The Madness Of March

You never said you were easy

Or told us you were warm

Your cold shoulder is predictable

You say you don’t mean harm

Always, you whisper a promise

Of better days to come

Yet, through mock sinister breath

You’ll say, you’re not quite done

You teeter on the brink

Last dregs of passionate breeze

The want to push into spring

The need to pull back to freeze

Oh, mischief month of March

Your lips of blue shape a tale

That tell us Feb is the real foe

And you are no spring fail

You hold it back, like always

Won’t take that final bow

You strong arm, then stroke cool fingers

Along our fevered brow

So reluctant to lead us out

Of your darkest winter play

The curtain call is hesitant

You really want to stay

Okay, you are dynamic

But you’ve always been an upstart

Storms and snow and drama

You sing, just like a bard

Another ice show over

But now your encore calls

Come out March, come out

It’s time for your applause

January Joy

There must be joy in January

There must be joy you know

There has to be love in winter

There must be fun in snow

There has to be joy in first month blues

Somewhere there is thrills

Kisses in the cold

Fire in icicles

There will be joy in January

As dark and as bleak as it seems

There have to be smiles in January

That toast down to our dreams

As we snuggle down in bed

After long short day of pain

Hope of burning embers

In drawn out schemes again

There is joy in January

I know it to be true

January tells the truth

It’s all that it can do

It won’t say, ‘Spring is near!’

‘Keep your eye on that April day!’

It will tell the truth

And say it is far away.

‘Love me, I’m one of the twelve!’

Says abandonment issues Jan

‘Don’t wish for me to go

I am what I am!’

Everyone negging on January

Wanting it to go

Shunning and shaming it

And hating on it so

So, let’s get on some January Joy

For the umpteenth time

Remember New Year Resolutions

We made at Auld Lang Syne

Maybe good can come from that

Positive action we can do

It doesn’t have to be a trial

That we always put ourselves through

Baby steps in the shallow end

No deep dives in the pool

January can be joyful

January can be cool.

Dancing In December


Dancing to the tune of the old year

To the memories it hopes it will hold dear

Twirling around on the big floor

Dancing in December again


Hoping the footwork will be strong

Swaying along to the same song

Hoping the spin is not too long

Dancing in December again


Twirling to all of the days left

Weaving away from the bereft

Hoping the rhythm is well met

Dancing in December again


Lunging and dipping and lilting

Trusting the sequence not stilted

Nothing out here has been filtered

Dancing in December again


Keeping a balance that’s good now

A nice hold, and then, I don’t know how

But a perfect and dignified low bow

Dancing in December again.

It Happened In The Attic

Below the belt of this old house, it’s cold

Numb and still, and finally, got old

It doesn’t have a creak or moan

There are no stairs in this old home

And in the footsteps, no stories will be told

But the top of this old house, it shines bright

Its restless light won’t allow the night

Electricity-you hear its hum

It can’t switch off, it’s always on

This lonely one, just won’t give up the fight

The action is all happening upstairs

There’s a ghost that sits up there and dares

To dream of things that never came to pass

Of memories, that still hold hard and fast

It’s firing on all cylinders-don’t look down

Hopes and goals could still come back to town

Love could wipe the tears away

Of manic, laughing clowns this day

That in the past, were only going to drown

It happened in the attic, that cold night

Thieves planned to steal, and leave, without a fight

They had thought the job would be

oh, so soft

They hadn’t bargained

on the old one, in the loft

Now inventions, are created, thick and fast

They’ll see the flames explode the attic glass

The sparks they fly, and shake the building too

And they’ll be fireworks for anyone in view

The thieves didn’t get a chance

to steal

And rub on open wounds

that never learned to heal

Now, inside the attic,

there’s a glow

And the warmth into the house,

begins to flow

And bring back life into the soul,

that they all said,

was abandoned, boarded up, and left for dead.

