Broken foot and finger

I forgot I had this WordPress page set up. Well, after a media silence let me catch you up! I am older and wiser having attained my BSc . I have left my job in the council and now work freelance, supporting social work students during their placements. I am thoroughly enjoying the experience and wish my fledgling practitioners well in their careers.

At present, it is the summer break. I didn’t mean to take it to its literal sense, but managed to break my foot and my finger, thus rendering me housebound in the main, as my husband doesn’t drive and there is nothing nearby to walk to.  I have used good old Tesco online for food etc  and called upon daughter’s for trips to hospital and to celebrate my birthday at Brighton. Very vexing.

During my recuperation, I have found a new hobby!! Making jewellery to sell in my new online Etsy shop! Called Gwendocrafts after yours truly. I have made about 20 pairs so far, and plan to branch out into other adornments shortly. I have found the ‘findings’ (the bits and bobs used in my creations) online too, so I just need to use my smartphone (avoiding any stress on my finger) and to hobble to the front door (avoiding any stress on my foot) to take delivery of my metal purchases from far flung places across the globe (mainly China!) and set to with my easy read specs and pliers.

New students should be allocated in a couple of weeks, but i will continue on with my crafting as it has definitely brought out a creative side I have not seen in about 30 years!

🙂

Four years worth of poetry

Many of these poems were done for Competitions on the website ‘Ciao!’ to have specific words or themes throughout.  Some random, some personal, some just sheer fantasy. 🙂

Night in the Forest

I arrived two days ago, but I still can’t escape.
The sky is black and sacred away from the town,
But I still don’t feel safe.
My brain turns, unrelenting, it won’t let me sleep,
Cobwebs trapping every thought, every emotion,
Until I can’t breathe.
I am suffocating until I forget what’s real.

I lie awake remembering you, your face, your eyes,
Your arms around me; it was as if we had always know each other,
Since the beginning of mankind.
When they brought you home, where was your soul?
Just an empty shell lying in the van.
‘Lead us not into temptation’; What was the temptation?
What God would afford this to happen?

The rain falls hard on the metal roof,
The scratching, screeching sounds that come from nightfall
Are clear to me.
You are there too, deep in the heart of the Earth’s soul,
Enticing me to join you,
Let Mother Nature have her greed fulfilled,
But that would be too easy, they would win.

A glow is emanating through the trees, and dawn’s
Sensual hue fills the void. The dew sits on the boughs
Where the promise of May flowers begin to show.
It is time to move on, it is unsafe to stay here,
They will find me. The idiocy of the townsfolk,
Flocking like birds of a feather, as if I am a chattel, some sexual spoil
For the one who was stolen.

Life is so fragile, so easily crushed. My throat hurts, the feelings
Of fear rise like a cord around my neck, choking me. I have
To leave now and move on, move on to nowhere.

Domestic violence
by gwendoline on June 13, 2009. © Gwen Phillips-Tiller, All rights reserved
You’ll never know why.
The change happens so slowly, so slightly.
It creeps up until you realise,
They’ve lost the smile in their eyes.
But still you keep believing,
Keeping the faith alive.
You start to choose what you tell,
Always breezy and bright.
Never go deep where the true feelings lie,
Keep them pushed down in the depths of our soul,
Safely locked and guarded and in your control.
You let the misery wash over you,
Tell yourself that nothing has changed, just matured.

You know that your love is more real;
More real than any of those who give warnings.
They don’t understand, they don’t feel like you do,
But they continue to watch over you.
In the dark hours, doubts rise up and confront you,
But you know if you can just wait till morning……..
Then one day they are gone, and you are let go,
Free falling, hurtling down, so fast.
Scared, but free, until
Someone reaches out and catches you, takes hold.
You face your demons, face your past
You know from now on you’ll be all right,
But even now, in the quietness of the night

New Love
by gwendoline on June 13, 2009. © Gwen Phillips-Tiller, All rights reserved
We lie together, our bodies
Entwined in a knot of love;
Souls intermingled,
Absorbed within each other.
We are one mind, one body.

And when we separate,
Extract ourselves, the
Memory of the feel
Of our skin, touching,
holds us together in our hearts,
Until the next time we are together.

