Tuesday, 21 August 2012


i have a packet for you
something you might need
it was the love you gave me
before you disappeared.
thinking you might need it
i’ve parcelled it for you
I have no further need of it
a love that has been used
but i’ve kept a souvenir
just a very little part
to replace what you have taken-
a portion of my heart.

Sunday, 22 April 2012

On reflection

On reflection

Mother was just Mother or so it seemed to me,
she got us up for breakfast and was there again for tea
On Fridays she did baking because father worked till eight,
and we would fight to get the bowl in which she mixed the cake.

We always had a Sunday roast, which made lots of washing up,
and then appeared on Monday as jackets with cold cuts;
Tuesdays she went shopping so dinner was a treat,
it had to be something quick to cook and often quick to eat;

Most days we had puddings all made by Mother’s hand,
but we never did appreciate how much it all was planned,
She’d sit and write a list of meals to have the coming week
and fill in Wrenson’s grocer’s book with anything we’d need.

The milkman came each morning, the grocery midweek,
and vegetables from Raybold’s van parked out in the street.
Laundry went on Wednesday after all the beds were changed,
because when we were little we didn’t have machines.

She made our clothes for Sundays, matching frocks when we were young,
gradually she taught us how to make our own.
She’d listen to the wireless when we had gone to bed
but what she thought of life we never asked, she never said.

She didn’t seem to have ambition and was content with life
she was a diligent and happy married wife;
she never seemed to ask for anything for herself,
only so much later when she wasn’t in good health

She was very good with money, she knew where every penny went
and she planned it very carefully and never overspent.
She got a little job when I was aged fifteen;
I think she wanted more from life than to sit at home and dream

She was very quick with numbers, and tidying the house,
I wonder if she would have liked to work or at least the chance to choose.
In the early fifties after men had been demobbed
to give them work women were required to give up jobs,

they had to work for men if allowed to stay;
it was before the age of equal opportunity and pay.
Men ruled in the workplace, women ruled the home
but did they both get what they wanted before their time was done?

Did you ever think to ask your mum if she’d made the most of life,
not being her own woman but someone else’s wife?
Did she feel that life had given her the chance to shine,
I’ll never know because it’s something that I never did ask mine?

Monday, 12 March 2012

I stood unmoving
but moved beyond tears
as the stillness I longed for

Saturday, 25 February 2012


Falling water
falling rain
falling tears
falling out again

falling down
things fall apart
a fallen angel
broke my heart

people fall asleep
some fall out of bed
people fall out of favour
some fall down dead

people fall for what is said
people fall under a bus
some fall by the wayside
but that's not us

some fall under your spell
that's me, it's true
and now i'm in freefall
falling in love with you

Wednesday, 1 February 2012

Off the top of my head....

Off the top of my head I wouldn’t have said
there’s a shred of a chance of my winning
but I love using words  and though it’s perverse
I’m particularly fond of punning

I’ve just finished a course on how to write verse
and if I don’t try  then I’ll never know
If I’ve learned to express unlike anyone else
an image that’s really quite stunning.

When I’m by myself I just can’t stop
this verbal diahorrea which you’re going to hear
but if you’re at home and can read it alone
you can cast it aside if you can’t abide it, and I’ll never know


What’s it to be will you give me a chance to woo you with words
that I’ve crafted and honed to a poem that has something  to say
and no-one else has written in verse
in quite the same way that I want to say it?

I’d play it cool but I’m such a virgin
I’ m urging you to read me through and give me a chance.
read me out loud to a crowd or a few
in the bath, in the garden wherever appeals

What do poets do when they get a day
of inspiration when they want to say something in verse
do you rush for your pen or your computer
do you pester your friends or your publisher?

I know the given is not to plunge in but to let it settle,
read it again, ‘frisk every word’ to see what it’s saying
remove ’ buts’ and  ‘ands’  just there for the  rhythm;
a double adjective’s quite a sin,

a descriptive verb is best  put in.
Don’t forget if you’re reading aloud
syllable count is not seen by the crowd
the words will just flow and mingle together,

what you need to decide when you have finished
is could you diminish the  number of verses
don’t hesitate,  deviate or repeat yourself
or yours is the poem that is left on the shelf.