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sexypinkon · 1 year

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Sexypink NEWS - Helen Humphrey was an amazing performer of Minshall costumes (back in the day) she has passed away, but shall never be forgotten.

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From Minshall’s Facebook page

We pay tribute to Helen Humphrey who was Venus Rising in Minshall's 1978 Zodiac. The design by Minshall was based on Botticelli's Birth of Venus. Helen's mas was photographed by Roy Boyke at Macqueripe; and these photos are from the Trinidad Carnival magazine published by Key Caribbean. We extend deepest sympathy to John Humphrey and the rest of Helen's family.

#sexypink/Helen Humphrey #sexypink/carnival costumes #sexypink/Carnival Performers #sexypink/Mas history #tumblr/bereavement #tumblr/Venus Rising #tumblr/Peter Minshall #tumblr/Trinidad and Tobago Mas history #mas #Carnival #Peter Minshall #Helen Humphrey #Venus Rising #Minshall Mas #Zodiac

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galleryyuhself · 1 year

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G A L L E R Y Y U H S E L F

As we remember Singing Francine we should also acknowledge the tremendous contributions that she made in the pursuit of women being fully recognized and respected in Calypsodom...not only did Singing Francine sing Calypsoes, r&b ballads, and parang -music but she also aggravated and confronted the status quo in fighting for women's rights throughout the region. Singing Francine was an entertainer of the highest order who possessed a dynamic presence on stage and readily communicated with her audiences. However, her most lasting and important contribution to Calypsodom was her continuous selection to the Calypso King finals in the 1970s namely 1972/1973/1974/1975. Singing Francine's consistent selection to the Calypso King final during that era forced, compelled, or motivated the CDC to change the name of the Calypso King competition to the Calypso Monarch final in 1976.Singing Francine was crowned Calypso Queen of Trinidad and Tobago in 1972/1973/1981/1983.Calypso Rose was the first female Calypsonian to be selected for the Calypso King final and that was in 1968. During the 1970s and 80s, there existed a very keen Calypso rivalry between Calypso Rose and Singing Francine that is immortalized in some of their Calypsoes.On behalf of the Divas Calypso Cabaret International we extend condolences to her family, friends, and colleagues in Calypsodom, may her soul rest in eternal peace...thanks for the entertainment.

-Rudolph Ottley

#galleryyuhself/Singing Francine #galleryyuhself/Calypsonians #galleryyuhself/Trinidad and Tobago Calypsonians #female calypsonians #tumblr/singing francine #tumblr/bereavement #tumblr/calypsonians #Rudolph Ottley tribute #album covers #record album covers

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healerorkiller · 4 months

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When you lose a parent you are no longer the same. You may think it’s going to be better. Not really. You just get used to living without them.

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crying-under-streetlamps · 1 year

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I wish I had known that grief wasn't sadness.

I watched the world spin and saw everyone continue their lives, while I had been shot still like a photograph.

I saw the end of the world looming over us, yet no one batted an eye.

I stopped searching for words to describe the bottomless crater in my soul that could never be filled.

The only thing that could sate my hunger was bribing the grim reaper.

"Take me with him. I'm tired, too."

"I will kill all my hopes and dreams with my bare hands and grant them to you if you make it look like an accident."

Despite it all, I knew I couldn't die with him.

In order to die, I would have to be tortured and hopeless. I was just empty. Way too empty. So empty that the scythe would have passed right through me and not made a single cut.

#writing #personal #poetry #spilled ink #grief #death #deep quotes #dark academia #excerpt from a book i'll never write #poem #poets on tumblr #bereavement #loss #mourning

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theauthorpaula · 1 month

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(via Character Bereavement: Writing About Grief in Your Fiction)

#bereavement #grief #dealing with grief #writers on tumblr

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poemsbyjonna · 7 months

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Missing you

I miss you in the morning, as I walk through the apartment’s quiet rooms. Furniture like phantoms in the darkness. I miss you during the day, when the sun warms my face, and the wind rustles through the potted plants on the balcony. I miss you in the evening, when the teapot spreads the scent of chamomile in the kitchen. I miss you at night, in the fan’s persistent buzzing, my tangled sheets,…

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#bereavement #daily poem #love poem #poem #poems on heartbreak #poems on tumblr #poetry #poets corner #writers and poets #writers on tumblr

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thescentofrainonstone · 8 months

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It's almost a year since I started practicing as a Witch. I grew up amongst cartomancers and weird shit like people adding blood to others food as a love spell, and as a child I saw it as such a common thing that I thought it was a folklorist extension of Catholicism. The warts on my knee were made to disappear by going to a remote well, get fig's milk on them and then throwing the fig in the well without looking back. Next year I opened my knee on gravel to the bone but sure enough the warts disappeared. So that's why I never cared about Witchcraft before because the way I had been exposed to it was... shady at best.