Clerihews
by gwendoline on June 15, 2009. © Gwen Phillips-Tiller, All rights reserved
“A clerihew is a form of verse of four lines with a rhyming scheme of AABB. The first line usually consists of, or at least ends in, a person’s name, and the rest of the verse attempts to say something about them, necessarily succinctly and selectively, given the limited space available. The substance may be bald observation or mild satire, but the intention is amusement rather than elucidation.
“The clerihew was invented by Edmund Clerihew Bentley, who published a collection of clerihews entitled Biography for Beginners in 1905. ” From a friend with the pseudonym Torr.

Here are some Clerihews I wrote back in 2005 after hearing about them (probably more accessible to the UK reader):

The Infamous King of Rock, Elvis
Knew how to gyrate his pelvis.
If he hadn’t had a heart attack,
He’d’ve known his soninlaw, whacko Jack.

Margaret Thatcher,
No one could match ‘er
What a menace!
And married to Dennis.

PM Tony Blair
Despairs of London’s mayor.
Three times old Dick could turn again,
But this won’t happen to old red Ken.

Our dear Dawn French,
Is a buxom wench.
She is married to Lenny
And her best friend is Jenny.

Actress Renee Zellweger
Had to enlarge her figure
And speak with English Tones
To play our Bridget Jones.

Jenny and Brad Pitt,
Alas, they decided to split.
She wanted sprogs,
But he preferred dogs.

Famous chef, Gordon Ramsey
Cooks a mean leg of lamb, see,
So people arrive in carriages,
To have a meal at Claridges.

Newborn
by gwendoline on June 17, 2009. © Gwen Phillips-Tiller, All rights reserved
Skin so clear with gentle blush
Soft as silk with downy touch.

Delicate hands that hold her near,
Never knowing one so dear.

She wields power, all consuming,
Drawing forth instincts of time.

The surge of love for one so tiny,
Unites all of those around.

Sounds and smells and colours flood her,
She absorbs them, to help her know,

What it’s like to be a life,
A small member of the world we know.

(poem for my new-born granddaughter, Freya).

A Room Full of Chairs
by gwendoline on June 19, 2009. © Gwen Phillips-Tiller, All rights reserved
I’m the lady who sits in a room full of chairs.
No one says much, but everyone stares.
Don’t know where I am, but nobody cares.
I take a sip of my tea.
How did I get here? Can anyone tell?
Was it to do with the time that I fell?
The woman sat next to me’s starting to yell.
I take a sip of my tea.
The meat is too chewy, the mash is too cold.
Nobody cares what they serve to the old.
I ‘just have to eat it’, (or so I am told!).
I take a sip of my tea.
I go in the wrong room, and I’m ushered away.
The chair over there is empty today.
Who is it that’s missing? – but no one will say.
I take a sip of my tea.
Dedicated to my mum, who resides in an old people’s home due to dementia.

Night after Night
by gwendoline on June 24, 2009. © Gwen Phillips-Tiller, All rights reserved
I’m lying awake on my bed, night after night,
Wondering what I should have done that was more right.
Where would I be if I had fallen for another,
Lying my head on the chest of a lover?

But I am lying awake listening to silence.
I had only got wed as an act of defiance.
Parents too strict that had made me rebel,
And now I was living in a middle aged hell.

I dream of romance and roses and wine,
holidays abroad, and having a good time.
Walking along on a white sandy beach,
My lover close by, always in reach.

I dream of the nights lying huddled together,
The invisible ties that bind like a tether.
Watching him lying there deep in a sleep,
So many memories that we both would keep.

But no, I am lying with a man that I hate.
He is the one that I thought was my fate.
Another day over, no more of a fight,
And I lie still wakeful, night after night.

Day At The Beach
by gwendoline on June 26, 2009. © Gwen Phillips-Tiller, All rights reserved
The sun is beating down on the pebbles on the beach,
Dad’s hands are full of ice creams, there is always one for each.
The wasps can sense the sweetness, and start to hover all around,
The youngest child gets scared and throw’s hers to the ground!

The jelly shoes are on, to protect their precious soles;
The children prefer sand, as they want to dig some holes.
Mum rubs in the sun cream, while dad sits on his seat,
And all the while the waves keep moving to their beat.

The waves are coming closer, the beach is getting small,
The middle child gets stung, and she begins to bawl,
Dad folds down the windbreak and starts to load the car,
The jelly shoes get kicked off as they’re coated well with tar.

