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Scotland in Spring…?
Cast not a clout till May is oot. Spare those sandals ‘til summer proper. Keep your toes dry with shoes and boots. NaPoWriMo 2019 Day 10: write a poem using an expression about weather Pic...
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If I were enough…
If I were enough, I would devour my here-and-now and not hunger for some perfect future. If I were enough, I wouldn’t wish for someone’s fish or scoff at what’s on my plate. If I were enough, I...
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not-so-splendid isolation
what writer doesn’t crave time alone, to write, float, feel free to create in a world of imagined forms yet ‘on your own’ brings up all kinds of stuff: the thought, the feel, the sense of nothing,...
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puzzling my way through
Fitting together, bit by tiny bit, this is getting me through. The notches that link, the bumps that won’t, the picture that’s slow to reveal. The colours that work, the shapes that don’t, the purpose...
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my hideaway place
poised at the bottom edge of the lawn stands my secret hideaway place flanked by fences that sway in the breeze and tickled by next-door laurel leaves it’s a haven of peace and grace
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the rhyme of him and her
he loves her when she’s sweet and juice she is loved when needy and loose he takes offence when she doesn’t give truce she feels tears as he shouts his dues he takes hold when reaching a sluice she...
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my stressed suitcase
my dream of a suitcase comes only with stress the clothes to fit in are way too excess tension mounts: I will miss my flight nausea rises at my timed-out plight I wake, and I feel bereaved of my stuff...
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a poem for lippy
a mood is lippy on a cup of something crucial a person’s choice of lip shows social preference hear your red and you’re redolent with riches touch your pink and you’re prior to other pinches taste...
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in search of my treasure
my eyes are totally on the prize as I lockdown my life I’m more focused than before and my treasures lie beyond shore yet the urge to mine those gems keeps my purpose on point and aligned
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my antidote to news
and so the world worries on, with stats galore and my heart catapults with fears I abhor the truth of the matter is: no one’s the white knight so let’s pile our hopes, with a flick and a flight
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