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 Daily Prompt, Surge


What you think you value and what you actually feel doesn’t always hit the mark, express what’s truly real as  your heart skips a beat when you look and see the effect that you have, the extent of the plea as you ask yourself what’s making you live, what’s making you laugh, what’s making you give.

Yes, you give what you can, maybe even more, from the chats on the phone, or the dance on the floor with the framily you love, the ones you adore, the ones who make your heart soar.

When they say the best things in life are free, it’s true, on the head, bout you and me cos I can’t always see what’s in the distance but you bring it all into clear perception.  And when I try to run when I should be walking, you don’t put me down, do all the talking. You listen, really listen to my inmost doubts, then with a crystal clear voice that shatters the darkness you say “let’s walk together, just you and I ” and with your hand in my hand you explain how much you love me, even when I feel unloveable, tell me that I’m precious, that I’m part of your family. Tell me that I’ll never be lonely, never cast aside, never left to rot, never pushed outside.

Why’s that? You value my every breath, you know the stars in the sky and the hairs on my head. You know me inside out and upside-down; I’m your beloved, and you give me a crown of beauty not ashes, give me joy not sadness; I’m your rose of Sharon, I’m your everlasting love.

What you see in me is what I can’t see; what you love about me is all and everything and you value me above it all, yes, you value me so much you gave your life away so that I could be free, rid of shame, rid of guilt, rid of my selfish ambition; now my position is one of truly honoured, highly exalted.

More than oxygen, more than the amassed riches of the world, more than chocolate, more and more and then times by a billion.

You love

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 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.

Posted in Daily Prompt, Love and stuff, Surge


Slivers of ice slice through the silken spider’s web with deftness, with gentleness.

And the shimmer of an ice cloud hangs in the air, its beautiful fragility takes your breath away.

Your fingers reach out into the crisp, clean atmosphere, and the soft fall of the spider’s web entices and entrances your vision.

With all it’s beauty, with its strength the web, frozen in time, becomes fragile, so much so that, with a touch, it crumbles in your hand.

Oh my love, you are stronger, you are so beautiful; with my arms, I will surround you and your fragile heart. Nothing will be able to pull you away, make you crumble.

I will protect you, I will envelope you,

I will love you.

Posted in Daily Prompt, Surge, Thought process


When the daily grind never seems to end and all the world’s worries have landed on your head.

When you’re full to the brim and the brim is slog and the slog is heavy and the slog is tough. Every part of you is tired, every part is worn. Every part keeps working from dust till dawn.

You slog your guts out just to get by, and you’re stressed in your chest, and your head feels high as a kite at night when the sleep won’t come cos your mind is filled with this and that, with too much grey and not enough light.

Pumping the blood around your veins is the wonder, is the failure of a life less gained. Dark red strips of thunder plunder your every breath, every step you take and the moves you make are leaden, down trodden begotten by all the slog.

But the slog won’t win though the slog can try to push you to the edge of goodbye. The slog can try but the slog will lose it’s grip on life, it’s grip on you for the chains that bind just can’t pull you down; you’re the winner, you’re the champion who wears the crown.

You’re the winner, you’re the champion who wears the crown.derby3hope-picture-for-blogworrydepression-1


Posted in Daily Prompt, Surge


See, I never understood why you turned, why you yearned to change direction. In my humble point of view, I knew that it just couldn’t work out the way you planned.

You’ve perplexed me, set my mind alight with words and pictures I never wanted, that I never asked for. Why would you try to drown any sense of love, of joy; all you do is frown, look down your nose as you compose the words you’re about to say.

Your demeanour is stranger than I’ve ever known. So, I’ll say it again, stop defending, stop pretending that you say you’re ok; no way- all your actions and words peturb me, disturb me, unnerve me until my bones quake with despair; listen, I care, I’m there and I’ll always watch your back for attacks but you’ve gotta give me some slack.

Perplexed time and time again; I say one more time, then I’m gone, but still you hold on, “you’re the one “; my heart can’t take much more of this pain, there’s no gain from what we have.

Can you tell me you’re willing to listen, participate in a way that will bring you back from the edge?

Can you promise you’ll stop biting back; we need to form an attack from the stuff that wants to pull us apart.

Wipe my tears away, just say that it’ll all be fine in time before we cross the finish line, before it all falls apart in my heart, before I fall to pieces.