TW DEATH

Then my Cat died suddenly. He was in for a scan and needed to be sedated for it. His hearth did not survive the sedation. In my head the last thing he knew was that I left him with people who he did not know just like the family who abandoned him after having him 5 years, bringing him back to the shelter he was packed from when he was born.

Whiska was my family, as soon as I was living on my own in a flat I went to find a shelter because if o finslly had a safe roof over my head I felt the moral duty to share it with someone who needed it. And Whiska was my companion. I met him only a couple of months before I met my wife and he was absolutely, without question, an official part of my family.

When he passed I was thrown into an existential crisis that I don't think will ever actually pass. I wrote him a poem every day and they were all called "Bereavement #". I did it for 2 weeks and for 2 weeks I couldn't eat anything solid. For people to even remotely understand what o was going through I ad to start saying we had a death in the family.

Did you know that when working in an office, bereavement leave is one day? Just one. You either organise a funeral or you go to it, you can't do both. And we wonder why society is imploding...

Tomorrow at 4.15pm it will be a year that ove lived without him. Yet since I got his ashes back I had an artist commission a tiny portrait of him and every morning I say to it "Good Morning Whiska" and every night I say what I've said to him every night we lived together, and once again when, after rushing back to the vet, his eyes fixating the empty space and his consciousness already not there anymore despite his heartbeat, I held his paw and before letting him go I said once again "Good night Whiska, you're. Good kitty and I love you very much". And every night after that I still do.

I cried constantly for so many days that I lived with a constant headache and dehydrated. I was worried if that stopped and I got used to the pain without crying then I would have lost part of his memory. I don't cry every day anymore but I cannot think about him without ending up crying and in a way I'm glad, it's a reminder a proof of the hole he left that nothing in this life could ever fill, and I don't even want to. I honour the hole that's shaped like him and every tear is a show that he was there because that's why it's intolerable to love without him without crying.

In march I afopet 2 tuxedo cats who needed rehoming. I love them both but it has nothing to do with Whiska's loss, they have nothing to do with thbhole he left. Whiska was the excellent kitty. Every time I tell him I then turn to Stella and say "you're a pretty decent kitty" but only Whiska was excellent, that's his word, and it's necessary for me to hold on to what was His, not just something I say to my cats, but to Him.

I hold on to these rituals and they console me until I think that, without spirituality, without thinking that "if he was aware of anything he was aware of you holding his paw" all he knew before the end was that he was abandoned again. And with that I cannot live.

So that's why all the funerals, all he rituals are for those left behind: because we have to still live without them and if I think practically I feel no reason to.

So that's why my wife suggested spirituality, and officially then we've been witches ever since. Our first ritual was a spiritual funeral for Whiska and all I cared about after that was just spells that would protect myself and my wife: because after that loss nothing else matters but being with the creatures we love for as long as possible.

I'm still just as sad. And now I can't read what I wrote because of the tears so we end it here...

#bereavement #feline friends #cats of tumblr #cute cats #cat #tw death #witch #pagan witch #witchcraft #witchblr

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oakbuggy · 8 months

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Babes, are you ever going to tell us about the dream, like what happened between Neteyam and Flora?

my bad it's been so long since it's been asked! i was thinking of drawing it out but honestly

it was just them being super adorable and when I woke up it honestly upset me that they weren't an actual thing, and I couldn't exactly find content of it

so then months later i drew them myself ejkfgwkj

#ask #truly #was emotionally bereaved #thinking of them when i woke up #i coped by reading fics with OCs similar enough to flora #but obviously that was not enough #and it was before i got on tumblr!

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stardust-in-my-mind-blog · 3 days

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unturned stone bridge

I feel like I can see so much around me

but I'm blind to my own path

I have ideas and I take tiny steps toward

misty goals that I can't quite grasp

that comes with wearing this blindfold

I can't quite seem to take off

truly a manifestation of third eye blind

a band that wrote the soundtrack of my teenage years

I was so angry as a teenager

the angry daughter who believed she'd somehow

tricked everyone into loving her

and couldn't keep up the con long enough

to keep them beside her

maybe she's the banshee in my head

screaming a warning as I painfully

try to reveal myself

my restlessness got the best of me

I escaped into my yellow wood for a few moments

it's the hopeful green of spring right now

I walked to the stone bridge to watch the river

there were three emerald hooded drakes

swimming up the current together

I watched them for awhile

ducks always make me smile into my coffee

I turned to watch the other way

a fourth brother was further ahead

I sang to him and he turned

swam against the current to listen

then after the song finished he flew

ahead to meet his brothers

I realize the directions may seem confusing

I've never been good with maps

I'm like the rose of winds

a weathervane who can only point

where things make sense

to the forest within my soul

they did say the ark was wooden

if I'm out of the forest I lose my compass

I'm so confused as to where to go

I've always been confused

maybe I'll always be confused

but he loved my song

and swam upstream just to hear it

and somehow that's enough effort

to keep me going today

I miss my friend

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bluebelly-sun-serpentine · 1 year

