We will divide and conquer your body bit by bit

Your mind is not important, we have to get you fit

Call in the physio team and then let's  photograph your eyes

You are on the list for counselling, 2 years wait, that's no surprise. 

Somehow in between this endless list of tests and consultations

I am a human being, a whole person with emotions.

I'm left to join the dots up when they finish their disection

Left as a single body trying to go in all directions

Trying to please them all and to tick each empty box 

Feeling that I am between a hard place and a rock.

We need holistic attitudes that see us as a whole

Not multiple demands with completely different goals.

Society will do it too

Treating us like machines

Removing human contacts

It's progress! But it seems

The opposite.

I'm tired of it, oh turn the clock back please

And try to find our way back to appreciating trees

And birdsong and all nature and step 'backwards' into peace

And wholeness and completeness, let separation cease

For we are all interconnected, but we've somehow lost our way

And we seem to get more separate and lost with each new day.

Karen Holmes

7.9.23

Christmas Keepake.

There's always that one item that's somehow left behind

When you pack away your Christmas stuff, its guaranteed you'll find

A random piece of tinsel which still sparkles bright and gold 

Or a cheeky little bauble which escaped and simply rolled

To a corner undetected, where it rested out of sight

Till you'd packed away this Christmas and put the lid on tight.

You won't find it for ages, oh you'll 'see' it several times

But it won't get your attention, to the obvious we are blind

It's the best way to be hidden

Find a place that's in plain sight

'Twill be safe for quite a while,

Gathering dust by day and night.

My mystery item found a hiding place behind a card

Then leapt out to surprise me

With triumphant disregard

For my careful tissue wrapping and bubble wrapped endeavor

There it was, just grinning widely,

Oh it thought itself so clever.

This ornamental Christmas tree

With gold, 6 pointed star

Remains unpacked, untidied in my plastic box so far, 

And I wonder, as I ponder, if a lesson lies right here 

That there's some small part of Christmas we should keep throughout the year.

Karen Holmes

5th January 2026.

Unceremonial foot washing.

Well you know you're getting older when you have to soak your toes

And the wash basin's got higher more in line now with your nose

And your bones have stiffened up, so there's just no way you can hope 

to get your feet into the sink and give them a good soak.

The water once would foam and smell

Of  scent and luscious fruits

But now quite sensibly I add

The stuff they sell in Boots

The moisturising gel that adds 

No hint of sex or lust

But it makes my toe nails softer

And at my age that's a must.

So now the bit I do not like , the cutting of my nails

My arms must have got shorter

Or my feet have moved to Wales

How did they get so far away

They mock me from a distance

And if I get within their reach they offer much resistance.

I must have rhino relatives, perhaps I'll grow a horn

I'll check my ancestry in case t'was known when I was born.

Well finally, contortions over, my task is now complete

I'm quite worn out, and all I've done

Is wash my flippin' feet!

What challenge should I line up next

Perhaps something that's fun

A hike up Everest would do or a 50 mile run!

Karen Holmes

3rd January 2026.

January musings

 I think today is Thursday,  no it can't be that's not right,

It was new years day just yesterday and I've slept for one whole night.

So today is Friday, and it's snowed or so my husband reckons

It lasted just 5 minutes, just 300 frosty seconds.

I had gone upstairs you see, to dye my faded hair

I put some red into the mix and it went everywhere. 

The water took forever to run clear once again

And when at last I came downstairs the snow had turned to rain.

By lunchtime it was sunny and the thermostat confused, so why didn't I feel  toasty warm, I took the time to muse.

This poem's lost its way a bit 

No clear theme has emerged

Just waffle really, random chat and disconnected words

But still, it's kept you entertained and made you pause and think

That life is good if you are free from hair dye in the sink!

Karen Holmes

2nd January 2026

New Year Food mishaps

 A poem.

New years eve brought waffles and beans that leapt off my plate with glee.

The air fryer had made the waffle crisp so it launched an attack on me.

It skidded across my plate and landed underneath my chair, 

I retrieved it as soon as feasible

and picked off fluff and hair.

The beans had made an awful mess, landing amongst some papers, 

I really wasn't too impressed with my food and all its capers! 

But today begins a new day, a new year beckons me. 

And so far I've only managed

to dip my finger in a cup of tea!

But worry not - I'm out for lunch

so there's still time for some fun

Perhaps a naughty piece of fish

Or a flying burger bun.

