School’s Out

June 24, 2015 at 9:00 pm (Poems)

If you live in plain sight of the school yard
you will never go further than home
when the bell rings your legs will not dally
but will tread the few meters alone.

Though inclined to the path least resisting
don’t be frightened of stretching your self
take the back gate and go round the houses
for the ultimate good of your health.

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My Teacher

June 17, 2015 at 5:23 pm (Poems)

Sir sharpened pencils;

it was done to perfection:

nothing is pointless.

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June 16, 2015 at 8:35 pm (Poems) (, , , , , )

Have you forgot the fairy child
its face a rose from Heaven
who danced upon your attic floor
with you when you were seven?

Have you forgot the world we made
from dust of fairy shoe?
I took you in with fairy ways –
you wondered what I knew.

Have you forgot your whispered wish
when you were shaped a child,
and I was something different?
the promises we smiled?

Another life undid our bond
and closed the door I made
betwixt the breath of butterflies
where fairy children played.

But in this altered time we live
I hold a space for you
and you’ll return in time, you will –
All fairy children do.

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June 6, 2015 at 12:59 am (Poems) (, , , , )

I didn’t know the lad, but he was part of our community and I know he will be missed. As each cherished person is missed. If he has to be gone, the lad, then I would like a picture to remember him by. I didn’t know him, but I want to remember him now, even though it makes me sad. So I will sketch him in a few words, and when he sees my sketch, he might point and laugh, and say “Silly, that’s not me!” But I won’t mind. I won’t mind at all.

Swimming in his shoes

Red sparkles on white horses

Delighted laughter

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Take Social Care

June 5, 2015 at 9:15 pm (Poems) (, , , , , , , , )

An angel spoke to me one night
when I sat in my youth
he told me I should be aware
of one unerring truth:

That like or not the time will come
when I will need a hand
to guide me through my daily life
– not quite what I had planned.

He bade me think, this angel fair
of loving volunteers
and low paid carers struggling
to tend my ageing years.

What will I want when I am old?
An elephant that rages
because we locked the cupboard door
and wouldn’t pay her wages?

Am I so sure I will not yearn
for love’s sustaining patience
when I am old and on my own
with similar relations?

Why do we lend so little heed
to those who hold our future?
For I’ll receive what I beget –
if I forget to nurture.

“So pay the carers what you will,”
the angel said, “be certain
that you will want the gentlest hand
to close your final curtain.

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Seven Days, Seven Nights

June 4, 2015 at 10:14 pm (Poems) (, , , )

1 Guilty betrayer of all cats
2 fully occupied
3 selling comfort for a coin
4 driving far from home
5 in Wellington
6 dressed as a zebra
7 eating roasted vegetables.

1 The pigs came
2 we shared the pie
3 three lay curled upon our bed
4 chasing imaginary flies
5 earrings on your cabinet
6 slept on the other side
7 missing you.

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Day Break

May 17, 2015 at 6:36 am (Poems) (, , )

and yet, without him
no joy to anticipate –
no welcoming kiss.

inspired by chevrefeille’s carpe diem

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May 16, 2015 at 2:07 pm (Poems) (, , , , )

We have this habit of defining

the nature of our beast

and an eye for definition

which may limit, or at least

prevent us from evolving

in a helpful sort of way

to keep up with our surroundings –

the environments at play.


There are countless endless junctures

at which our cells could switch

from those well-remembered patterns

to a stronger bolder stitch

but our stubborn prolongation

of the sequences we know

keeps us circling our shelter

even when the changed winds blow.

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Double empathy

April 18, 2015 at 6:44 pm (Stories) (, , )

I glance, and how to be a man with powerful thighs,
attired in far too tight a neutral suit?
‘to be unsure of why he feels so sick
and all he wants to eat? An aging tin of fruit.

Attired in far too tight a neutral suit
I glance and stride aside of some small woman
who wheels a squeaking trolley near my feet
maneuvering our empathetic plan.

I glance and stride aside of some small woman
and guess she hurries home to aging cat.
Is she as sick as I, and why today?
And serve herself tinned fruit? I feel she might.

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For the Love of Jack

March 24, 2015 at 12:32 am (Poems) (, , , , , )

Remember our Jack, who picked up his beans
and walked away from those who sought
to exploit his fear and vulnerability?

Remember how he walked away
from agencies who smelt
an egg of gold?

Our Jack didn’t give a bean
for banks who showed no interest
for as long as he had –
Jack squat.

No, our Jack put his beans
in a medium sized hole
he dug with his own hands
in a good old river bank,
and his care for those beans
never altered.

Even when they laughed at him
and took his shoes
and told him he was trespassing
upon their mean old patch of land
his love light never faltered.

So our Jack sat down on his jacksy,
and watched his beanstalk fare,
and now our Jack’s beans are plenty
for all kind folk to share.

But for the love of Jack we’re hungry,
and the giants have their way,
But for the love of Jack we’re broken,
Take your beans and walk away.

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