Wednesday, 29 January 2014


Reading of the Limerick

There once was a boy from New York
Especially fond of roast pork
He sat by the fire
To his mother's great ire
And banged on the floor with a fork

An unsuccessful attempt at Twitter poetry, 1 character over, sorry. Joining with Imaginary garden with real toads.

Tuesday, 28 January 2014

Our river

Immortal river 
Still pools and white crested waves
How have I known you?

A haiku to share with dverse at

Monday, 20 January 2014

Zürich tramps

Fair-weather tramps are these,
Rarely seen  in cold or wet or breeze.
I wonder where they go on days
When snow around our ankles plays?
I like to think them nice and warm
Not enduring life's rain or storm,
Nor lying on some frozen bench
Like an impoverished homeless "mensch"
But living comfy in their homes
With parents who are Zürich's gnomes.
Mutti fussing round their food 
Und moustachioed Vati in fine mood.
But then, the matter of their doggies
Zürich gnomes don't have such moggies.
Mutti walks a dog of class
To demonstrate good Vati's brass
So back to undetermined dogs on strings
I wonder where they find such things
And what becomes of them on days
That snow around our ankles plays?

Open link monday at Imaginary garden with real toads

Sharing with dverse open link night

Sunday, 19 January 2014

Tree baby

I saved you
From that culling blade
In my friend's hand.
I smuggled you
From that dappled glade 
In that hostile land.
I moved you
To your sundrenched home,
Your new resting place.
I nourished you
In rich, dark loam,
Sun on your face.
I watched you.
Your shoots grow tall
With statuesque power.
I loved you
Winter, spring, summer, fall,
Seven years, no rewarding flower.
I spurned you.
Let the rain rain,
Let the sun shine.
You surprised me.
Spring came round again
A bloom, a sign.
You mocked me,
Mocked my age
My fertility, ironic.
You saved me
From a dark cage
From myself, a tonic.

Sharing with Björn on dverse and his tree prompt
The lovely people at Poets United, for Poetry Pantry

Friday, 17 January 2014


My dearest little fridgy
There are some things in life
That only friends will say
And that my dear is what
I've come to do today. 

Oh loveliest of fridges

My true and loyal friend. 
Now please don't take this wrong
But all around this house
Is the most revolting pong. 

Sweetest of all fridges

"What's that to me? " You ask. 
Well, I'll tell you in a jiffy
You know that smell I talked about?
It's you, you're very whiffy.

So my darling fridgy

I've assembled the equipment
And I know you're very posh
But I'm striping you quite naked
And you're going to have a wash. 

Most marvellous of fridges

All gleaming, sparkling clean. 
Look how beautiful you are.
You smell as fresh as daisies
Meine Liebling, you're a star!

Words of encouragement to my fridge.  Written in five minutes for the five minute challenge on

Inspired by the poetryjam prompt "refrigerate"

Tuesday, 14 January 2014

The praties

Listen to the praties

Sitting in his lumpy old chair
In the cave like corner by the warming fire,
Granddad finished chewing the last of his soda bread
And with a slightly shaky hand
He slowly reached over 
And placed his crumb laden plate 
On the corner of the range
Next to his empty, tea stained cup.
He fished out his hair oiled trilby
From the top of the fragrant peat basket
And pushed it down firmly on his head
Moving it back and forth 
Until finally it moulded itself to his contours.
Pressing his mottled hands 
On the shiny knees of his ancient black trousers
He pushed up, leveraging himself to his feet.
"I'll fetch the praties," he announced
To everyone and no one.
Slightly stooped,
He crossed the stone flagged floor to the dresser
Picked up the huge holey white colander
Scratched by use,
And crossed to the door.
As the latch clicked open
His old black dog rose on his arthritic legs and followed
And right behind him, me.
On my best behaviour. 
This solemn trio 
Duck like, walked the garden path
Greasy with rain,
To the leaning shed.
Here Granddad chose
From the aging, rusty tools lying on the donkey cart,
The praty spade.
Still silent, we turned.
Took the three stone steps
Brushing aside the purple/red fuschia droplets
As precious as jewels,
And crossed the  gravel track
To our Eden.
We pushed through the wee wooden gate
And I sat my little city bottom
On St Patrick's summer soil,
Oblivious to the cold
And watched with marvelling eyes,
A personal country miracle.
The digging of the praties.

 A work in progress to share with dverse open link night.

Praties are potatoes.  Not sure if it is a family word or country Irish.

Sunday, 12 January 2014

Winter sun

Weakened Sun
Waxes low in winter
Defeated by the colossal cliffs.
The granite coated colonels,
Supreme commanders
Of the snow legions.
Testudo formations,
Cryogenic Champions
Of the fecund fields.

