Keeping On

It never rains, but it pours:

We all know that.

Cloaked now in cloying drizzle

From grey rain-clouds,

One thing after another

Goes wrong for us.

We look ahead to blue skies,

Clinging to hope.

While we are waiting, we change,

Get used to rain,

We put our umbrellas up,

Our faces down.

And when things work out later,

For that they will,

Good luck never shone so bright

In our tired eyes.











Playground Blues

We swing together, side by side.

Our feet are up the air

Until they block out the sun above us.

You are too big now

For me to push you.

You want to do it your own way,

Like I taught you:

Push your legs out,

Once you are off the ground,

Then tuck them back under.

Legs straight, then bent,

Straight, bent, straight, bent.

I am so glad you can do things for yourself

More and more everyday.

That is what I am here for, after all.

But it is also hard

To be less needed,

Soon you will no longer believe my silly lies

Like my chocolate is only for grown ups

And the park is closed in the early mornings

When it is raining.

One day we will not play together on these swings at all.

But at the moment

It is time for the seesaw

Which remains, for now,

A game for the both of us.


Toothpaste Love

The road to hell is paved

With desires such as yours:

To love me as much as I love you.

I can tell you want to love me more,

More than you really do,

But it is not something you can force.

Love is not squeezed out of the soul

Like a tube of glue

Or that last bit of toothpaste.

We both know that.

Now we have a voice within us

Telling us we are not enough.








Secret Shrine

Through the streets I wandered,

Meandering as I went,

And as I walked I pondered,

What lay just round the bend.


Heat was blazing down on me,

From the August sun,

Let loose on holiday, I was free

My plans for the day all done.


What I then saw before my eyes

I did not expect to find:

A glowing shrine, quite large in size,

Light and darkness intertwined.


Under an arched ceiling, candles abounded:

Plaques of thanks covered the wall,

Cobblestones beneath my feet were rounded,

From centuries of footfall.


Sometimes, without the guidebook

You come across that special place,

Which makes you stop and take a look,

And wonder in its grace.









Little Miss Late

She’s very busy, she has no time,

Perhaps her time is more important than mine.

Rushing about, to and fro-

She doesn’t even know where to go!

Running in circles round everything

Not even sure where to begin-

Or so she keeps telling me.

One of us has to be patient, you see,

To sit around waiting, every day;

Wondering what excuses she will say.

I ran through the drizzle to catch the bus

But she splits her life between all of us,

So we feel quite ignored and forgotten,

Lesser, not as valid, slightly rotten.

I’m waiting at the café now, alone,

While I suspect she’s still at home.

Wine drunk

I’m wine drunk and I’m sleepy,

This guy is acting a little bit creepy.

Not enough to speak out-

But I am looking about

For my friends in the club.

Maybe they left and are at the pub?

His hand is on my leg-

Yuck. In my mind I beg

For someone to rescue me;

To come over and set me free.

He’s telling me about his life

And I know he has a wife

But she’s not the topic at hand,

He needs me to know he thinks I’m grand

My male friends don’t know why he scared me;

“He was just trying to be friendly,”

But I know the mood can turn like that,

They go from nice to angry in three seconds flat.

That’s why  I want to get away;

Save this pain for another day.