Monday, 24 August 2015

Secret Lives

Connected in space and time
You on your keyboard, me on mine
Through silence our words are spread
Communicated by fibre optic thread

In separate rooms we always meet
Perching like birds to chat and tweet
A heart to heart in the early hours
Allows our relationship to flower

You tell me all about your life
Omitting one small detail - your wife!
And I recall last week's amazing trip
Unbeknown to you delivered by needle tip

Off Course

I think we all have those moments in life when we feel like we have lost our way. We feel like we are drifting at the mercy of the sea that is life. We list, we yaw, and yes sometimes we sink to rest amongst the detritus for a while. However withdrawing to the depths is not about giving in. No, it is about giving ourselves a much needed rest. We are creating an opportunity for things to settle and once settled the water clears and we are able to chart a new course.

Off Course

Lost, aimlessly drifting
No place in mind
Pulled, pushed
To then fro
Like the shifting sand
No destination planned

Sail torn, untethered
Beaten by the storm
Hanging heavy
With no energy to give
Destined to remain adrift

Saturday, 22 August 2015

Does Your Poem Suck?

A helpful article if you're trying to figure out whether that poem you just wrote truly sucks!

WORD UP: For Beginner Poets: How to Know If Your Poetry Suc...: Written  by   Ami Mattison   Poets at all levels of experience worry about whether or not our poetry sucks.  Often, as we contemp...

Midwife of Words

People sometimes ask me why I write poetry. A fair question especially when I contemplate the time I spend mulling over my thoughts. Yes I must spend, minutes, hours, days even, swirling thoughts around in my psyche, feeling their energy flow this way and that. Sometimes its good energy and it resonates with a lulling harmonious rhythm that sings to my soul. At other times it is not so good energy. It thrashes around my inner house leaving emotional devastation in its wake.  The mind monkeys enjoy the feast. They love a good story another drama that will perpetuate the cycles of unhealthy behaviour.

I guess the act of writing allows the energy to flow, to move from that void within where it has been spiralling round. It enables it to flow outward. To take form. No longer lost within those dark depths the words can now dance across the page. Black on white, darkness finally meeting light as a poem is born. Birthed by the poet; the midwife of words. 

Tuesday, 18 August 2015

Giver, Taker, Matcher, Faker

Are you a giver, a taker, a matcher or a faker? I guess the truth is we have all at some point in our lives been all four.

Adam Grant on Givers, Takers, Matchers and Fakers. An interesting podcast that discusses why we should all strive to be givers.

Who Are You?

In life
There are Givers
There are Takers
There are Matchers
There are Fakers
Which one are you?
I've been all four
And the doormat
At the door!

Almost a Quintilla

Out walking this morning I felt the first breaths of autumn upon my face and as I contemplated it's arrival it whispered a poem in my ear. Four syllables less a line and it would have been a quintilla.

The Hawthorn Tree

I feel the chill of autumn faintly here and there,
Whispering lullabies within the morning air,
Go find your golden robe and stunning crimson dress,
And as a final touch, certain to impress,
Sow rubies in your fading emerald hair.

Monday, 17 August 2015

Unlocking the Poet Within

My relationship with Stephen Fry is improving. I no longer feel like hurling him across the room accompanied by an ode of expletives!!

Clutter by the Metre

And now Clutter hopefully abiding to the rules of poetic metre!


Detritus of modern living,
Seals me in, fast, unforgiving,
Each day another claim for space,
Card city grows at endless pace,
Spilling throughout the white walled room,
Harbinger of impending gloom.

Sunday, 16 August 2015


Back to my own unique poetic writing style a poem about a subject a little too close to home!!


Trapped amongst the detritus of human life,
a battle is lost, chaos resides,
Empty boxes like skyscrapers rise,
and unfiled papers fill space,
where dinner once presided
Each morning ever more junk arrives,
deposited by postie's daily incoming tide
Materialism, consumer driven,
creates more waste, to fill
that once uncluttered space.

All Metered Out

I'm all metered out, struggling with metre and foot!! Think I might have to stick with my own unique style and develop a new blog -  I'm going to follow the advice of this site -  which is basically write what my soul wants to sing. If my words sing to your soul too then that's great and if not, no matter. They are after all an expression of me and not you.

The Craft of Poetry

I've been exploring the craft of the poet with the help of Stephen Fry. Today my journey has taken me into the mind boggling realm of metre. As metre is all about beat it's quite ironic that I should choose my poem Time to measure against the yardstick of metre. Lol there's an interesting conundrum - measuring a metre with a yardstick!! Anyway without more a do here is Time reworked so it conforms, I think, to the rules of metre. However upon further reflection I think my stressed and unstressed syllables maybe somewhat awry.


Clocks are ticking
Seconds clicking
Hours are passing
Days amassing
Memories made
Years on can fade
New births, first breaths
Last gasps, sad deaths
Life's for living
Love for giving
C'mon make haste
Create not waste

Saturday, 8 August 2015


Clocks ticking
Seconds clicking
Hours passing
Years amassing
Of ceremonies
Of new births and first breaths
Of growing old and sad deaths
A lifetime to live
With love to give
Make haste
Too precious to waste

Friday, 7 August 2015

Hidden Love

Where do you keep your love
Behind a thousand locked doors with no key
Beneath the ice for a lifetime's sleep
Oh where do you keep your love

Where do you keep your love
At the bottom of an ocean fathoms deep
Within a well no vessel can ever reach
Oh where do you keep your love

Where do you keep your love
At the top of some inaccessible lonely peak
Behind fortress walls unmeasurably thick
Oh where do you keep your love

Where do you keep your love
Deep in a forest, dark and forbidding
Covered in earth, protected, hidden
Oh where do you keep your love

Tell me, where do you keep your love
So I can feel its warm embrace
Your tender kisses upon my face
Tell me, where do you keep your love