The sun is sinking lower, and turning shades of flame,
Despite the use of suncream, the children are the same!
The windows are wound down, the blowers put on full,
No matter how much air flow, the car just won’t get cool.

And now it’s time to leave the sunny day behind,
The day out soon becomes just a picture in the mind.
The children on the back seat, all leaning on each other,
Their eyes droop in sleepiness, their bodies to recover.

Oasis In the Town
by gwendoline on June 28, 2009. © Gwen Phillips-Tiller, All rights reserved
Outside, I have a garden,
It’s very overgrown.
I like to go and sit out there,
When I am on my own.

It doesn’t get much sunlight,
It gets a lot of rain.
I really like the noise it makes,
When pouring down the drain.

There’s frogspawn in old puddles,
And bird’s nests in the shrubs.
The Squirrels have had a feast
On the bulbs I put in tubs.

A bee sits on the lavender,
Sucking up the sap.
Butterfly on the buddleia,
The purple does attract.

The birds are chirping loudly,
Different songs are all around.
I try to block the noises
Of traffic’s droning sound.

The ants are rushing to and fro,
They never take a rest.
Making sure the time is right,
For their mates to fly the nest.

People don’t hear or see this,
They view it with a frown.
But I am proud of my oasis
For nature, in the town!

The Ginger Cat
by gwendoline on July 2, 2009. © Gwen Phillips-Tiller, All rights reserved
There is always time to nap,
When you’re a ginger cat.

Across the tread of the stair,
You’ll find him lying there.

Outside the bathroom door,
He is sprawled across the floor.

A lump under the bedspread?
Look under, it is sleepy head!

On the wooden garden bench,
He will be asleep outstretched.

In the shed, he will hide,
And then get trapped inside.

Curled up on a chair,
He doesn’t have a care.

Purring on the couch,
He is always such a slouch.

My favourite’s when I tap,
And he jumps up on my lap.

There is always time to nap,
When you’re a ginger cat.

Sunny Morning
by gwendoline on July 8, 2009. © Gwen Phillips-Tiller, All rights reserved
Sunny morning,
Day is dawning,
Damp with dew,
A hazy hue,
Hangs over town.
The sun’s low down,
But rising up,
A yellow cup,
of hot bright light,
Brings things in sight
And helps us wake,
Fresh air to take,
A welcome way,
To start the day.

The Old Widow
by gwendoline on July 21, 2009. © Gwen Phillips-Tiller, All rights reserved
I spend much of my working time with elderly people. They are a forgotten generation in our disposable society. I was inspired to write this after watching a TV programme on elderly people sitting in a day centre, with the most dreadful crass ‘entertainment’ which was so demeaning to the men and women sitting having to listen. They still have a mind and a whole life full of experience that we could draw on, if we only ever asked!

The Old Widow

The silvery threads catch the sun through the window,
Her glassy eyes watch through the pane.
The sheer brown skin, is taut on her hands,
Criss crossed in symmetry are her raised blue veins.

Her mind has many year’s knowledge that nobody wants,
She hears them cry in their sleep late at night.
And remembers times, when she despaired,
But those times are in her memory, and locked up tight.

She understands poverty, pain and bloodshed.
She knew about romances that came and then went,
Her bright young husband, in his smart uniform,
Of not knowing his fate, caused years of torment.

She knows of hardship, and worry and pain,
Cooking with rationing, and coupons to pay.
Censored letters that came through the post,
So many blacked out, very little to say.

She knows how it feels to live under a shadow,
A black cloud that emits nothing but strife.
To give birth to a child, with no one to share
The miracle being, that is this new life.

As VE day came, and lovers, reunited,
She may as well have met a complete stranger,
So much between them, best left unsaid
But deep in the night, he relives the danger.

Her face tells a story, as yet undisclosed,
His death was a shock, but relief to her soul
He lived in a hell, but heaven was waiting,
And where he went, she knew she would follow.

The lines on her palms, like a map of the town,
Follow the life line, along her life’s lane.
The silvery threads catch the sun through the window,
Her glassy eyes watching, through all the pain.

