Back from 8 nights’ camping in North Devon with the children and Lovely Man and his son. Two tents, five pillows, three bodyboards, umpteen tent pegs. All crammed inside the car, speeding down the M5, eeking out Haribo. How to start a holiday…

Here’s my take on it….


Your knee is in my back.

To move could you just Shift that rucksack

to your right

And then squash down that camping light

A little further…

There…spot on!

All impediments to my view have gone.

We have our bags,

We know the way


I think we could safely say

That every tiny space is filled

With bags or boys

and we are skilled

Enough in packing to achieve

Space for us all…

If we don’t breathe.


This poem is about how things can twist and change so easily and wondering what would happen if we could ‘backdate’ an encounter

Sometimes when I am sitting

Drinking coffee

Dreaming of you

I imagine what it would be like

If we could turn back the clocks

To when we were not pitted and scarred

By the tiny cuts and pricks of disappointment and lost hope

When our eyes shone bright

And we saw light and laughter as our due

not as a bonus

A special offer

But on tap. Limitless

I like to think that if we’d met in those early times

I would have recognised your worth

Your goodness and honesty

Pushing you forward

Shouting “me! Me!”

As i lazily fished.

Or did we need the lows to signpost this high?

Did sadness and pain provide strange relief?


But now is now

And quite how

We got here is not key

What really counts

What lights my heart

Is loving you as you love


Identity theft

We all are meant to have a tribe

a family that we can live inside

a group who understands our ways

Accepting us

And yet these days

It seem to me that this coherence

Is suffering mass interference

We don’t sit down and talk direct

We click and type on t’internet

And it is easy for us

to believe

That what we share

can true love weave.

Under the shelter of our screens

We share our secrets and our dreams.

We think we know to whom we type.

We think the warnings are just hype.

And then

The cut

The slice

The hack

And we remember

What didn’t stack

We see through lies

We see straight in

Naivity was our big sin.

We see how tricks made us judge badly

And share with those who now seem, sadly

To be real crooks.

Not tribe.

Not kin.

You were not heard.

My sage advice?

A strong password.


Having Parkinsons means I have to learn patience….one day….

Wait with me

While I tremble

Wait with me

While I falter

Wait with me

While I regroup

While I reset

While I restart

Wait with me

Or not

I will be here

Until I can walk


Scrap Heap Challenge

Day 2’s second poem….an homage to using all your scraps up in the kitchen….the glamour!!

Fairly loose leeks
Kept in the fridge
For weeks
Brussel sprouts
Crying to get out
Of their brown bag
And other swag
From my unlovely shelves
Are chopped
And skinned
And twinned
With shining spices
And flashing flavor
Until we can savor
Better than ready meals sold
Base veg into gold


Rhyme time

April again….Napowrimo!

This one is about time and it’s value


Every waking moment

is different and unique

It will never come back and we can never peek


and relive our time

It runs quicksilver gone

But always leaves it’s legacy

It’s echo and it’s tone.

We may lose every minute yes

But each supports the next

So shadows do not darken


They add depth and context.

My responsibility

Is not to ignore life.

Is not to place priority

On chores that eat my time.

It is to teach my boys to fly

and be young men with grace.

And watch them as they soar away

To take their rightful place.