Sticky sweetness bound together

By oats in the morning drizzle

Grey days poured away with the milk

As the sugar clumps in my mouth.

Waking up before daybreak

To only the light from the water tower,

I pull my scratchy tights on,

Stumble downstairs to my breakfast.

I am so tired and eat so slowly

That the porridge hardens and cools,

Feeling heavy in my stomach.

Dawn streaks across the sky while I rush,

Late again, to my classes.

I cannot say I  miss those primary school days.






A Day at the Coast

He licks the salt off my lips

As the sea gushes forth

I am blinded by the sun and lost in my thoughts.

He holds my hand and the sea flashes above us

The cold light pinning us down.

The waves tug at my dress while the rocks caress my feet,

smooth from years of being beaten down,

shiny yet worn and old.

There is no one on the beach and there is no one in the sea

Save for us and the greying birds

Who circle above the encroaching tide with silent beaks,

Waiting and watching for unsuspecting food.

My hands are tangled with seaweed and his eyes are closed shut against the current.

On the way home we shiver in our towels, sand in our hair, and on my mind

Are the sharp silver fish that flitted around our feet as we got close to the shore.









Ink snakes down her arms and soaks into her skin

But she is sorry for each word that is not her own.

She looks at the lies she has written as she forges on

Calming the public with comforting untruths.

Tomorrow these will be read at breakfast

Scapegoats created and relief blooming.

Readers will smile in their fresh knowledge

Until her words line boxes and cupboards

Their words distorted and obscured.



I am whiter than white

And greener than green

I am mauve, I am navy and all shades in between.


I am darker than black

Yet paler than cream

I am livid and shiny but fading like a dream.


I am juicy and soft

A deep gentle grey

I am heather and puce and vermilion today.


I wanted to grow up

Become vibrant lime

Now I pass the mirror and look different every time.

Drive Home

The road never ends and the trees curve up above us,

Their wet leaves almost  touching each other as they reach out.

My coat covers my damp knees and my hair steams in the warmth of the heater.

I watch you concentrate as you drive, your lips pursed together until they go pale

And it is my favourite time, during these fleeting winter days

When I do not have to think or speak or plan.

I feel comfortable with myself when we are together in silence,

We have only to see what is around us and drink in the smooth darkness.