In Five Years

26/02/2021 – Poem a Day Compilation



In five years, you’ll be 21

In your own place, maybe

Have a partner

Possibly have a degree

Or at least a qualification

And be out in the world.



I wonder what sort of job you’ll have,

Whether it’s a train driver

Like you imagined when you were little,

Or a meteorologist or historian

Like you want to be now

Or something completely different.



It doesn’t really matter what you do

Or who you love

As long as you’re happy

And know that whatever choices you make

I will always be there for you

In five years or in 50 years time.

Christmas Eve

24/12/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



I’ve never heard them so quiet

Or seen them so well behaved

You’d think they were being rewarded

And a day of grace has them saved



It’s lucky they’re pretty good kids

Not perfect, but good just the same

They get up to such mischief

But never try to pass the blame



They’ve set out milk and cookies for Santa

Carrots and water for the reindeer

A bottle of schnapps for Mrs Claus

And for the elves, some beer



They’re tucked up in bed early

Dreaming of magical hooves on the roof

And listening for sleigh bells in the sky

Hoping to find conclusive proof



For now, they’re sound asleep but

In the morning there’ll be giggles galore

Squeals of delight and the clatter of new toys

Wrapping paper strewn across the floor



And with the house finally at rest

It’s time for me to hang up my cloak

Take a small sip of schnapps

And wish a Merry Christmas to you fine folk

How to make a Chocolate Cake

28/07/2020 –  Poem a Day Compilation



This recipe gives a preparation time

Of forty minutes but, I think 

They have neglected to include

The dash to the shops because

I have forgotten at least two

Of the main ingredients.



According to the directions

It makes one 8-inch two-layer cake

But does that allow for me

Sampling the mix as I go

And the children who want

To lick beaters and the bowl?



First, I need to preheat oven to 350 degrees.

No, first, I need to look up how to convert

Fahrenheit to Centigrade

Or run the risk of burning the house down

And having no chocolate cake to show for it,

Which may be the bigger tragedy here.



Next, I must butter cake pans.

Clearly, the first instruction

Should have been to remove said butter

From the fridge so that it can be

Applied easily to the cake pans

By small children who refuse to wait patiently.



No, child, when it says to “line bottoms

with parchment paper, and butter paper”

It does not mean to line your own bottom

Using the butter to hold it in place,

Now I must get more butter out

And find more parchment paper.



Then comes the dusting of the pans with cocoa;

And the dusting on the counter tops,

The recipe book, and the younger brother.

Followed by the tapping out the excess cocoa

Directly, in theory, into the mouth of older sister

Who gets some in her eye almost immediately.



After carefully washing out said daughters eye

We sift the cocoa, flour, baking soda,

baking powder, salt, and sugar into a bowl.

Well, most of it is in the bowl.

Some is on the benchtops with the cocoa

And I’m sure some is in my slipper, as well.



The next instruction is to beat in oil,

Buttermilk, vanilla, eggs, and hot water

ONE AT A TIME, CHILD!

Be sure to use the mixer set at low

(Don’t ask me how I know this)

And beat ‘til smooth, or you run out of patience.



Pour the batter into the pans yourself.

Do not be persuaded by puppy dog eyes

From small humans

Covered in various ingredients

That were supposed to be in the bowl

And not in every orifice of their body.



Bake for 45 to 55 minutes,

Or until a toothpick inserted into the centre

Comes out clean enough that

The child still hovering doesn’t want to

Lick it and stab themselves in the tongue,

The others distracted by bowls and beaters.

Rotate the pans halfway through

Because you haven’t got enough things

To keep you occupied,

What with cleaning up the children

And the benched, and the floor,

To a somewhat respectable standard.



Remember to remove cakes from the oven.

This is very important.

Otherwise you end up with two tins

Of solid rock that not even the dog wants,

And the kitchen smells of burnt dreams

For at least the next two days.



Let cakes cool in pans on wire racks.

They say 20 minutes, but it’s usually more.

Sometimes it’s an hour because

Child one has discovered the frosting

And is eating with a spoon under their bed

While the other two cry because they’re not.



Invert the pans to remove the cakes

(hopefully intact and not charred)

Before discarding the parchment paper

Securely enough that the bastard cat

Can’t claw it out of the rubbish

And scatter crumbs throughout the house.



Cool completely on racks, top side up,

Though, by this point, I’m not entirely sure

Which is the top or the bottom of either cake,

And cut off the top of one layer,

Remembering to feed the off cuts

To the remaining seagulls, I mean children.



