Posted in Thought process

The wonder of teeth

Yes, I’m back!  It’s taken quite a while, with so much going on…

Anyway, here’s a little something that I’ve just written for a poetry event that I’m taking part in this month…

“Oh, the wonder of teeth”said the crocodile sleek
to his friend, the craggy old crow.
“They are such a marvellous invention
and are with you where- ever you go”

“Oh, the wonder of wings” said the craggy old crow
as he perched quite far up in a tree
“they carry you far, the carry you wide,
over seas, in the rain, in the snow”

Then there came from the grass, which was awfully green,
a squeak and a sigh and a laugh as the local field mouse,
who was just passing by in his travel from the city of Bath.

“Oh, a tail is the best” squeaked the field mouse from Bath
“it has helped me in so many ways,
for it flicks side to side and by this, it will guide me
as I plan every route to escape”

“Dear field mouse from Bath” laughed the sleek crocodile,
“I’m afraid you are wrong, for you see
my teeth are quite sharp and can cut anything
from a mouse, to a crow, to a tree”

The craggy old crow and the field mouse from Bath
now both shivered and quivered and whispered,
“dear crocodile sleek, with your teeth oh so sharp
Have you caught all your prey for your dishes?”

The crocodile sleek, with his eyes shut so tight
said not a word for a minute or two;
he was thinking quite deeply about his reply
though he knew very well what he’d do!

“Oh crocodile sleek, are you now fast asleep?”
said the craggy old crow, bending near and
the field mouse from Bath now too stepped
towards the sleek crocodile seemingly still.
The cogs in the brain of the sleek crocodile
were now whirring and turning quite fast
for he knew both the craggy old crow and the mouse
had no route of escape- that had passed.

Craggy crow flapped his wings,
field mouse flicked forth his tail
but their actions were too much in vain
as the sleek crocodile, with his wondrous teeth
opened wide, pulled them in- they were gone.

“Oh, the wonder of teeth” said the sleek crocodile
As he settled now for a nap
“How marvellously moreish, how delectably sweet,
Who knew a craggy crow and a field mouse from Bath
Would make a charmingly satisfying a snack!crocodile-796x419goodwp.com_28963carrion-crow-resting-in-a-tree-at-a-lake_vcckr4ual__F0000

Posted in Surge, Thought process


It’s my decision,

I’m driven

By you

You are the one

Who placed stars in the sky

Made my heart sigh

When I see a radiant sunset

Orange, pink, purple; colours that you put together

You made each one of them perfect

Yet put them together

And bam, there you have it, the perfect combination,

The sensation of beauty in our fragile world

But I recoil at what we do

It’s true, I didn’t always listen to what you had to say

But you didn’t push , you let me just get on with it.

No recrimination, no turning away;

Sitting, listening, watching, until I realise

My pie in the sky attitude, my I can do it by myself, thank you very much

Didn’t get me far, in fact, it jarred me, confused me,

Deviated me from what I should be doing

People say it’s a shoo-in’, but I’m inclined to disagree.

Our holier than thou behaviour, our let me show you how much I can give,

The I’ll get round to sorting stuff out tomorrow, the who do you think you are?

You can’t run my life, in fact, I say you don’t exist and I persist with my

Berating, insinuating that you never threw stars, breathed life.

Life is strife and we have nothing at the end of it.

Nothing. Just dark. No second chance to dance but face up to the fact

That the pact we made with you was made in invisible ink; it disappeared

Like your promises.


Where did that anger that hatred come from?

We all have our own views on the path we choose

And, as much as you don’t like what I have to say,

You won’t change my way, my footsteps following my best friend

To not the end, but on, on to a place of sheer perfection;

You don’t reject anyone that comes to you;

It’s us; we decide to ignore, push you away,

Led by a sway of public agreement,

Led by what we see.

We try and say

We try to explain that you created all things

To live side by side

Like the songs says together in perfect harmony

So, as much as I tell it how it is

You won’t desist but mock my belief, releasing the bile

That you wouldn’t chuck at anything else.

But I’m driven,

It’s my decision

To be in love with you, be in love with everything about you

Even when I don’t understand the plan that’s for me,

The plan to bring me into what you’ve set aside for me.

It’s not a joke, a ruse, a strange cult where we have to do all weird and, quite frankly,

Some disturbing stuff to get the thumbs up from our illustrious leader.

This plan is more, more about freedom, about unshackling myself from

Things that hold me back, that attack me on every front, habits that don’t

Actually benefit me in any way.

It’s my decision

To be driven

With passionate, way out of my comfort zone, love.