Karen Holmes

January 1st 2026

JELLEYFEST 4

 I wrote a poem about Jelleyman's Mill and jelleyfest. This is the first poem I have written in a very long time so be kind. 🙂

Summer sunshine, through the trees, Dappled water, gentle breeze,

Ladybirds and bees that linger, pausing, resting on my finger.

Plastic chairs with tales to tell,  steampunk clothes and hats as well.

Handmade crafts, soft cake with icing, wooden robots - so enticing

Cups of coffee, friendly faces, little children, open spaces.

Music, food, cocktails too, photos, daftness, memories new.

Yarn wall selfies, and yarn to buy, a whole host of good things-

A feast for the eye.

The Crafty Jelley  with treats galore, gorgeous artwork, wood - and more!

Cards and coasters, crafts to try, the river gently running by.

Jelleyfest in all its glory overlooked by the mill with many a story.

Those who once worked there, some will recall

Long ago memories in those tumbledown walls.

Jelleyman's Mill has been workplace and leisure

But for me it's brought friends, conversation and pleasure.

Thank you dear mill, long may you survive and may you grow stronger in order to thrive.

©️ Karen Holmes.

August 2025

Music Stand conundrum

 I wrote this after somebody somewhere questioned the use of music stands in church, suggesting they spoiled the atmosphere. 

Should we be using music stands or might there be a way 

That feels less conspicuous and won't get in the way

Could music be suspended from a beam high in the air

But oh what chaos might ensue if someone moved your chair.

Perhaps a more effective way

Some order to restore

Would just involve musicians 

To lie upon the floor

Perhaps a row of pillows to balance books or sheet

As long as those with little kids

Didn't fall asleep. 

Or maybe see through stands  would work

They'd not obscure the view

Though they might break if falling 

As stands are prone to do.

I have a few ideas here

But nothing of distinction 

For I think music stands work well 

I'd save them from extinction 

Protect the humble music stand

It's served us well for ages

As long as someone near by 

Is there to turn the pages.

Karen Holmes 

28th October 19 2021

Pumpkin Hair

 I'm planning something orange!

Specifically my hair

I'm going to dye it next week 

To see how people stare!

I'm doing it for Mermaids 

To raise a bit of cash

I've thought it all through carefully 

Although it might seem rash.

I'm feeling rather nervous

So I've bought a great big hat

And if it looks horrendous 

I'll cover it with that.

If you would like to sponsor me

Just giving is the way

It would help a lot of people 

And really make my day.

But if you can't afford it

Then raise a cheer instead

And when you see the photos 

Have a laugh at pumpkin head!

What of Grace?

 Sermon after sermon, familiar hymns by rote

Going through the motions adrift in a leaky boat

Dusty, lifeless duty, ticking someone's box

Doing what's expected, trying to dodge hell's rocks.

Teaching that reopens wounds, empty words and phrases

Banging on about the rules passed down throughout the ages - 

But Wait

Is that true? Do I inherit

opinions that have no merit?

What happened to abundant life, instead of rules which seem so rife?

Restrictions, expectations and 

control by someone else's hand.

What of Grace?

I've spent so long believing I

am lost to God and wondering why

I ever bothered, ever tried, 

many hopeless tears I've cried

UNTIL - there were no churches open,

all the doors were firmly closed

Nobody could point the finger, 

different rules were now imposed.

The pressure lifted, some wailed and mourned

but in my soul a new light dawned

and now I'm starting to explore

if God is found through other doors

Or rather - if God has been waiting, listening to my pontificating

and smiling, as they draw me back to real connection which I lacked

For God won't be confined, contained, 

they laugh at rules the world ordained

and walk upon the beach and draw

designs upon the sandy shores

They splash red paint across the skies 

and teach the baby birds to fly

They decorate the flowers by hand 

and help the sapling learn to stand

They guard the bulbs through winter's snow 

and point the way new shoots should grow

They dance and jive through autumn leaves 

and thrill the soul that now believes

in listening for their heartfelt laughter 

beyond the walls and lofty rafters

and seeing their smile in sunny skies

and tasting raindrops as they cry

Worshipping by candlelight

and colours bold, vibrantly bright

and squirrels scampering in glee 

then leaping fearlessly through trees

Rainbows, clouds and new mown grass

Or tinkling celebratory glass

or dancing frenzied or intense

Discovering God with every sense.

Re-finding Grace, acceptance too

No need to strive, God looks for you

and finds you, pulls your boat to shore

and dances with you evermore.