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One of my favorite oak individuals. A coast live oak (Quercus agrifolia) who's had some run-ins with ivy and misteltoe, still making the best of the steep hillside – with last fall's green acorns – and the flowers growing at their feet this spring. I'm not great at identifying bulb flowers (everything looks like a daffodil to me), so if you know who these guys are please share their name. Narcissus what? I'll take any kind of common name, too - these are just as important.

This oak grows near a group of really strong buckeyes - I'm pretty sure they're Aesculus californica. I've always thought both coast live oaks and buckeyes have the most beautiful skeletons - agrifolia branches in curls, and there's something so compelling about bare winter buckeyes before they send out new leaves. Both feel so solid. The trees in my area have been struggling over the last few years, and a long rainy season has been very welcome. I truly thought it was over when we had that hot spell, but then we got some strong showers of the last few days. I feel like I've heard more frogs this season than I have in the whole of the time we've lived here.

I recently had another bereavement (a few too many in too few years). It's come at a bad time, with too much to do. I'm not sure what I'd do if I weren't able to go out and see and hear things growing. Red shouldered hawks use these buckeyes and oaks to scan for squirrels and woodrats. I found a tiny agrifolia sapling growing in a forgotten outdoor planter on my porch, and will have to decide where to put them and how best to care for them when they outgrow that. Crows hassle ravens in the redwoods up the street - underneath the redwoods is a damp skirt of captured fog. Probably there are tardigrades luxuriating there. I have a warm shelter when it's wet outside. Not everything is grief, or aggrieved, or grieving. Probably in different circumstances I'd look for some other way to prove that, but it's helpful to be able to just walk outside and see so many lives turning on and over.

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tenthousandislands · 1 year

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May 2023

Essay (But More of a Poem) on Grief

“Grief” is a word whose definition belongs to the person who experiences it. There is no one way to characterize it. Dictionaries equate grief with sorrow, anguish, distress and suffering, especially following the death of a loved one. Psychologists describe grief as the process through which a person adjusts to life after loss, consisting of the famed five stages - denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I define grief as a state of being. Grief is a point in time when the person I was prior to my loss ceased to be, and everything I thought I knew about life was called into question. Grief is a life sentence I serve, shackled to a nagging sense of dread, a sinking feeling of emptiness, an intolerable air of injustice that I cannot shake no matter how much time passes, and even on my best days. Grief is a revolving door of sensations that arise without warning and assume control over my body - suddenly, my lungs struggle to draw in air as if from beneath a crushing weight, my mouth opens to speak but finds no words, my limbs feel at once fragile as if they might shatter and at the same time too heavy to lift. Grief is a sound that escapes my lips on rare occasions, from depths I didn’t know existed within me, and if such a sound has never made itself heard in you, you might not recognize it as human. Grief is not an emotion that comes and goes, or an experience with a beginning and an end. Grief is a thread woven into the fabric of my existence, so much has it become a part of me.

Grief is a lens through which I have come to see the world. Often, as I actively participate in creating a moment that will become a precious memory, I begin the process of grieving happy times past even before the moment has ended, because I am acutely aware that it will. Grief is reveling in the scent and softness of my baby’s skin for a minute longer, because I can’t let myself forget that he will soon be grown up. Grief is a shadow cast on past and present, and stretches as far into the future as I can see - photographs transformed into relics of what’s been lost, or what I am bound to lose; choices made based on what experiences I deem most likely to become cherished or regretted when I reflect on them one day in the future; the ever-present awareness that a life that was, is no longer, and a future that should have been, will never be.

Grief is a ripple that begins at the point of loss and travels outward until it encircles every aspect of my life. Milestones are no longer just milestones, joyous events are not only celebrations, and even mundane everyday occurrences take on a new significance, which is the palpable void that now exists within every one of them. Grief is not only feeling the empty space left behind by someone who lived and is now gone, but also carrying with me the ghost of dreams and visions I had for a future with a person who is no longer here to take part in it. Grief is feeling betrayed by a sun stubborn enough to continue to rise despite the darkness I feel inside, and a world that continues to turn when it feels like a crime to go on in the absence of someone I once believed I could never live without. Grief ebbs and flows as far as the attention it demands, but even when it recedes into the background, living with grief is like walking through a field of landmines - it takes only a small trigger to release an explosion of crippling emotion. What starts out as simple frustration or disappointment ignites a chain reaction that ends with a deluge of the heaviest waves of anger and sadness washing over me.

