There were no fireworks,

But a heavy thud

In my chest.

My heart trapped in a birdcage,

Trying to jump towards you.

“Oh no,” I thought,

“Not again.”



“Where are your morals?”, she cried,

Followed by “What’s wrong with you?”

Then another complaint,

Which I did not hear because I had walked away

At quite a pace.

Morals: the code by which we live our lives,

Yet of course we each have our own code,

Our own compass,

A little voice in every mind,

Sometimes ignored.

My code tells me

As long as we are not hurting others,

If we aim to have integrity,

That compass is pointing in the right direction.


Fairy Queen

I wore a crown of tiny spiders

When I first met the Fairy Queen:

Soft and newborn, under silky green leaves

She gave at once a cry

And the spiders all crawled off,

Through dark undergrowth,

While I watched them growing farther away.

Softly, her nursemaids began to sing

So that she would sleep,

And as she closed her thin lids

The forest grew still,

And darkness fell like treacle

On all of us:

Then slowly, silently, the stars started to shine.

Au Revoir

One final visit to the town that has been my home.

Or perhaps one day there will be another?

Not for the foreseeable future:

When will I see that stretch of coast again,

Hear the many seagulls call across the breeze?

I will miss the open spaces, the narrow streets too.

I seem to fall in love with every place in which I live

And leave part of me behind when I go away,

But the urge to pack up and move does not leave.

Goodbye for now, to this green and sprawling town,

To the salted air and busy roads.

If I see you again, we will both have changed.

Butterfly House

The street outside is cold and grey

While the air inside is humid, heavy,

Full of water drops and a sweet scent:

Trays of orange slices line the path,

Which are nibbled silently.

I try to listen carefully:

Is that the gentle flutter of wings in the air?

Behind leaves and on branches,

Or high up in the air,

We observe the fleeting lives

Of colour, warmth and beauty:

The elusive winter butterfly.


Although this has stung I do not feel regret.

We can’t rewind now anyway

Yet I don’t regret meeting you,

Or any of the times we shared:

I won’t tear up our photos

Nor cut you off,

But I don’t want to be together again.


Our happy memories

Will remain memories,

Plans we made returned to dust.

It wouldn’t feel right:

Under the crook of your arm again,

Laughing as if nothing had changed

Because truly, everything has.