When I was ten, I thought the greatest bliss
      would be to rest all day upon hot sand under a burning sun...
      time has slipped by, and finally I've known
      The lure of beaches under exotic skies
      and find my dreams to be misguided lies
      For God! how dull it is to rest alone

Last night the other world came much too near,
        And with it fear.
I heard their voices whisper me from sleep,
        And could not keep
My mind upon the dream, for still they came,
        Calling my name,
The loathly keepers of the Netherland
        I understand.
My frozen brain rejects the pulsing beat’
        My willing feet,
Cloven like theirs, too swiftly recognise
        Without surprise.
The horn. That echoes from the further hit,
        Discordant, shrill,
As such a leaping urgency of song,
        Too loud, too long,
That prayer is stifled like a single note
        In the parched throat.
How fierce the flame ! How beautiful and bright
        The inner light
Of that great world which lives within our own,
        Remote, alone.
Let me not see too soon, let me not know,
        And so forgo
All that I cling to here, the safety side
        Where I would bide.
Old Evil, loose my chains and let me rest
        Where I am best,
Here in the muted shade of my own dust.
        But if I must
Go wandering in Time and seek the source
        Of my life force,
Lend me your sable wings, that as I fall
        Beyond recall,
The sober stars may tumble in my wake,
        For Jesus'sake.

Not for me the arrow in the air,
     Nor the mountain snows,
     Nor the dumb ocean,
     Nor the wind on the heath,
     Nor the warm breath
     Of the bare bright sun upon my hair.

Nor for me the mist of the white stars,
     Nor the singing falls
     Nor the deep river,
     Nor the flung foam
     Upon the hard beach,
     Nor the other mountains that I cannot reach.

Mine is the silence
And the quiet gloom
Of a clock ticking
In an empty room
The scratch of a pen,
Ink-*** and paper,
And the patter of the rain.
Nothing but this as long as I am able,
Firelight - and a chair, and a table.

Not for me the whisper in the ear,
     Nor the touch of a hand,
     And that hand on my heart,
     Nor the quick pattering of feet
     Upon the stair, nor laughter in the street,
     Nor the swift lance, intangible and dear.

Not for me the hunger in the night,
     And the strength of the lover
     Tired of his loving,
     Seeing after passion the broken rest,
     Bearing his body’s weight upon my breast.

Mine is the silence
Of the still day,
When the shouting on the hills
Sounds far away,
The song of the thrush,
In the quiet woods,
And the scent of trees.

Always the child who loved too late,
The poet - the fool - the watchman at the gate.
I am the actress mother who must make
A pretended cradle of her arms, lifeless and bare,
Who has never borne a child.

I am the deaf musician, calm and mild,
Singing a battle symphony, who has never head the guns,
Nor the thunder in the air.

I am the painter whose blind gaze defiled
Would conjure an ocean, who has never seen the sea break
On the wild shores of Finistere....

Not for me the shadow of a smile,
     Nor the life that has gone,
     Nor the love that has fled,
     But the thread of the spider who spins on the wall,
     Who is lost, who is dead, who is nothing at all.

“When you walk through a storm
Keep your chin up high
And don’t be afraid of the dark.

At the end of the storm
Is a golden sky
And the sweet, silver song of a lark.

Walk on through the wind,
Walk on through the rain,
Though your dreams be tossed and blown.

Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart,
And you’ll never walk alone!
You’ll never walk alone.”

“Try and be patient,
Have plenty of hobbies,
Keep your friends,
We do need them
Even if we don’t always think the same as them,
Be happy -
Even if you have to work at it”

“When you’re lonely, I wish you love.
When you’re sad, I wish you joy.
When you’re discouraged, I wish you hope.
When your spirit is low, I wish you beauty.
When you’re troubled, I wish you peace.”

Keep on
Fellow poets!
Keep on
Shouting your pain
Putting a voice to your trauma
Releasing that unspoken part of you
That is crying to be heard
Crying to released
Out into the void
For there is power in sharing your truth
To show the way
And give permission
For others to release theirs too

I am not broken;
It was just never safe to exist
In a world of abuse, lies and misogyny.

I am not broken;
I just wasn’t allowed to be who I always was
Underneath the armour I wore to survive.

I am not broken;
I don’t need to find myself or
Become someone new.

I am not broken;
I finally give myself permission
To feel and be the
Truly authentic me.

A seed grows through nurture:
Quality soil, water, sun, nutrients.
Even a kind word fills a plant
With optimism and positivity,
So it can grow into the life-affirming plant
It’s destined to be.
Remove any one of those elements,
The plant simply dies.

It’s the same with me.
Love, kindness, water, sun, nutrients
Nourish me to grow into the amazing woman
I am destined to be.
But without those,
I am destined to die,
Bitter, negative, angry, defensive,
And alone.

Poetry has a way of hiding
Itself in a dried up riverbed.
Inspiration of nothingness.
Words at tongue’s tip,
Can’t quite grasp…
And then all of a sudden,
Words flow like the mighty Amazon
During the wettest season,
Tumbling over each other
In their rush to be writ upon the page.
Feast or famine,
All or nothing.

Under the velveteen red moon
I shall come a knocking,
Raising you from your slumber
Of dreamless sleep,
To cast your eye over your earthly deeds.
Will there be moments of wonder and awe?
Love, comfort and joy?
Or regrets and self-loathing?

You only have one chance at this game called life,
So throw the dice,
And make of it what you will,
No matter what life throws you.

But I beseech you to play the winner,
Not the victim,
Be your own warrior to the end,
Courage and compassion
Your soulmates,
And love, your sword.

The silver sea shimmers and sparkles
Under the weight of the silvery moon

Shimmering moonbeams envelope the earth,
Casting a ghostly presence
Over hill and vale,
Land and sea;
Til morning comes,
And life anew.