Grief is a wall that separates me from the people who surround me. No matter how much they love and support me, there is a chasm between us that can never be bridged. My grief cannot be translated into a language they can understand. They are all too aware that their sincerest desires and efforts to comfort me can never come close to easing the eternal pain of my loss. I am all too aware that their lives moved on long ago in a way that mine never will. Respecting grief involves acceptance and acknowledgement of this fact on both the part of the mourner and the comforter, and that may be our closest point of connection.

There is plenty of talk about the stages of grief, how they are more like phases in a cycle than a linear set of steps, and that the intensity of grief diminishes with the passage of time although it never fully disappears. No one tells you, however, how grief can fundamentally change the way that you experience yourself and relate to the world around you. Grief has expanded my perspective, deepened my appreciation for life, challenged my beliefs, and taught me so many valuable lessons. One of the greatest, perhaps, is that holding on to the pain and suffering does not tether a dead person to life, but rather chains a living person to death. I once felt that accepting my loss and learning to feel happiness again was the equivalent of abandoning or choosing to forget my lost loved one, and that denying the reality of death and refusing to be consoled was a way to keep my loved one close to me. The truth is the opposite - as I am learning to walk hand in hand with my grief, I am beginning to feel my loved one walking beside me again. As I integrate my grief into who I am becoming, and accept that it is to be my lifetime companion, it is becoming easier to feel the presence of my loved one alongside me. And the more I allow my grief to live within me, the more my loved one lives within me, too.

#poetscommunity #spilledink #poetsofinstagram #poems on tumblr #grief #grieving #bereavement #grief poetry

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sexypinkon · 1 year

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Sexypink - Rest in Power Kwame Braithwaite - Making BLACK LIVES MATTER long before the slogan existed.

#Sexypink/A Legend #sexypink/bereavement #sexypink/Kwame Braithwaite #sexypink/Black is Beautiful #sexypink/Barbadian parentage #tumblr/Photography #tumblr/Icon Kwame Braithwaite #tumblr/bereavement #Black Lives Matter #Black is Beautiful #blackness #beauty #self awareness #Kwame Braithwaite

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galleryyuhself · 1 year

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Galleryyuhself - Carin Goldberg (1953-2023)

Women in the field of Graphic Design are not a large group and when one passes away, particularly a titan, we must honor her.

#galleryyuhself/Carin Goldberg #galleryyuhself/Female Graphic Designers #galleryyuhself/bereavement #galleryyuhself/book cover design #tumblr/Carin Goldberg #tumblr/pioneer #tumblr/bereavement #Carin Goldberg #graphic designer #book design #typography #lettering #sensitivity #impact #creativity #design

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arlenelperez · 2 years

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All Things Fragile

All things fragile....

Bubbles floating in the air

Popping as they hit tiny hands

His grandmother's carnival glass pitcher

He handles with care

Classy China used only at Christmas

She flung at her ex when he broke her

Granny's porcelain collectible dolls

Must be loved gently in her memory

The Venus flytrap my husband gifted me

Killed by gluttony and small hands.

Opulent orchids sitting in the windowsill

Needing to be watered carefully

...All things fragile...

Newborn infants crying for care

Demanding love and nutrition

A heart full of love

Craves love in return

An anxiety-stricken soul in despair

Yearning for hope and peace

Devouring depression demons

Desiring comfort and happiness

A mother in mourning

Begging God for her child's return.

A husband weeping

Lamenting his wife's loss.

All... beautiful...fragile Flowers

Longing for tender loving care.

#writerscreedchallenge #fragile #poetry #original poetry #arlene l perez #poem #abuse #love #anxiety #depression #death #grief #bereavement #children #parents #spouses #grandmother #poets of tumblr

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crying-under-streetlamps · 5 months

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Your absence — an empty field with no convoy. I have died in the same way as you, dug my own grave with my bare hands.

Don't tell me it's not my time yet — it wasn't yours, either. Without you, these flowers will wither in the same way they withered when your death killed us all. Yes, we all died. The world burned into dust, but not in the way I had hoped.

Where are you?

Did I die twice in vain?

Your presence — the ultimate absence of it. Is that what it turned into, after all this time of searching and searching and looking and clawing my eyes out of my head?

Come get me. I'm standing on this empty field full of white lilies and butterflies and I seriously can't find my way back to the ambulance. Will you hear me if I scream again?

You can't leave me again. You cannot. Come and get your girl, she has almost found you. She's blind and tired and lost here in between the is and was.

Where did y—