It’s my decision

To be driven

No coercion, no arm twisting, no threat of hurt,

No hypnotism, no schism, no brain washing,

No quashing who I am.

No telling me that I have to do it your way

Or I’ll be punished each and every day.

It’s my decision,

I’m driven

By your absolute, perfect, no holds barred






Posted in Skin Poetry, Surge

Paper Thin

Sometimes, my heart is paper thin, easibly rippable

Consciously edible at the edges where life has frayed.

Hold my heart up to the light

See? There; a tear where a spike has pushed through,

Torn in two my fragile sensibility.


Sometimes, my heart is tough and strong

No words, however long, can break through this impenetrable wall

Of  solid, steadfast love.

Love that doesn’t call the shots, or plots

Against, or rails in disdain.


Sometimes, my heart is flexible

Fillable, with no constraints but a constant

Heartbeat, drum beat, skip to the beat

Dancing without fear of being shunned,

Never worrying about being number one

But giving without any need of payment, of any kind.


Sometimes my heart is sore;

It aches, and with every movement,

Pain fills the veins, and, with endless pulses,

Shoots fear and overwhelming anxiety into every cavity.

No desire to heal but to hurt, and hurt again, with

Constant put downs, rebukes, and history.


Sometimes, my heart is all four of the above.

One day strong, then flexible, sore, paper thin;

The din and shouting of the world makes me recoil,

Makes my blood boil as the spoils of crime against humanity

Rip paper thin hearts, leaving nothing but dust,

Leaving nothing but bricks and mortar

When have to sort, wade through, like treacle,

This abysmal mess that we have made, and, with a tirade,

We scream, we cry, we mourn the endless death and destruction.


But sometimes, my heart is a rally cry

That pushes me to say, to demonstrate all the love enclosed

In this beating heart.

My heart says “Stand up! Stand & be counted! Shout me loud and strong,

Sing my beloved song of hope and freedom

Against the hearts of stone, the cold, the unmoveable

Whose every move is to make them unnaccountable

Not doubtable, for all the slander, the hatred, that pits man against man

In this unforgiving sea of despair, no care but for themselves,

When so many, so many hearts are paper thin, rustling in the air,

Hung out to dry, no goodbye, but a shut door”



Yes, my heart may be paper thin;

It may be sore

But it is also tough, strong, flexible.

I’ll cleave no more to that which makes me disenchanted,

I’ll weave my heart strings with those whose love, whose colour for life

Is indescribably irridescent with beauty.


Let the sometimes be the all times.

Let the paper thin and sore be markers for how far we have travelled.

Let the flexibility of our hearts encase the fragile souls.

Let the tough, strong beats sound out, pound out, never be afraid to speak out.

Let the sometimes be the all times.








Posted in Skin Poetry, Surge



No sign of life

When I held you

For the last time.

I listened for your breathing, imagining I felt your mouth move.


You were still warm

When I carried you home,

With my heart shattered

And tears that choked my breath.


You looked asleep when I lay you down;

A towel to stop you from feeling the coldness

Of the kitchen work surface.

A towel to stop you from getting cold.

Your eyes still open

But you were not there.


Your fur felt soft, your smell as before,

Your beauty as you lay sleeping for the last time.

I couldn’t hold back my anger, at the unfairness,

At the suddenness, with God.

“You brought Lazarus back-why can you bring him back? He’s a cat”

I spat and I cried

I swore, I was, I am, still angry, reeling,

Inconsolable without

My baby, my puma, my “picklartus”


We buried you deep in

The earth.

And Thomas, your brother

Who had cleaned you, had lain on you to keep you warm,

Who could not understand

Why his brother would not,

Could not get up,

Came over, cautiously.

He sniffed the air,

The ground.

He knew.

And nothing we could say,

No amount of stroking

Would bring him back.


My bubba boy, my pickle,

My shadow, my teddy bear,

Wrapped in my

Heart forever.

Posted in Skin Poetry

Look Up

Though you try to denigrate, there’s no room to negotiate.

I know you will try to make me subjugate to what you want me to do.

I haven’t got the time for this, for this rubbish, this nonsense. And I’m in no need of your questions as you ration my words, trying to stop my words.

Yes, your words make me tremble, and I start to crumble underneath the weight of your whispered intonations.  But these insidious comments are now well documented, annotated inside my mind.

Yes, you make me cry, wonder why.

Look Up.

So much I want to say but I trip over the stream of words.

Look Up.

You’re never too small or insignificant- remember?

The most weakest tribe was recognised.

Look Up.