Karen Holmes

October 19 2021

I want to be a hippie

 I'd like to be a hippie and dwell in open spaces

Wear long and brightly coloured skirts and boots with coloured laces

I'd dye my hair all rainbow shades, add ribbons and bright beads 

I'd follow wild pathways, not caring where they'd lead

I'd get myself a motorbike or perhaps a camper-van

And let each day unfold at will without a structured plan

I'd have a faithful dog or two and we'd snuggle through the night

My van would be so cosy, bedecked in fairy lights

In winter I'd wear thick wool tights, baggy jumpers too

I'd cosy up in blankets with a brandy infused brew

And sometimes I'd wear lipstick, paint my lips bright red

To make myself stand out a bit and see what people said

But mainly I'd just be myself, my soul could freely soar

My head full of unfettered dreams of laughter,  joy ... and more...!

I'd just be me, wholly unique, a hippie through and through

Yes, if I had my time again,  that's just what I would do.

I  cannot fit into life's boxes, it's simply not for me

I have a spirit that deserves to live a life that's free

A camper-van with fairy lights

And snoring dogs through starry nights

And flowing skirts and coloured hair

I close my eyes, pretend I'm there.

Karen Holmes 

15 September 2021

(For Kath)

DHQ

I am backed into a corner and I can't find a way out
The walls are closing in on me and no-one hears me shout
For you've silenced me completely, you have blithely shut me down
You've tied a millstone round my neck and cast me off to drown
I'm wearing black as my heart grieves, you've erased my living breath
You've sentenced me to solitary confinement until death.

And you say it's for my safety! Do you think that I'm insane?
Would you straight jacket me also if I faced you and complained?
You have taken my integrity and hurled it to the floor
Heard my quiet confession and accused me of much more.

Pointing accusing fingers dressed up in kindly cloak
You wounded me more deeply with every word you spoke.
You ground me underneath your shoe, talking of sin and shame
You took your ruler, measured me, found my guilt was not the same
My sin weighed less, their wrong was worse
I wasn't quite so bad.
And then you smiled and said that it was special what we had.

And now a deafening silence, act like its all ok
Sign up and recommit yourself to serve some other way.
But I cannot serve in silence, cowering, hiding, scared
When I feel as if I'm naked, my very soul laid bare.

Written late 2019
Karen Holmes

Permission Refused.

Permission sought to speak of ancient wisdom,
To seek afresh the truths of earth's lost story
To dwell in mysteries once so well known,
To touch the roots of life, to witness nature's glory
Not to merely glance and find a picture perfect scene
But to revere, respect, and learn, some deeper truth to glean
Permission sought to dance in sunlight,
to catch the snowflakes,
shout into the sea
To watch a leaf that spins, in rainbow colours
And hear more clearly
A voice divine, that reaches out to me.

Permission sought to leave the empty buildings
Permission sought to walk away intact
To be allowed to step in new directions
To leave this place which has me feeling trapped
Permission sought to visit on occasions
And not be grilled, mistrusted, cast aside
But just to be accepted in my wholeness
For many are the tears that I have cried.

For you don't know - and wouldn't want to hear about
The person hidden neath the smile I wear
The soul that longs for freedom to express herself
In an environment that won't return despair
In a place where I am wholly seen and loved
for who I am not whom you think you see
Where I don't have to guard my thoughts and keep in check
My thoughts and reasoning to somehow keep the peace.


Karen Holmes.
Written 2019

What sort of sacrifice?

I could bring so many things to God
and offer for His perusal
But does he ask something of me 
That so far gets refusal
Do I make real sacrifice
Or do I offer less
If he asks for something more, will he get my "yes"

At Lent we sometimes give things up
We might deem this sacrifice
Perhaps a treat that we enjoy
Something very nice
But then at Easter we can feast
Without a guilty thought
A temporary giving up, Is that what you ask, Lord?

If I could choose my sacrifice
I'd make myself a list
And choose something I didn't care for
Something I'd not miss
I'd lay it on the alter
And someone else might see
And think it was a costly gift, yet twas nothing much to me

For all of us like different things
And what might cost you dear
Could be of little value
To anybody here
And God knows well each one of us
And understands our hearts
And knows our full potential, has seen it from the start

So when God speaks to us each one
It's not a general word
It's whispered into every soul
Until His voice is heard

A whisper that caresses

No big stick does He wield 
For our yes is all he wants, If only we might yield.