Hiding In The Shadows

It’s hiding in the shadows

I say it won’t last

The murky old memories

Cobwebs of the past

Detritus and debris

Lying on the floor

The body of regret

Dead behind the door

Bitterness and sorrow

Smells of rot and rust

Of damp, dark mildew

Of mold, dank and must.

It’s hiding in the shadows

The pain and the love

The joy and the anger

Mingle in the dust

The hopes and the what-if’s

Broken dreams, failed schemes

Scramble for the strip of light

That peeps beyond the beams

I listen for footsteps

But they are silent in the hall

What’s hiding in the shadows

Won’t come out at all.

Is frozen in the distance

And cannot move or go.

It’s stuck in aged decades

Of many moons ago.

This shadow is looming

And it won’t let me be.

What’s hiding in the shadows

Well, that thing…

Is me.

My Pixie Boots

At my local Writers Group, part of the session involves an improvised writing exercise. We are given a writing prompt and then we have approximately ten minutes to write something and then have to read it out. Last time, we had to write a poem or story on boots or shoes, that were important to us in some way.  I’m in awe of people who can write improvised poems, or indeed any creative writing that is ‘off the cuff’ and under pressure. Also, people who can just take out a notepad on the bus and start writing. I normally need a good comfort zone and lots of time to write, with no time limits or restrictions. I’ve done improv acting but never impro writing, until lately. I’m learning in that sphere and it’s interesting. Didn’t know I had it in me to be spontaneous.  It’s scary but I think practice is the key.  If you keep doing something, you get better at it and one day, hopefully, it’s not scary at all. So here’s an impro writing exercise I did on boots. My first ever impro poem!


Pixie Boots

I am but a thimbleful

I roam in strange hours

I sip from buttercups

And abseil from flowers

I climb to the top

Of the ivy on the wall

There’s not many pixies

Who can do that at all

I saddle a slug

And we ride the soil

Jump over cabbages

It’s not much of a toil

I’ve not lost a feather

I’m full of spice and pep

My pixie boots

Have lots of mileage yet

And when the sun is tired

And I feel sleepy too

I snuggle in the moss

And say goodnight to you.





Quote Of The Week

‘We are the music makers. And we are the dreamers of dreams’.

We Are The Music Makers

Ode by Arthur O’Shaughnessy


Hitting The Sauce

My niece is thirty this November. I recently got in touch with her after not being in contact for two years. It’s the longest time we’ve ever gone without contact, simply because life got in the way. We would always see each other quite regularly and I realised just how much I’d missed her.

We wrote this little ditty together back in our darker days, when life was more challenging than it is now. There was a time when we both needed a drink to get through the hell that was our life. I hope I’m not being over dramatic here (and they say the past always looks sweeter in hindsight).

Well, anyway, this is what we wrote together. Although, I’m fairly certain she wrote most of it. She’s a very talented lady. To Kerry. Let’s try not to let life get in the way again. It’s far too short.

Hitting The Sauce

Lager, cider, wine and port,

Rum, brandy, vodka quart.

Gin, ale, alcopops,

Baileys, Barcadi, tequila shots.


Bucks fizz, snow balls, Aussie whites,

Gettin’ blind on all the nights.

Champagne, absinthe, lotsa sherry.

The stuff to down when you wanna get merry.



Let’s get loaded.

Let’s get pissed,

Let’s get drunk,

On Vodka Twists.


Pernod, Bourbon and JD,

Lots of drinkin’ for you & me.

Southern comfort, bitter, stout,

I wanna be a lager lout.


Tia-Maria, Guinness, mild,

Let’s get smashed, let’s get wild.

Cointreau, whiskey, advocaat,

Down the chute, you won’t get far.



Let’s get loaded.

Let’s get pissed,

Let’s get drunk,

On Vodka Twists.


The moral of this story stands,

Keep your precious drink in hand.

Drink it fast, drink it quick,

Morning after…now – you sick.