Posted in Daily Prompt


A tricky question makes my mind tick tock tick tock.  I want to change, be different but then my self-destruct button gets pushed and I think “one more won’t help.  What can it do to me,”

My dilemma, like so many women young and old. Do I do life my way or do I listen to every scaremongering tale, be made to feel inadequate because I’m not size 6. Seriously, my shoe size is bigger than so many waistlines.

We’re caught in this constant tap tapping away at our self image with damage to who we are; they push too far, then they wonder why we’re up in arms, they say no harm has been done.

Juice, 5:2, low fibre, high fibre, no carbs and so the list goes on, so much longer than my arm. The struggle, the tussle of every day to find a way not to eat our way out of house and home.

There’s no dilemma on their part as they pull at our heart, our soul, to make us aim for that goal to make everyone look the same, to gain full control of our minds with their games.

Don’t get me wrong, I know the ball’s in my court, my retort is one of saying ” don’t marginalise us by our size, don’t fob us off , don’t make us feel guilty when we’re empty, when we’re hungry. Instead, boost our confidence, don’t dent our personalities with trivialities.

Yes, sometimes my willpower slips and I dip into the newly opened biscuit packet, trying not to make a racket, make sure I’m not heard.

But, surprisingly you’ve solved my dilemna for me; I’m full of individuality and you won’t hold me down.


Posted in Daily Prompt, Skin Poetry


A Carpenter’s song called “Masquerade” beguiles with the line

“Are we really happy with this lonely game we play? We’re lost in this Masquerade”

Pretending isn’t easy. Pretending to be something you’re not takes some practice.  Actors have to use this tool, to be something they’re not, to help their watchers believe in everything they say and do, every action, every reaction.

I get that, I really do.  But when you’re faced with something that you can’t quite put your finger on, because you know, deep down inside that the person opposite you is just pretending. And they’re pretending they don’t realise how every word, each movement, every blink of the eye speaks volumes. Pretence has become part and parcel of their lives; it’s the meat on the bone, the cherry on the cake.  And it doesn’t seem to bother them at all.

When you see loved ones, dear ones pretend that everything’s “ok”, everything’s “fine”; when you see the pain it causes them to even talk normally about normal things, with a normal air and you know that every intonation makes them wince in pain, makes them gag, because they know that ain’t the truth.

Of course you try to help, guide questions, invent scenarios for them to be able to say “I need you to do something” and, even when they see what you’ve given them, they’re so sapped, so drained that, although they try, something inside them makes them pull back, attack, deflect the picture back to you, to try and make you not see through what you already know.

Pain reflected, injected, into every breath, without any let up, they’re penned up inside their own cage, enraged by their weakness, their meekness, their lack of strength to tell whatever it is to take a long walk off a short pier.

You look, try not to stare or glare but, with a look, a touch, make sure they know their glow has not gone out, that if they need to scream and shout, you are there; you’re not going anywhere.

But, for now, this moment, this second of connection brings an action of unconditional love into the emptiness of pain, the knowing that, once again, you’ll ease, you’ll not refrain from ever being there.

Posted in Daily Prompt, Surge


You send shivers down my spine.  I can’t escape from what is right in front of me, in plain sight.

There’s no turning away now.

The expectation causes me to stop, to take a sharp intake of breath.  Legs tremble, feet heavy with regret, although things have been, well, quite good. That means nothing now.


What do I do? Face the panic, get it over with or run. Fight or Flight.  If I run, you’ll still follow me until I turn and face you. If I fight, well, it means I’ve not given up, not given up trying, trying to beat you, with your taunts, your weird sense of humour.  Yes, you may well grin, smirk, say to me, in that familiar sarcastic tone “Really? Is that the best you can do? I’d give up right now”

No. I won’t, I can’t. Like all who have gone before me and more still to follow, you can’t give up now, you really have come so far.  But I still have so much further to go and I’m getting tired of your jibes at my inconsistency.  Now my head is scrambled.

Once again,the panic bubbles, bitter in the pit of my stomach.

Ok, I say to myself, let’s do this.

“Whenever you’re ready”

You laugh but I won’t go down so easily this time. I will fight. I will keep fighting you until the battles done. I will conquer this panic, this fear. One day, you’ll change, one day you’ll have to eat your words.

I step gingerly onto the scales….


Posted in Daily Prompt, Skin Poetry


“One more slice my dear?”

My stomach grumbled, though it could’ve been just a warning sign for me to refuse. But my host, so generous in her portions, was legendary for her delicious creations. My tongue was well and truly tied.

“I’ll cut you a teensy bit. You won’t even notice it on the plate ”

Oh. The second part of that sentence wasn’t completely true.  You’d certainly know it was there. In fact, Tim Peake could’ve seen it from the International Space Station. With his eyes closed. In his cabin.

But I couldn’t refuse this slice of gorgeousness. Clouds of smooth, white, yet slightly crisp meringue beckoned me, with a soft, lilting voice. Luscious lemon oozed from beneath, without any sight of a soggy bottom.