Male Menopause
by gwendoline on July 29, 2009. © Gwen Phillips-Tiller, All rights reserved
As he sat, and looked around,
He realised the familiar had gone.
It all looked so strange.
The life he had pictured,
For the past 20 years,
Was no longer there,
Something had changed.
He idly wandered along
The pathway of his life.
Retracing his steps,
Trying to see old footprints
On the ground.
Turning a corner, that was wrong.
He should have gone the other way,
Which was not so safe.
Had he noticed he was on the safe route?
He’d thought it was adventure
When he took the first step.
But it wasn’t exciting,
And he’s stuck in a mire.
Trying to get hints
Of a life with desire
And one day, with the right conditions
A pathway will appear to him,
And he’ll go on that expedition,
With trepidation and fear,
Find his way to that corner,
And choose to take the other turning.

A Bad Mood poem
by gwendoline on August 1, 2009. © Gwen Phillips-Tiller, All rights reserved
A poem about how people describe a bad mood. I was in a bit of a mood when I wrote this, and used it to cheer myself up!

I’m down in the dumps;
I’m stuck in a rut;
I’m really feeling so low.
I must have got out the wrong side of bed,
All dressed up and nowhere to go.

I’ve got in a hump,
I’m just an old grump,
Worse things happen at sea,
There’s a black cloud above me,
Only my mother could love me,
And I think I must have PMT.

I should turn my frown,
Upside down;
If I smile it might never happen.
A face like a slapped arse,
I could be pushing up grass,
All the time sucking on a lemon.

Oh! Hold on a minute,
My friend’s going to visit,
Maybe I will cheer up now!

Love’s fire
by gwendoline on August 1, 2009. © Gwen Phillips-Tiller, All rights reserved
Our love was different, like no else’s.
Not for us the challenges of others,
We were one soul and one pathway.
We felt the same,
We smelt the same,
We laughed the same,
And we loved harder, and deeper,
Than anyone else.

And when the flame of passion dwindled,
We looked around us, and walked a new path.

Amour Sans Frontiers
by gwendoline on August 14, 2009. © Gwen Phillips-Tiller, All rights reserved
For six months she had watched him,
As he sat and ate his lunch.
She noticed his strong arms,
And imagined the smooth touch.
She longed to go and talk to him,
About what? She could not say,
Once or twice he glanced at her;
She looked the other way.
There were love affairs on TV,
But she could not relate.
They made it look so easy,
She’d just get in a state.
She looked back at ‘Adonis’
He was staring back at her!
She imagined his warm kisses,
And felt light as a feather.
Lunch time soon was over,
Now queuing at the doorway.
He nudged his wheelchair into hers,
Then grinned and sped away!

Godlessness
by gwendoline on August 27, 2009. © Gwen Phillips-Tiller, All rights reserved
I dont believe in a God,
or of a higher force.
I am here for just one purpose,
Of being born, growing,
growing old, and when I am worn out
Or I am diseased,
My bodily functions will fail,
And I will die.

I will be dead.

There will be no ‘heaven’
And no ‘hell’.
The ‘light’ of my soul will have turned off,
and I will just be an empty shell.
And my life will be consigned
To the memories of those
Who knew me well
And those who knew me a little.

I will be dead

I don’t need pearly gates to greet me,
I don’t need to meet old friends,
I don’t need to ‘be me’
Anymore.
I have no fear of death,
Just a little anxiety about
What goes before the candle
Is snuffed out?

I will be dead.

People are quite shocked
About my view of life and death.
That I don’t believe in
An afterlife, or
Some great purpose to
Our human race.
But how many people
Are truly remembered?

When they are dead?

No 12 – Helping to fly!
by gwendoline on August 30, 2009. © Gwen Phillips-Tiller, All rights reserved
(I work with young disabled adults, and this one is dedicated to ‘C’ who has achieved so much, against the odds)

Lower your expectations, my parents said.
You are setting yourself up to fail.
I want to go to Uni, I said,
And I am definitely not going to fail.

I needed to have help from someone,
Who knew what needed to be done.
I phoned social services to find someone,
I’m entitled, when all’s said and done.

She came and listened just to me
She knew what I needed to have.
I’m paraplegic, but she still just saw ‘me’,
And the low self esteem that I have.

My occupational therapist was on board,
She looked at my adapted living quarters.
Functional assessments, hoists, ramps and slide-board,
I had support from all different quarters.

Facilitators were on hand to help me,
Documentation finalised and written down,
Special computers and soft wear to help me
And scribers to write all my notes down.

