Tuesday, 30 April 2013


 My Spirit was downhearted one day
By another low spirit who
had unwise words to say
to make the day - an unhappy one

No boosting my ego
just lowering my spirits
I'd forgotten, how bad it felt
it's been that long

Words can do such dastardly things
Words matter - they reach you on
high or low levels
They can lead us to terror - if we let them

Words can cut like swords
are capable of hate
and of love
of war and peace

Words can mean so much
and so little
without a high spirit talking
words just die.

The really great thing is
I am a free spirit!

(30th poem for NaPoWriMo)

Monday, 29 April 2013

Notes on Bob

Notes on Bob

Bob said it; and it can be read as pure poetry
'So Much Things to Say' (Exodus)
'So Much Trouble in the World' (Survival)
He drew his power
from the sprightliness of his music,
which belies the seriousness of the words
Not even a question of 
No easy answers as
No answers at all are
put forward here in this
bleak vision of the way things are
So Much Things to Say
Bob's faith in God sustained him throughout
and his music continues to up lift.

(29th poem for NaPoWriMo)

Sunday, 28 April 2013



She likes her skin’s light brown tone,
which darkens at the strength of the sun’s rays
deepening to a rich and darker brown along with a glossy look.

She feels wonderful in constant sunshine
merged with a glorious ocean breeze.
She likes all kinds of skin tones from darker to lighter hues.

Some don’t really see her; the kind of person she is.
They may have good eyesight and eyes that are blue, green or even brown 
but really they do not ‘see’ her.

Is it really all about her skin that she is living in?
A skin which she thought would keep her protected,
rather than exposed.

(28th poem for NaPoWriMo)

Saturday, 27 April 2013

Less is More

A rare blessing
A loving kiss
A warm hug
A beautiful smile

(27th poem for NaPoWriMo)

Friday, 26 April 2013

She weaves her magic

She weaves her magic

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye
And up and down the people go,

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
By the island in the river

Only reapers, reaping early
In among the bearded barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerily

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
Through the silent nights.

(26th poem for NaPoWriMo)

Thursday, 25 April 2013

There are no foreigners, just travellers

There are no foreigners, just travellers

Carved up nation,
definitely a realisation
not a revelation, borders

lineage, edging away
keep us at bay

swimming or sinking.

Continents become countries
foreigners move freely –
some more freely than others

singing and dancing
internationally leaving their mark
as they trace and stamp their trade.

Where do you find yourself
within this vast cultural oasis?
Are you lost or are you found?

Does your ancestry;
your family tree
reveal who you really could be?

Or are you progressing nicely
Onward and upward
through the University of Life?

Do you want to swim with the dolphins?
Or Be a regular fish out of water
in a tropical fantasy land?

(25th poem for NaPoWriMo)

Wednesday, 24 April 2013

City Whispers

City Whispers

At this moment hundreds of travellers' feet hardly touch the ground
I know these faces, have dwelled in those places
I knew I had to visit the city
I had to taste and feel home

Even though open spaces attract me more – now
It's as if every so often
There's a need, a desire, call it a fix
To absorb the density, a familiar dynamic

And as I leave those wider landscapes
Quietly I observe sodden fields
As I sit in comfort on orange coloured train seats
The ticket collector is nowhere to be seen

I step into the familiar as I embark
The crowds haven't fully formed
So it's with ease that I don't have to wait
For a 73 bus and in 5 minutes I'm at the Angel

At this moment I recognise a collection of girls
From my old school; their uniform fails
To disguise their uniqueness and I'm
transported back to the sixties – to my love of Chapel Street's market stalls

I hardly bother with the market now,
Don't even take a look; there's no need
I'm drawn into NEXT and immediately hooked
I admire the fashion as it explodes colour and I'm warmed

I knew I had to be in the city today
To feel alive, to touch the energy once more and be seen
To linger in those places, see many diverse faces
And blend in again, to steal, to capture and then begin.

The spacious restaurant seating is selected
by the consumer in this half-full lunch time
And it is almost empty by the time I depart
Only to step opposite and discover a larger gathering

In the bar with its low almost dark shadow lighting
A variety of high and low seats
Here I feel right at home as there's room
For every kind of social experience

Women on their own watch plasma TV screens
Couples chit-chat, friends hang out,
Others are Wi-fi slaves to their laptops
A few are intensely holding on to and searching their mobile phones

There's a need to stay connected
By any means necessary
To this digital age, which
brings with it a new anxiety and individual responsibility

Glasses merge and chink, a sip of a drink
and chatter rises and dissipates
At this moment, there is a kind of new age dawning
And another day disappears with no warning.

(24th poem for NaPoWriMo)