Karen Holmes 2019

Vulnerable

 If I climb out of this box I am in

Peer over the edge and stretch out cramped limbs

Will it be safe to be visible, seen

Will people wonder where I have been?

Will I find welcome or tired indifference

Will there be signposts or will I feel lost

Is there a place that feels made to measure

Where will I find it and what will it cost.

Karen Holmes

Written 2020

The Binding Part 1

 

Do, don't, should, shouldn't, must, mustn't.

That's how it starts, innocent child, tying down the sails, taming the wild
Firing the clay, before it has grown, closing the mind that hasn't yet known
Hiding the map of far away spaces, pointing the route down cul-de-sac places
"Either" and "or" with no in-between, Limited options and few choices seen
Closing the door and hiding the key, yet promising this way you'll truly be free
Reading the book but missing the story, showing the death, ignoring the glory.
Punish the crime, and threaten with hellfire, stamp out the joy, unfettered desire.
Carefulness, smallness, restriction and chain, vague future hope of some heavenly gain
Cracks in the pavement, the devil's sly scheme, follow the rules it's safer it seems
That's how it starts, that's how it ends, the straight and the narrow avoid all the bends.

Avoid all the views.
Narrow the choices
Silence the pleading of deep inner voices
Shuttered, reduced but safer by far
Don't trust the person that you really are.

One word - Rebel
Two Words - Raise Hell
Eight words - Be You And Don't Care Who You Tell!

©Karen Holmes

9th September 2021

Lower Places

 I do not yearn for higher places

Give me green and open spaces

Not for me the code of conduct

Nor the loyalty to the firm

Let me dance in fields of daisies

For expectations make me squirm

Not a trouble maker me

But a soul to be set free

Leave me in the cheapest seats

Where my fellow people meet

Where amidst the mess we dwell

Lower places serve me well

Bullet points and many words

Might impress the boardroom team

I'll stay with my intuition, seek to live my highest dream.

Karen

27 May 2021

Thief

 The thief of all that brought me joy has broken in this year

And stolen every ounce of joy and and all that I held dear.

He left a bag of sorrow and a box brim full of shame

And I now wait in terror in case he comes again.

But what is left to take now, what reason could there be

To visit once again so soon for what is left of me?

He's taken health, he's taken hope, he's taken love and dreams

And I am just an empty shell or that is how it seems.

And all I ever wanted was to have a chance, be me

So much for that, I fight no more, there's nothing I can be.

Karen Holmes

Trampled in the dust.

 I wrote this last night. I thought I would share it being as we had "beautiful things" today.

Thoughts triggered by a palm cross I saw under a park bench. Also linked to my heartache after my ministry was deemed unacceptable by people who had never spoken to me.

Were those palm leaves cast aside after the procession?

Lay amidst the dust, trampled on, dirtied, broken.

Discarded - beyond usefulness, carelessly dropped without a thought.

Did many feet tread upon them as the crowds drifted away?

I wonder, had they been torn from the trees? Or had they already fallen?

Did the trees stand bereft whilst their foliage was turned to dust?

They had been used to good effect - waved in excitement, in expectation and hope. "Hosanna" "Save" "King of Kings"

Their moment of glory perhaps, a purpose fulfilled, a proclamation.

Sometimes it happens - celebration and participation and belonging and then unwanted,

When we have given - our - all.

Given of our soul, our life breath, our passion, our fullness

Cast aside, suddenly unwanted, dirty, soiled, dying.

And around us the world continues, treading unthinkingly over the dry, dusty remains of wonder, energy, wholeness and life

And they do not even realise.

Karen Holmes

3rd April 2021.

Fatigue

 Creative writing

I played with the dog this morning and then had a sit down shower.

Now I'm completely exhausted and have been fast asleep for an hour.

I still feel decidedly tired

And the brain fog's severe once again

So I'll sit on the sofa with Helen

And look out at the clouds full of rain.

Karen Holmes

14 November 2020

Biblio Affair

 Today's piece of creative writing is in prose.  

A Biblio Affair

I trace the embossed image upon the smooth, glossy cover

Letting my fingertips caress and explore.

I run my fingers down the spine, down and up, discovering the smoothness.

I gaze at this thing of beauty, unwilling to rush

Taking my time to allow the essence to overwhelm my senses

I inhale it's newness and am transported into memories of similar encounters.

I cajole it into opening and touch the rough edges of unread pages.

It yields and I begin to read.

Karen Holmes

13 November 2020