Hold onto your heart, hold onto to what I’ve already promised. Stand on the Rock, stand on the one thing that can’t move, though the sea rages with its furious waves, though the rain lashes down, pummeling,boring in,though the storm clouds are their blackest, when even darkness has no limits.

Hold onto your heart.

As the crocus and the tulip, who speak of majesty and joy, stand firmly rooted and are not ashamed of their beauty,look and be blessed.  Be still in your peace, be grounded in enduring love.  The radiant kalediscope is not marred by the wind or rain; the petals may fold in, but they do not stop being beautiful.

Look Up.

Posted in Skin Poetry, Thought process


If I could truly understand what mercy meant,

I’d be so much better at it.

How do I show mercy?

How do I react to random questions, or to people who are so different from me?

Let me think.

Mercy is about love, about grace.

What’s love about? Mercy.

And mercy means sticking by someone, not berating people who have a different opinion from you.

It means helping, it means encouraging, it means baking a cake, making a meal, phoning, stopping by to say “Hi”, it means not letting language be a barrier.

It means putting all your differences aside and loving, even when it’s too hard to love, when it’s easier to hate.

When we learn to live merciful lives and not “I want everything yesterday” lives, lives that are greedy, full of me, me, me, then we might get somewhere.

Mercy is true, compassionate, understanding, more than tolerant, and full to the brim with love.

Posted in Daily Prompt

Daily Prompt: Bludgeon

via Daily Prompt: Bludgeon


I am not defined by the way you try to hammer me into shape.

My life is worth far more than you will ever understand, so please understand this.  However much you try to bludgeon me with your interpretation of how my life is going, of how good I am, my worth, my self, I have something to tell you.

I haven’t given you permission to do so; in no way shape or form have I given you any authority over who I am.  You can’t press gang me into your mould.  I do not belong to you.  I belong to another.

With your subtle words that seem quite harmless, you indicate that I am cannot be who I am.

Give it your best shot, cos I ain’t going no where.

This time it’s serious.

I am not a pre-owned toy that you can bite on when it takes your fancy.  You can’t keep picking me up and flinging me around.

I’m pre-loved.  I am loved before the dawn of time.  I am loved with a supernatural, never ending, eternal, three stranded cord love.

I am reminded that I need to stand up, stand tall, hold my head high. I know you’ll keep trying with your lying to impart words that are empty, seemingly nonchalant but in reality packed full of deception.

You know what, I don’t know what’s going to happen.  But one thing I am sure of is this. More than one thing, to be precise.  In fact, you’ll lose count when you seem them.  A torrent, a fast flowing river of delight and fruitfulness that will blow your socks off.  Blessing upon blessing pouring into my life, declaring me to be a force to be reckoned with.

Hermia took it as a slight, but I take it in pride “And though she be but little, she is fierce”

Watch me roar.

Posted in Skin Poetry


It’s been a while since we spoke about anything in particular. But it doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten who you are, it’s just that….I mean that…

Can you believe the time that got left behind in space,at my place at a quicker pace than we could ever have imagined. In what seemed to be another chapter, another line, you told me that you missed me, that you still hold that kiss that we shared, showing the care and devotion that never left our sides.

Don’t forget who we were; we were a team, a partnership, a way forward, never discouraged, with intention to mention that we were in love. 

That we are in love.

Messages bounce back and forward with no room for pause in the electricity, the synchronicity that pulls us together, that binds us, combines us on the road we travel, the paths we stumble on, the lanes we run along. 

Pictures of me and you are encased in the sim card of my phone, my mind and they play, a cinematic explosion of life, snapshots, music and scenery describing the intimacy of our hearts.

Beating, marching.

Ring, ring, pick up and answer. 

Then I hear your voice, recorded, held in a capsule, never changing.

Easing the time we’re apart.

Posted in Daily Prompt, Thought process


Too much pressure, filling up my head with so much that doesn’t need to be there. So much dross, rubbish, careless trash thrown at me, pouring, grabbing searing pain and it drops like rain; drop, drop, drop until my head can’t take anymore.

See, I’m on the floor waiting for your breakthrough, waiting, passionately crying, frustrated at the greed, the need to cause pain as a source of gain; and the world goes insane again & again.

No more of this; this isn’t welcomed, this isn’t taken into our hearts; all it does is to part soul from bones, bones that groan, that slide into the divide of nothingness.

Yet not to be discouraged by what is happening; to be discouraged as you want to know more, love more, serve more, waiting for fresh revelation, one that not only frees the nation but frees my spirit, cos I’m in it to win it.

So come on, break through, break through so that I can move, think, talk, laugh, love, not in spite of life but because of it.

Plant in dried cracked mud