My physical barriers were quite a struggle
Over the three years the degree took to graduate.
My self esteem grew high from that struggle,
And my parents cried as they watched me graduate.

Cupboard Love
by gwendoline on September 14, 2009. © Gwen Phillips-Tiller, All rights reserved
My ‘mother’ thinks I love her so,
Following her into the kitchen, I go,
Then I can have a saucer of milk, although
She has fed me enough, and I’ve had a drink.
I look at her with my saucer eyes,
How can she ignore my best cat cries?
I purr as loud as I am able,
And curl my body around the table
Leg, and then around her shins and calfs,
Weaving in and out, and she just laughs,
But I spy her going toward the fridge door,
And yes, I knew it, she’s giving me more!!
Without her there, it would be tough,
She needn’t know it is just cupboard love!

You have to be in it, to win it!
by gwendoline on September 26, 2009. © Gwen Phillips-Tiller, All rights reserved
Every week, I pop into ASDA to buy my Lotto ticket.
The advert reminds me regularly, ‘you have to be in it, to win it’
And I can definitely feel ‘something’, I have always had sixth sense,
So I complete my slip, queue up to pay, with my two fifty pence.

I like to have a ritual, it helps me with the ‘energy’,
The gods and I are of one mind, and always work in synergy.
They know I really need to win, and life could be so easy,
But they have seen my path ahead, and will choose when they should help me.

They knew me when I got kicked out, and I had nowhere to go,
They knew that times were hard, so no winnings was quite a blow,
And when the cops came round at night, and I had learnt to hid,
You’d think the gods of Lotto would have won me a few more quid!

I pick and choose my numbers, I really take good care,
All my special dates are then noted down on there.
I don’t have quite enough, so one is then contrived,
And that is the hot number, which is always number Five.

I always pay with small coins, and not a shiny pound,
I only pay with straight edged coins, and never one that’s round.
I save all of my twenties and fifties in a tin,
If I can’t find any of these, my head gets in a spin!

I’d love to really know what the Gods have planned for me,
Maybe to live in one of those houses like you see on The OC?
Or maybe have a chauffeur, to drive my huge posh car,
And feast myself each evening on Oysters or Caviar?

At the moment, I will make do in Brighton in my smelly B+B,
Where no one ever lifts the lid, and the floor just smells of pee.
Other tenants shout the odds, I can hardly sleep at night,
And Bailiffs bashing on the doors, really gives me such a fright.

Today I am popping to ASDA to buy my Lotto ticket,
The advert always reminds me, that I have to be in it to win it!

My divorce
by gwendoline on October 17, 2009. © Gwen Phillips-Tiller, All rights reserved
He left me on a Sunday,
The sun was hot and bright,
A note was written and left
Propped by the bedside light.

He thought he’d got away,
And I would not avenge.
But as soon as he had left,
I plotted my revenge.

He was sleeping with another,
He really was so brash,
I left a message with her,
That I had got a ‘nasty rash’.

He drove a brand new car,
Which he left upon my drive,
To keep it safe, until he found,
A home to start a new life.

The keys were left with me,
To protect his pride and joy,
But seeing the pristine motor,
It just served to annoy.

I started to empty wardrobes,
Cupboards, and clothes drawers,
I bundled it all inside his car,
And left it with open doors.

When he found a new home,
I couldn’t pick the locks.
I got some Tuna in Brine
Poured the brine through the letter box.

We both moved on a while,
He asked for a divorce,
Without using a solicitor?
I ignored that bit, of course!

I signed the important papers,
He thought I was so dim,
But when it went off to the court,
They wiped the floor with him.

I used to have such fun,
Annoying him in the UK,
But now I can’t go near him,
He has moved to Tampa Bay.

Note: I just wrote this for another contest, but found the rules were not what I thought they were! I didn’t want to waste my writing, lol, so thought I would add it to your contest.

