Tag Archives: poetry

The Wrong Hand – a poem for Valentine’s Day



The Wrong Hand


A dozen deep pink roses

Their petals rich and velvety.

Their thorns sharp.

Roses given in theatrical jest.

Given in friendship.

No love in their giving- thank God.

Roses given by the wrong hand.





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misty beach

Something a bit different for this week. It’s been a while since I shared any poetry, largely because most of them are too personal, too emotional, to share with a wider audience.

This photo was taken on the day at the beach that inspired the following poem a few years back. We arrived at Cape Henlopen, near Rehoboth DE, to a misty seashore. Having driven almost a hundred miles to get there, we were not about to be deprived of a day at the beach! Part way through the day I wandered off along the shoreline on my own and realised that the mist had closed round me like a cocoon. I couldn’t see another soul. I couldn’t hear another soul. All around me was the seabirds and the ocean….and for those few minutes while I sat on the sand and watched the waves roll in, it was bliss.


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As the mist rolls in from the ocean

Casting spirals around in the air

I watch the seabirds at play.


They rush out after each wave.

They run hell for leather as the waves rush  in to snatch their feet.


They chatter and flutter.

The waves crash and glide.

The mist soundlessly swirls and drifts


Sand between my toes.

Damp misty warmth on my sun kissed skin.

Not another human in sight.



(originally written 10 Sep 2008)


A little deviation from the norm…

 A little deviation from the norm….

It’s been a while since I’ve written any poetry or added to the poems section of this blog but for one reason or another I’ve been reflecting a lot recently. It reminded me of this poetic effort from a while back. Even now, roughly five years later, it still rings true.

Hidden From Prying Eyes

Deep inside me

Hidden from prying eyes

Hides “me”.


The public “me”

Paints on the smile

And glides through the working day.


The mummy “me”

Offers cuddles and hugs

Showering my children in unconditional love.


The friend “me”

Is calm and loyal

Always there to support and assist


The real “me”

Stays hidden

Quiet emotional

Nervous and scared

Frightened she’s found by prying eyes.


(image sourced via Google- credits to the owner)

Colours of Emotion


Its been a long time since I’ve delved into my two small poetry journals. It’s been a long time since I wrote any poetry. As I was reading through my collection I stumbled across this one and thought I’d share it with you.

Colours of Emotion


Hate- so strong an emotion

So small a word.

Spoken filled with red fury.

Each letter’s edge sharpened like steel

Words hard to retract.


Respect –  steady and calm

Blue like a still deep lagoon

It takes time to reach its depths

Once earned its easy to let slip away


Trust – fragile and thread like.

Silvery shimmer. A dew soaked web.

Each fibre strong but break one

And it all comes tumbling down.


Love – white and creamy.

Reminiscent of fresh milk.

Warm at first. Pure.

Easily curdles through time

And mistreatment.


Red, blue, silver and white

The emotional colours of my tarnished life.




The Family Clock

The last few weeks have seen a few subtle changes to the daily routine around here.

New school year for Girl Child. No major dramas….so far.

Start of university life for Boy Child. No major dramas ….so far.

It’s also a gradual move into the next phase of parenthood. A further step towards their independence. A further loosening of the reins.

Now they may beg to differ here but I think The Big Green Gummi Bear and I are reasonably relaxed with both of them. Yes, we like to know where they are, how they are getting home and when we can expect them back. Not unreasonable requests.

This is still largely under our control with Girl Child as one of us usually has to collect her from wherever she is. (Boy Child comes in handy for this too now that he can drive.) Boy Child is pretty much free to come and go as he pleases, within reason.

This is taking a bit of getting used to. I still can’t sleep soundly at night until I know he’s home in one piece. Fresher’s Week was a parental challenge and saw a distinct lack of sleep on my part. I’m not used to Boy Child sauntering in at three in the morning!

I’ve also discovered that it takes a hell of a lot of coffee to function after less than five hours sleep!

It’s a pleasure to watch them both mature into young adults. They’ll cringe if they read this, but they are both good kids and I appreciate how fortunate we are with them.

Boy Child’s late nights reminded me of a poem I wrote a few years ago. It’s been a while since I shared any poetry on here.


Family Clock

A mental family clock ticks inside my heart.

Conscious of each family member

Not safe at home in the family heart.

Whether child, spouse or cat

My heart can tell where they’re at.

Once home safe and sound

Their personal “tick” settles down.

Whilst still out and about

Their clock ticks aloud.

With contempt the cat stares from across the street

And pads off into the night.

My family clock ticks on and on.

written 16/3/10

Pre Christmas Chaos – gotta love it!

Up to my eyes in lists, wrapping paper and general festive chaos. Why do we do this to ourselves every year?

On the plus side though, the house smells amazing as I’ve been burning my Christmas candles with zero complaint so far from the Big Green Gummi Bear! (He hates smelly candles)

Keeping things short and sweet this week – “complete blog post” was on the To Do list though so at least I can tick one thing off!

Here’s a short poem that I penned a few years back whilst in a similar state of pre-Christmas chaos.

Have a fabulous Christmas when it comes and thank you so much for all your support with my blog this year.

Festive Countdown

Turkey’s in the freezer

Wine’s in the rack

Veg is in the cupboard

And the cream’s in the fridge- almost forgot that!

Christmas is coming so fast

Presents in the wardrobe

Cards on the mantelshelf

Wreath’s on the door

The tree shines bright.

Christmas is coming way too fast!

Now where can I hide?……


Searching in vain for inspiration

While I was out for a stroll in my lunch hour today, enjoying the beautiful spring sunshine, my mind was rapidly straying away from all thoughts of work towards this week’s blog post. A few potential topics drifted by but nothing was inspiring me. I stopped to watch the seabirds sitting out on the rocks at the mouth of the James Watt Dock but no inspirational thoughts came. (I did mutter under my breath yet again about how disobliging the cormorants were being – I am desperate to get a decent photograph of one of them drying its wings but, after more than a year of waiting and watching, I’m still waiting and watching for that shot!) A border of colourful spring flowers gave me a lovely photo for my Facebook wall but no blog thoughts. My ears were filled with music from my iPod but no flashes of inspiration from the tunes I was enjoying…. at least not thoughts I’m sharing on here!

Several hours later I drove home into the setting sun- a stunning sight as the sun set beyond the Argyll hills lighting up the sky with hues of red and orange. My mind was still thinking blog….. and then I remembered a poem I had written a while back.

The inspiration for it was a rock. A big long low red sandstone rock on the beach at Kilchattan Bay on the Isle of Bute. A rock I had played on for hours as a little girl during summer holidays and long autumn weekend visits. A rock that my imagination  transformed into the setting for many make believe games. Something simple yet inspiring.

Perhaps today I was over thinking this post. Perhaps I was looking at the world with my eyes and ears shut, despite enjoying the sights and sounds around me. It’s made me think…..


Day In The Life Of A Rock

Soft rays of morning sun

Not quite reaching the shore

The rock sits in silence

Waiting for someone to come and explore.


Stomping and mumbling

A boy stamps along

Shells crushing under his angry feet.

The rock looms large

And his bleak mood shifts.

A submarine! All his!

The rock is transformed by his play til midday.


Hot afternoon sun beats down on the rock

Along comes a girl

In her pretty summer frock.

“My fairy castle!” she cries.

With a skip and a dance

She enters the fairy world

Totally entranced.

The rock is transformed by her play

Til her mother’s call breaks the spell.


The sun sets with a warm rosy glow.

I sit on the rock

Feeling it’s warmth rising inside me.

My space. My sanctuary.

My time to play

As the sun sinks down on another magical day