Annie Watkinson
There are many times in the course of life when mere speech is not enough. This is where poetry can take over, filling the void between the emotion and the voice. This book takes you to the highest places of joy and the deepest depths of pain and fear.
Listen to My Heart examines our response to physical and mental illness, and suffering of many kinds. It also explores the strength of love that is found within a family, and the role that a strong faith can play in difficult situations.
Each poem has a life of its own, and although some may be extremely sad, there is always the glimmer of hope on the horizon, mirroring real life. So if you have had to suffer the anguish of cancer, dementia, abuse, mental illness or death of a loved one, you will find words that you will be able to identify with, and express your pain through. Read them silently, or shout them out aloud! Feel the power of poetry that can give strength in the most difficult of circumstances.
Annie Watkinson has spent much of her life caring for others, most importantly as a wife and mother, but also through nursing, pastoral work in the church and in voluntary work. She now works as a freelance writer, and has written for many nursing journals including Mental Health Practice, Nursing Times and Nursing Standard, and also for the Christian magazine, Woman Alive. She has also spent time working on the Editorial Board of Mental Health Nursing.
Although Annie has spent many years writing poetry, it was not until her own recent experience of cancer that she decided to publish some of her work. As Annie remarked, "publishing your poetry for others to read is an entirely different experience to publishing articles for specific markets. You are giving away much more of yourself, which can leave you feeling vulnerable and open to criticism.”
Annie is currently working on her next book, an autobiography, charting her experiences of living with mental illness and cancer.
Here is an example of one of the poems from the book Listen to my Heart.
For My Mother R.I.P
I thought of you last night
As I rode bareback
Through the hazy world of dreams in shades of blue and black
And held your head once more
And kissed your lips
But fingers, slippery eels
Fumbled and let go
You fell once more, against billowy sheets of white.
And like a child
I needed to clutch at you,
A rag doll
Tattered and broken in death
No more to hear the softly spoken words
I longed to hear
Or feel your gentle breath
Of love
Upon my saddened soul
To know I am your child
And you my mother.