A passion too strong
by gwendoline on October 19, 2009. © Gwen Phillips-Tiller, All rights reserved
He was my baby, and I was his,
Everyone else was ignored, and we only had time enough,
To spend with each other, no one else.
We didn’t need anyone else.
It was all consuming, and powerful,
And we felt we were perfect.
Two strong forces, polar and equatorial.
But really, we were two magnetic poles,
And our similarities could only
Drive to push us apart.
Wrapped in the warmth of our love,
Was a dark presence weaving
In between our bodies
And drawing us away from our ‘oneness’.
As passions turned to anger,
And love turned to hate,
We were still bound by a chemistry
That was so strong, but also so dangerous,
That our souls would wither,
Under the huge weight
Of our love for each other.
It had to end, and we should never
Be reunited again. Any small
Connection would set the whole
Fire alight, and consume us whole.
And we never have.

Snail Trail
by gwendoline on October 23, 2009. © Gwen Phillips-Tiller, All rights reserved
I followed the snail,
With the silver trail,
For just a week,
Then death by beak

My Craggy Face
by gwendoline on October 26, 2009. © Gwen Phillips-Tiller, All rights reserved
I have watched all the promotions,
I have used the pots of potions,
I have smeared all of the lotions,
Over my craggy face.

I was taken with the notion,
That the salt dredged from the ocean
If applied with circular motion,
Would revive my craggy face.

It would take a nuclear fusion,
To create a grand illusion,
When I do my morn’s ablution,
To have no craggy face.

A trip to the beautician,
For ‘old age’ abolition,
Would help in the fruition,
Of disguising my craggy face.

I will use my pot of lotion,
And apply in circular motion,
And to hell with the illusion,
I am proud of my craggy face!

The Poison

The poison seeps deep in the crevices,
Soaked up like a sponge.
Smoothing its way over all that she touches
All who have feelings
All who don’t suspect.
Bright eyes beckon them over,
Men, women, children, all touched
by her lies.
The black widow who weaves her web
Of deceit and pain.
Who captures their hearts, and seems
So happy, so friendly, so warm.
But whose heart is of stone.
Her hex is upon us
And she will slip silently through
The world, taking her prey
And leaving despair in her wake.

Christmas Dinner

Mince pies at the ready, flour on the floor,
Icing sugar on my nose as I answer the door.
Veggies in bubbling saucepans
Pudding on the boil,
I still haven’t unwrapped the Turkey
And taken off the foil.
Roasties are browning nicely,
The bread sauce is in the pan,
I need someone to open the red,
But he’s off collecting Gran.
The windows are all steamed up
And now they’re starting to drip,
The sprouts still are not quite done
Where’s my wine I need a sip!!
I knew I needed to move house,
This kitchen is way too small,
I have no room left on the worktops,
And the floor is already full.
The cat’s locked out the catflap
He was sniffing at the air,
He loves the chipalatas,
That I’ve balanced on the chair.
And now its time to carve it
And it is cooked a treat.
I’ll give the cats a little bit,
They can have the dark leg meat.
And now its time to sit down,
And wear the funny hat,
And link arms to pull the crackers,
With the toys that are a load of tat.
The dinner is all eaten,
The pudding lit with cheer,
I’m absolutely shattered,
Thank God it’s just once a year!

Stuck at a crossroad

I’m stuck at a crossroad,
In the middle of town,
My future’s not orange,
It’s a dull, murky brown.
The man I call ‘partner’
Has been on the phone,
I really should dump him,
But he’s waiting at home,
Blue lights are flashing,
On the highway ahead,
They are wasting their time
I am already dead.
For Taylor, my lovely grandson

All dressed in blue, the little lad,
Gazing up at Mum and Dad.
Head that wobbles from side to side,
Mum and Dad look on with pride.

Busy kettle, never cold,
So many people want a hold,
Of the babe, they’ve come to see,
While busy parents make more tea.

Later on, they all go home,
At last, the trio are alone,
The baby boy falls fast asleep,
And so his parents have to creep,

Around the crib, with whispered voice
And tidying up the fluffy toys.
Exhausted they fall into bed
Nappy’s changed, and baby’s fed.

They check the crib, and then both yawn,
And hope that he’ll go through till dawn.

BSL

The hands move
In rhythmic pattern
Symbols they contain
Of a life that has no sound.
Fingers stretching
And pointing
And looping,
Dumbfounding all around.
But it shouldn’t
As it is a language
That most of us can see
But most choose not to see
And never learn to
Understand
The graceful movements
Of the hand.

