Mysteries of the morning,

It’s not something mum buys –

Little tub of pink powder, open,

Killing the wholesome country life.

Sibling urges, ‘You can have some too.’

He is never nice to me,

A poison perhaps.

Knotted frown from the far corner

Enduring our collaboration. Your money, your choice.




Climbed some stairs, aged five

‘Here we are then. Choose your rooms.’

Out of breath

Operation begins without me

Startled to see my brother kick into action

Eyes wide, running about, then

‘Yes, I want this room.’

‘Oh, I thought that would be Rowan’s room.’ her voice small

Uniformed boy looks out to

Rustling willows in the long garden

‘But don’t you want the bigger room?’

Evidently not.

Defences up, he insists, then turns

‘Rowan, look, you are getting the better room.’

Oh, this doesn’t feel like choosing

Oh, I thought I was asked to choose

Many times I comforted myself

She once wanted that view for me.




Foil Blankets


On a ‘999’ re-enactment

I’m waiting for the best bit

Little to be certain of

But here come the foil blankets.

Look the people are found –¬†cold, shivering

Alive! Quickly wrapped in their silver sheets

Next stop the hospital

Keep watching and we might see it again

Every moment given radiance by my hope for

The clearest kind of rescue. Wishing

Someday I could watch, wrapped up in my own silver sheet.




Bird Cage


It’s multitude of thin, wooden bars

Retaining an unoccupied

Dreaming space

‘Can we have a bird?’

All against the idea

Good. Tweety Pie stays on TV

Emptiness is for our cage.




Liquorice Rolling Papers

Licking the papers edge,

I’m reminded of a man,

Questioning without wanting to know

Underneath his intellect

Own order

Rearranged again.

It’s something to do

Copied the idea,

Each to his own.

Respect divorced from like,

Obviously good to other

Little girls

Less kind now.

I’m ignored, very well

Not a new thing

Ghost of my past self

Pleasing, but the brand is wrong.

Actually I never liked liquorice

Problems with Allsorts, even dissected

Eat everything else though.

Realised I like it





Purple Velvet Leggings

Perhaps her mother made a mistake

Understanding not the power of

Royal purple velvet

Purring around the girl’s legs.

Loneliness made good by

Every ripple hugging her

Very purple like a felt tip pen

Eating into paper.

Laughing with a Groovy Chick cartoon

‘Velvet too, my friend?’

Even flared like hers

The 3.D girl notes.

Lamenting like her father, she shouldn’t be


Grown up fabric might mean nothing

Go after the question dogs.

It’s guiltless, the velvet

Not her choice

Got lucky

Smile and the games up.