My host winked her twinkling blue grey eyes and, leaning close , placed a gentle kiss upon my cheek. Her generous heart, filled with years of tears, fears, hopes, dreams were part and parcel of each delectable bite.  She poured them, mixed them and served each portion with joy.

How could I refuse such a demonstration of pure happiness?

Would you?

Posted in Daily Prompt


The sound I heard resounded round my brain; I strained to hear that sound again.

But was it really there? I leant in close enough so that my nerves were on a knife-edge…

Jump! My heart thudded, my breath grew short, panic rising in my throat. Muffling a silent scream I pushed my hand over my mouth; it couldn’t notice me if I stayed still, if I didn’t move, make a sound.

The air was palpable with nausea.  I can’t stay like this, I thought. I need to move, find somewhere safe. I need to get out but my bones, my muscles refuse to move no matter how hard I try to lull them into a false sense of security.

It’s fine, I’m fine. Breathe. Breathe.

And then the sound again, causing me to jump once more.  I can’t stifle my scream any longer but nothing comes out. Absolutely nothing. The fear pushes up, from my stomach, its grip on my widpipe becomes suffocating.

“Help!” A whimpering noise comes out if my mouth. Now my voice grows.  “Help!”

“Will someone please get rid of this spider NOW!!!!”


Posted in Daily Prompt, Retrospective


With a flick of your hair, you turn and face the camera.

Is she or isn’t she?

The whoosh of perfumed hairspray floats in front of you and, as you bob your head, the droplets of lacquer fall upon every follicle.  Then, with some amount of combing, of teasing into place, you smile.

So terribly cool, so terribly stylish.

Your face adorns each magazine; eyes wide open, twinkling, smiling at your unseen audience, each of which, even the men, would love to be you, the way you walk, the way you always smile no matter the news, the state of the nation.

Like a goddess, frozen , you remain stylishly timeless, forever beautiful.uwfsjrbhcapture-595x417-resize



Posted in Daily Prompt, Thought process


When the room is filled with the emptiness of noise, the walls creak with the overloading notion that silence covers your every step.

And each footstep, marked in humble solemnity, graces the cold stone floor, moving with such grace, such swiftness that the motion in itself becomes a joyous symphony of ebb and flow, bend and turn.

Around each corner lies another place of solitude; in that niche, that cramped space silence brings freedom. Freedom from the constraints, the demands of life.  No voice is heard, only lips move raptly, creating shapes, creating words that bring the cries of the heart to the feet of their Creator.

Each silent prayer is a loud thanksgiving, a heartfelt song of praise, an acknowledgement of need, of humility, of love.

No voice is heard by those that pass by, with their cameras and their audio guides.

But the silent speaker’s heart is filled with inexplicable joy as they chat with their loving God, as they listen to His voice, as they receive blessing upon blessing.

No silence can ever mask their rapture.


Posted in Daily Prompt


Puffing up another hill, checking the guide to see if our directions right. We set out so cheerfully to search for an awesome sight.

A climb, then climb again, up deep yet narrow steps, then, into light, green, willowing trees that bend their sinewy necks.

We walk along a grassy field and then- there is the goal! But we have really no idea how much we’ll have to troll.

Through dark and mossy crevices, through tunnels thin and low, up even steeper steps than those which we’d previously forgone.

The hike continues through the woods where brambles pull and snatch at any piece of clothing that it will stoop to catch.

Following the signs, though oft delayed and round in circles go, then breaths of deep relief are puffed as there our goal stands tall.

We pause, the silence gathers round as slowly we take in the beauty of the land below and where our hike began.

Small shafts of sunlight break their way through clouds that gather there; we breathe the higher oxygen, the slighr chill in the air.

We take our fill of ruins, of walls built in the past, of footsteps, hands that have build and hewn this monument that lasts, lasts longer than our lives will be and longer still again; stones that are laid to celebrate the accomplishments of man.

Now one last look, and then our downward hike begins to gather pace as steps descend, then rise again,through branches bent in place where, too many years ago, there trod more travellers fair, who climbed and stumbled just like us, who gasped to take in air.

Our hike to reach a place of rest has worn our weary bones yet we are thankful, grateful still ,for hands that toiled, composed and worked with mother nature to create such artistry.






Posted in Surge

Skin Poetry

I’m part of the “Kingdom Coffee Pot” group at our church. We get together once a month to chat, pray about the direction God wants us to take, drink coffee  (natch) and eat cake/buscuits.

We were chatting about what had been happening, revelations, that ki da thing. Des & I talked about our first “DIY Festival ” and how I’d actually openly shared some of my poetry for the first time.

I was trying to explain about my writing and the best thing that I could allude it to was as if it was pouring from my skin, in an “oomph” movement, just tumbling out. I feel so full of words so much of the time and so wish I could record and keep all the songs, words, poems, raps so that I’d never lose them.

Skin poetry sort of sums it up. I coukd also call in “vein poetry” as the words move around all the time hence, when it’s appropriate, I keep a book to write stuff down asap.

Maybe you have skin, vein, blood poetry. Poetry that’s part and parcel of everything you say and do.