Weakened Sun
Watches warily in winter,
An uneasy ally.
Desperate to dislodge
Those frozen forces.
Ranks of regimented riders,
Barbarian hordes with
Flaming arrows of burning sunlight,
To rip through frigid legionnaires.

Weakened Sun,
Cunning captain of the skies,
Scourge of Ceres,
Awaits its solstice.

Sharing with Imaginary gardens with real toads,  open link Monday.


Depressing concrete.
Rowdy teenagers playing.
No respect,  then you.
Beautiful Aryan youth
Understand. Lest we forget

Trying out Tanka.
A response to a visit to the Holocaust Memorial in Berlin.
Sharing with dverse poets

Saturday, 11 January 2014


Immortal flames,
Omnipotent power,
I yearn for your touch.
I submit myself to you,
A supplicant at your feet.
Occupy me,
Engorge my core,
Discharge your searing pain within me,
Consuming my all,
Kindling new life.

Joining with Poetry jam and the prompt fire
the midweek motif on poets united,  prompt newness

Sunday, 5 January 2014

Evil endures

Snow fell on the grittiness of the camps.
Relentless snow.
Curtains of crystals
Which in other times 
Brought comfort and joy, 
But not here.

Snow fell on the water frozen in the pothole puddles.
Men and women
Fatigued by relentless life
Barely noticed cold on cold.
A pureness in the grey
Of evil.

Snow fell on fingers turned blue with cold.
Frost infiltrated skin
Thinned by months of relentless hardship.
Chills slithered snakelike
Through xylophone ribs
Numbing feeling.

Snow falls.
Rain freezes.
Life moves on.
Camps in other countries.
Hunger in other bellies.
Heads turned in other directions.
Evil endures. 

A response to a visit to the Holocaust Memorial in Berlin. Just trying to make sense of it.
Today joining with Poetry Pantry at Poets United.  I do get cheerful sometimes!

Saturday, 4 January 2014


The raging falls of Rivendell
Could not disguise from him,
The greatest of listeners,
The kindest of carers,
The sternest of the stern ones.
That there was a broken, foreign heart 
Hidden in the deep.
Smaller than the heart of his beloved Arwen,
More broken than the sword of Elendil,
It was.
Its sadness, shooting its arrows
Through his hardened, ancient skin.

Lifting his head,
He heard it in the wind
Whispering through the weeping wheat
And in the sun dappled rainbow droplets
Spinning joyfully in the water riven air.
They spoke to him,
They guided him to it.
And he knew
Unlike those other humans
The fair weather walkers
Those jumpers, base and reckless 
Wasting their lives, dashed 
On his towering walls.
He knew that she,
For it was a she,
Was different.
Her roots lay deep within his own.
She would see him.
He knew that he could help her.

Fetal he found her,
Curled within the maternal roots
Of a blessed birch.
He touched her eyes 
With Elven kisses
And saw the terror,
The grief within her soul.

He took her hand in his.
Her body shuddered with a sudden sob
And she clung to him,
Feeling the holes in her heart
Healing with his unconditional love.
But her tears still ran
Like angel trails
Through a fairy copse.

For the Imaginary garden with real toads prompt "fantasy". We had a choice of three inspirational writers, Tolkien, A A Milne, or Lewis Caroll. As I live in the valley that quite possibly inspired Rivendell, there was a clear choice for me. Tolkien, I thank you.


Received signs today
That my current path is flawed. 
Changing direction. 

Taking a journey with Carpe diem to discover the Aelph.

Friday, 3 January 2014


I'm in a fight
With a blinding fear
Of just what of
Is not abundantly clear. 

I want to write,
Just write that's all,
Poetry, prose,
I feel their call. 

But what is the fear 
That stops that flow
Of words jumbled up
And ready to go? 

I think I need
To cut the strings
Of others' expectations
My job, material things. 

Joining in with 5 minute Friday. The challenge to write for 5 minutes and publush unedited. I was interested to see what I could achive in five minutes,  this is it, unfinished and unedited.

Thursday, 2 January 2014

Small steps in the snow

Learning to relax.
Taking small steps in the snow.
Seeking a teacher.

Taking a journey with Aelph and my friends at Carpe diem.

The journey reflects a resolution to a change in attitude this year and so fits with the Imaginary garden with real toads prompt of resolution

Wednesday, 1 January 2014

Expectations of renewal

A budding idea
Jettison a dying soul.
Renew life purpose. 

Joining with Haiku Heights and their prompt "expectation"


Taking a journey with Carpe diem,  and their prompt "Aleph, tge journey begins"