Like a vintage wine, oak smoked, barrel bound, lovingly left.


Stubbornly stuck, bedded in, quietly content,

My fault – I make too cosy a nest!


Like a present – giftwrapped

All lumps and bumps beneath the taut paper

Staring teasingly at me

I give you a squeeze to see what you are;

My patience test.


Who moans at slow broadband

At queues in supermarkets

At snail pace service.


Frustrated by waiting,





Needing control,

To hold all the cards and play them in my way.


Resigned to patience,

Forced into submission, at  your tiny hands.

It seems I have been waiting for ever,

So familiar with your wriggle,

My hand instinctively at your side.

We play chase, although I have an unfair advantage now as you struggle for space.

And you’re imminent:

Time to unwrap,

Fetch the corkscrew!

Time to meet.

You’ll be,

All scrunched up,

Knees bent,

Demanding my attention.


Now ripe, ready, real and me

Feeling you,

Skin to Skin,

Seeing you looking at me,

Me looking at you.

So much to learn about each other.

So much to learn.




Should I just give up?

Tired of trying to dialogue

Listening to monotonous monologues

Hot air

Air heads

Not thought through

Pointing fingers that cast long shadows.

I long for some more light


Some fresh, clean air


Not having to always justify what I think

Treated like a freak for seeking justice.

Fumbling to pioneer; Not perfect but intentional at least.

Why is it so wrong to try and usher in some change?

Why is standing up for oppression so disconcerting to others?

Why is taking a stand ununderstandable?

This is who I am



Pissing you off

Looking for more

Seeking change

Acting for justice

Loving mercy

Walking humbly.

This is me.

I shall carry on,

Best foot forward.

I will plug my ears to your pedantic, pessimism.

I will close my eyes to your sharpened finger nails.

I will try, I must try.



I could tell something was wrong by the look on their faces

And by the silence.

The sonographer searching methodically

Like a deep sea diver looking for treasure,

A piece of precious pottery,

A body,

A glimmer of hope.

An internal probe and I know

“It’s not good news I’m afraid”


Those words tapping away at the dam holding back my feelings.


Now tumbling out,

Creeping, seeping, leaking

And I try to hold on to some dignity

As they explain what’s going on.

I feel myself nodding although I am not sure I know what’s being said.

I want to go home and curl into a ball.

I feel like I’ve failed.

I feel a fraud….I thought it was all ok.

My body tricking me.


I wanted to give you a gift

I let you down.



Being very brave and posting some poetry!  Quite cheesy but see what you think…….

She’s orange tinged,

Brazilian minged.

Manicured, Pedicured

She knows where she’s headed for…..

Sauna, Spa,

Champagne bar……

Quick shag,

Wannabe WAG.

High stakes,

Whatever it takes.

Now 40 weeks,

And less 40 winks,

Orange dulled,

Bush unmowed,

no manicure or pedicure

And God knows where she’s headed for,

Headed for

Headed for

God knows where she’s headed for.