Making sense of the world with words
Some meetings are more memorable than others. Some are even worthy of a poem:
Deep in the Welsh mountains where revellers reeled,
We met in a rowdy and colourful field,
In a white Stetson hat, beside me he kneeled,
He was hunting for treasure, I was too, it was sealed.
…
Ahh festivals! Many of the happiest, funniest and craziest moments of my life have taken place in various colourful music filled fields. I will never ever tire of going to my favourite festivals. This poem seeks to capture some of their magic:
Fireworks explode with youthful passion
to soar among the stars,
beyond the bars and the beats and the shrieks
to light wide eyes and wider smiles
…
There are so many poems written by men lusting after women. Traditionally, women are almost always depicted as the passive objects of desire rather than active or, god forbid, enthusiastic participants. It feels like a good time to start redressing the balance:
This is not love this is lust, she should have said.
I trust in my body far more than my head.
So, forget such tender feelings and come to bed.
…
A riposte to Andrew Marvell.
I’ve always loved Andrew Marvell’s lusty poem ‘To His Coy Mistress’ in which he shamelessly seeks to persuade a young woman to acquiesce to his carnal desires.
But I have also always felt it deserved a response from the young woman’s perspective – especially given it was written in the 17th century long before birth control or feminism – so here goes – enjoy!
…
Heartbreak, well, where to begin… It is something most of us will experience at some point in our lives and indeed, unwittingly inflict upon others. But until you do experience it in its fullness, it is impossible to imagine how excruciatingly painful it can be.
Everyone has their own unique tools for dealing it. For me, writing was one of the few ways I could confront and start to make sense of the hurt and pain bound up and raging inside me.
As my younger sister observed: “Heartbreak, bad for the heart, great for poetry.” And, on that cheery note:
I love sailing. For me, it offers the ultimate sense of freedom. It is full of possibility, free of boundaries, offering limitless horizons.
Of course, at times it can be deeply uncomfortable, wet, cold and frankly miserable but it is worth it for the feeling of adventure, for golden ocean sunsets and for escape from life’s sometimes stifling confinements. So:
Let’s sail away, let’s cast astray
Until the moonshine’s ghostly ray
…
This is a childish ditty but hey ho, I’ve never wanted to grow up and probably never will. So, this is my adults nursery rhyme inspired by those moments gazing longingly out of the window at work and dreaming of prancing off into the blue yonder… sing to any tune of your choice:
Why can’t I be a hippy and skip through fields of hay,
Then lie among the grasses soaking up the day.
Why can’t I live in hedgerows and nestle in the leaves,
…
I feel like we all have a Fred in our lives. If we don’t, it’s probably because we are that person.
This poem is based on true events and should serve as a warning to anyone who proves impossible to lure out of bed in the morning – hangovers excepted:
There was a young man called Fred
Who regarded awaking with dread,
He could not, of his own accord, EVER get out of bed.
…
Inspired by Roald Dahl’s classic children’s poem The Tummy Beast, this was written for my friend Tom, whose stomach has a such a demanding personality of its own he named it Gary. In marrying Tom, for better, for worse, his wife Lulu also agreed to a life with Gary – this seemed worthy of a rhyming verse or two:
I may surprise you when I say this,
And doubtless you will take the piss,
But Tom is not a greedy man,
…
Life in poems 