I didn't take a photograph of the statue of Robert Burns.
His sightless eyes were looking out over Dunedin,
the most Scottish town in the southern hemisphere,
and there was a seagull, not a pigeon, standing on his head.
I would have called it "Robbie Burns and Friend."

And I didn't take a picture of the bus shelter
painted all over with jungle foliage and a tiger
peeping out over the simulated signature of Henri Rousseau.
The title would have been "This Bus Shelter is a Forgery."

Neither did I photograph another painted wall,
one round a cemetery full of ornate and sombre tombs,
with a large and skilfully executed advertisement -
Renta Sanitarios Mobiles (Hire Mobile Toilets).
It would have been called "Is there no Respect for the Dead?"

I didn't take the photo of a Fijian policeman.
A pity, for he had such a practical uniform,
very smart and cool,
in a tasteful shade of policeman-blue,
based on the traditional sulu
with a striking zigzag hem.
The title would have been "A Policeman in a Skirt?!"

I couldn't take a photograph of sunset over Popocatépetl
– although the sun was setting in a red and golden haze,
and the most romantically named mountain is just
what you imagine a perfect volcano should be,
even to the wisp of steam at the peak
– because the sun was actually setting over Ixtaccíhuatl
and "Sunset over Ixtaccíhuatl" doesn't have quite the right ring
The shape of the mountain is not very picturesque either.
Yes, I would have called that one "Sunset over Popocatépetl"
– if I could have taken it.

My camera wouldn't focus on the crescent moon
hanging over the Egyptian skyline,
horns pointing up, so close to the Equator,
and the evening star (Venus or some more ancient goddess)
just above and almost between the points.
If that one had worked it would have been called "Islamic Moon."

I couldn't possibly have taken a photograph
that would do any justice to the young piano student
in a Hungarian castle
hammering out Liszt as if the hounds of hell were after her,
but if I could, I would have had to call it "Apassionata."

And I didn't even have time to get my camera out
to take a picture of the wild humming bird
darting green and unconcerned
among dilapidated tenements in the heart of Mexico City.
But that living jewel shines bright in my memory,
even without a photo.
I don't know what I would have called that one,
and I'm sure it doesn't matter.

I'd heard horror stories in the playground, seen embarrassment and tears.
Shared in secrets that were passed around like candy.

Not for me.
All the messing about and the working it out. I didn't want Bad *** by misadventure.

Like you said.

I waited. Not as long as the good girls, but longer than my mates.

You were worth it.

I was a bundle of nerve endings and inexperience but it was perfect, you were brilliant.
Just the thought of you sends shivers down my spine.

My best kept secret.

I wonder about you, at times. About your life, what you do, if you're happy or feeling blue.

Your children: Would I know them in the street? I guess now they're all grown up.

Just like me.

Mum had been gone a couple of months, six I think… (An ordinary day. Feeling hollow but doing OK) …when I realized I could get rid of the sofa.

I thought it was ugly. She thought it was a bargain. A sofa’s not a keepsake and it was certainly no heirloom. I’d not inflict it on my kids. I got rid.

If I could’ve had her back then? I would’ve done. Even if it meant keeping the sofa.

Redecorated. Bought a new telly. Spent frivolous amounts of cash on scatter cushions. She disliked scatter cushions. I thought they were cosy.

My little boy drew on one of the cushions. On purpose. I was about to smack the back of his legs… (Mum would have. She smacked me when I was little) … but I stopped.

I never wanted to. I had known all along, somehow forgotten.

If I could’ve had her back then? I would’ve done. But she would not smack my children.

Mum had been gone a year… (Planting bulbs. Feeling conspicuous carrying a shovel ‘round the churchyard) …and I missed her .

It was as hot as the day she died. There was no breeze up on that hill. No cloud. Beautiful views stretched right out to the sea.

My little boy had grown. He helped carry water and dig holes. My baby was learning to walk. She wobbled on uneven turf between the headstones. I wanted Mum to see.

If I could’ve had her back then? I would’ve done. No question.


Mum had been gone three years… (Bulbs were doing OK. There was nothing left to plant that rabbits wouldn't nibble) …and I realized it was time to move on.

I kept the ghosts quiet while agents showed people round. The house sold. We moved away. A warm, terraced place in a small town by the sea. Dad died.

Mum has been gone eight years and I miss her.

Looking out from the Downs across cliff-top and sea, the churchyard seems nothing more than a soft-grey fleck on the green edge of town.

If I could bring her back now? Everything’s changed.

Ghosts exist. They sit in empty chairs and speak kettle-whistle. Wishing us well.

The man who loves me dries my tears for another man without knowing the true reasons for my tears
and that other man is you.
Its amazing how the years went by so fast
I found my new love
I found myself but in the back of my head my heart will always belong to you
Its been a good 10 years now. But I miss you so much
But am I the one to blame for holding on for so long if you always gave me reasons to hold on.

Since the last time of "us" you got married to an incredible woman
Shes beautiful. I envy this woman yet know she is the luckiest woman in the world
You have a beautiful son and I wish more than anything that you and I would've worked it out
But I ask you again, How can i possibly move on when you gave and still give me reasons to hold on
Everything you have said to me about our so called future and how there's still possibility for a true "us"
My weeping is silent
My tears are all these unspoken words
My feelings are my unsent letters

A few months ago I had the opportunity I had been waiting for
you wanted to be with me
you wanted to show me you still loved me
yet you wanted to show me behind your wife's back
then i thought if you would do it to her
then what makes me think you wont do it to me?
You know I love you .
You know I always will
I know you love me but in a completely different way
In no possible way do I regret my life though
My husband is amazing , he loves me and I have an amazing son.
A son I wouldn't trade for anything in the world.

You shattered my glass heart and Im still holding the pieces although my hands are bleeding.
hoping that one day, ANY DAY you will come and just glue them together.
Maybe in reality I dont want you to come and glue these pieces together.
The man who loves me is doing that without even knowing what hes doing.
The last thing I want is for him to feel for me what I feel for you.

You are the man I loved with all my heart
But i am the woman who grew up 10 years later and finally realized that what I have
in my possession right now is way much better than anything I could possibly ever have with you.
No matter the pain I feel when I see you with her
My pain goes away with this unsent letter.
Come to think about it.. Maybe I will send it..

Shall these trees stand forever?
And the fields,
brown, green, gold, according to the season,
shall they remain?

But the hills,
the hills, they shall be there.
Always?
No, not even those.

What then shall be left of them?
Only the fact of their having been.
And when you are gone
and I am no longer here,
we too shall have been,
and nothing can be quite the same again.

Words have power.
We all know this.

Verbs have power
because without verbs
we can neither laugh nor cry,
neither run nor walk;
we cannot breathe,
nor even be,
without a verb.
A noun too has power
because with it we have, in a sense,
mastery of the object, the person, or the feeling
that we name.
Even an adjective has power,
for it qualifies the noun,
fleshes it out,
makes it more our possession.
A conjunction,
small, insignificant,
you might think
without power,
but ....

All words have power.
We know this,
or we would not be writing poetry.

But did you mean it?
did you? like that, I mean,
did you really mean it?
What you said was nothing,
really nothing at all,
unless you meant it.
It's just that ever since then
there is a hollow inside me.
You can fill it so easily.
Tell me you didn't mean to hurt,
but only if you mean it.