The Bruise

The Bruise

It starts so pretty
Like the blush
Of a rose petal
And tender to the touch.
The tension mounts
On the surface,
And things change
As the red
Mottles with blue.
The malformation and
The ragged edge
Like a storm cloud
Brewing, with purple
And specks of black.
Then, like most
Living matter,
That starts to decay,
It slowly turns
Yellow, like the sun
Setting on a
Rainy Day.

And then it fades.

A Love Unrequited

An unrequited love
Is an unsolved mystery,
Which will never be solved,
Or resolved,
Or absolved.
Your mind’s muse,
who knows you
More than those who
Have got to know you.
But their love’s never been
Pushed to the limits
And found wanting,
And unwanted.
They’re number one,
The right one,
The only one…

And they never knew.

Family Filigree

The friends my parents
Chose for me
Weave in and out,
Like Celtic filigree,
With shared memories,
Many differences,
Some similarity
Across continents,
Across seas,
Entwined branches,
Of the same family.

Death of a companion
I saw a woman
Today,
Walking alone,
Along the
Pavement where
She has walked
Many times before,
Not giving it
A thought
But still lost in
Her thoughts,
But today was
Different.
She was
Different.
She was very
Alone,
Her face was
Closed.
Her dog was
Gone.

A Flash of Yellow

A flash of yellow
Races up the garden,
Chasing a cat
Who thought she was hidden.

A flash of yellow
Stops, looks at the floor
Looks back at me,
Frogs legs from his jaw.

A flash of yellow
Races across the field
Birds fly up, out of the way
I try to call him back to heel.

A flash of yellow
Races into the sea.
Chases the pebbles I throw,
wondering where they could be.

A flash of yellow
As we walk along the street,
Pulling the lead,
Jumps at friends we meet.

A long stretch of yellow
Laying across the floor
Totally worn out,
My big Labrador.

I noticed

I noticed today,
An eyelash was grey!
Mascara put on
To hide it away!

I noticed my skin
Has gone very thin!
Open a jar
And smooth the cream in!

I noticed my belly
Resembles a jelly!
Too many evenings
Spent watching the telly!

I noticed my hair
Once silken and fair,
Now coarsened and grey
And not much of it there.

I noticed my hips,
Make very loud clicks,
And seize up completely
On very long trips.

I noticed I’m grotty,
When once was a hotty!
And some may now say,
I’m a little bit potty.

I noticed with grace
and a smile on my face
That I have been blessed
To still be in this place.

A reading I wrote for my registry office wedding
He corresponded on the net,
Several times a day
It took two months before they met
As she lived so far away.

He told her where he lived:
A place he called ‘Pompey’
Her friend said that she knew it!
It was a village by the sea.

He invited her to Hampshire,
Where he’d buy her bottles of Becks
She was always partial to a beer,
So she thought “well, what the heck?”

It took another year being spent
Using train, or bus or car,
Between Portsmouth, via London, and Kent
Till they thought, it was too far.

So to South East from South he moved,
To a house in church yard passage
Their time together was improved,
As if nothing could assuage

After what seemed like an eternity
Both finished their uni courses,
Started living together in 2003,
To pool all their resources.

Looking back to the time they met,
That year was the millennium,
Many hiccups but very few regrets,
The years now total eleven.

This date, Sunday, the first of May
Forever etched on both their minds
As we celebrate their wedding day
All dressed up to the nines

Poem for Heidi

New baby girl,
So very small
Gently passed
So head won’t fall.

Resting in Dad’s
Crook of arm
So she won’t come
To any harm.

Toddler sister
Is in awe.
Never shared
Her mum before.

The little one
Looks all around;
Watches all,
But makes no sound.

New baby girl
So very small,
A few days old,
But loved by all.
Human Skin

Choux
Pale and silken
Plump and soft.

Shortcrust
Golden and warm,
Smooth and rich.

Hot Water
Thick and strong,
Brown and Sturdy.

Puff
Glowing and oiled,
Layered and sumptious.

Filo
Delicate and Fragile,
Pale and refined.
End of a love affair

The spell is broken;
Her ring the only token.
She’s now awoken!
Poem for Daisy

Baby girl with spiky hair,
That is so dark, with skin so fair.
Big blue eyes stare all around,
Until they know that Mum’s been found.

Older brother sits close by,
Making sure she doesn’t cry.
Proud to be her older ‘bruv’,
She looks up eyes filled with love.

Parents keep them safe and sound,
With a love that knows no bounds.