With a butter knife, frost top of trimmed layer.

Failing to find a butter knife, use any flat item

You may have laying about in the kitchen

Or, as last resort, your garden shed

Because it’s probably easier than finding

A godforsaken butter knife where it should be.



Place the other layer of cake on top

(Assuming you managed to salvage both cakes)

And frost top and sides of the cake

With your butter knife, or trowel,

Until not completely disappointed

With the final result.



The next steps are the most important

So pay careful attention:

Cut two small slices for the children,

Reminding the third that she just consumed

Her body weight in frosting and will be

Violently ill if she even looks at the cake.



Cut a slightly larger slice for your partner

Who conveniently disappeared to the shed

Whilst this whole ordeal was happening

And will be in charge of cleaning up the mess,

But did help you find the trowel

So deserves some reward for that effort.



Take the rest of the cake,

Which should amount to approximately

Three quarters of the original cake,

Along with a healthy dosing of whipped cream

And any ice cream the vultures, I mean children,

Haven’t devoured without your knowledge.



Finally, find a quiet place to reflect

On the fact that you not only survived

But created an edible, and non-lethal,

Meal substitute for yourself

As you consume the entire thing

Without a shred of guilt or remorse.

2016 Weekly Writing Experience: February 1st - February 7th

Write a poem about a beginning, a middle and an end

The Beginning

In the beginning there was nothing.

Nothing to behold or touch or feel.

There was a not knowing of what,

Or who, or even why.

In the beginning there was no sensation

Of what was to come so soon

(so much sooner than expected)

And yet the waiting was agony.

In the beginning there was fear of the unknown

And a nervousness which filled me with butterflies –

So many that my stomach turned in knots

To try to expel them from their cell.

In the beginning there was hope,

A soft, reserved hope that dared not speak

But only dream a magnificent, multi-coloured dream

Of wide-eyed wonder and cosmic expression.

In the beginning, it was the beginning,

Where all things must begin,

When time begins afresh, anew, anon

And the other beginnings are gone.

The Middle

The butterflies were turfed out

By something of more substance –

Perhaps a tiny boxing kangaroo

Warming up for the prize fight.

I caught my breath more than once

For reasons too many to list,

Most often just through a wandering mind

Imagining all the possibilities.

I am woman, hear me roar?

I haven’t earned my tiger stripes.

Though I feel completely transformed,

I have barely changed at all.

I wake almost every night,

Sheets soaked through with sweat,

With images haunting my mind

From behind eyelids closed so tight.

I feel so very alive,

As if I could live forever.

I want to live forever,

To keep this feeling forever.

The End

I may have earned those tiger stripes

But I cannot manage a whimper.

Maybe I should have fought harder

For my little joey once fighting strong.

I would have given anything for 21 years,

But 21 weeks was all I knew,

Along with these few brief moments

Face to tear-stained face.

All we ever wished for,

You delivered in almost every way –

Ten little fingers, ten little toes;

Two bright eyes, one button nose.

Those breaths I so struggled for –

I would gladly give up every one

To allow you all that was promised

But never followed through.

My heart could fill the room I’m in

And you have filled my heart.

I will treasure you every day

Because time begins afresh, anew, anon.

Sweet Child of Mine

I held you in my arms, sweet child,
When you were just a babe.
Your eyes, they danced like fairy lights
And caused my heart to flutter.

You could never know, sweet child,
What the world held for you.
I made a promise then and there
That nothing would ever hurt you.

Some things just aren't meant, sweet child,
To turn out for the best.
I couldn't keep my promise to you,
I was the one who hurt you.

I gave you everything, sweet child,
That money could ever buy
But, right at this moment in time,
Money won't help mend a broken heart.

You should know by now, sweet child,
That I always loved you.
All I ask is that you love me
And forgive me now, when I ask.

I won't be there, sweet child,
To hear it when you say the words
I've hoped and prayed you will
Because I can't ever ask again.

You don't know, sweet child,
how much I wanted to stay.
It tore me up inside, night and day,
To see the pain I was causing.

Some day you will see, sweet child,
The truth of this situation.
I know you blame me for leaving you
But forgive me in my absence.

I always loved you, sweet child,
Whatever you might think now.
Don't let anyone tell you differently
Because it simply isn't true.

If it could be different, sweet child,
I would change it in a heartbeat.
I would give anything to hear your voice.
There's nothing I wouldn't do.

Tend to my memory, sweet child,
Don't let it fade away
For a person can live forever
If only in the hearts of others.

Now that I am gone, sweet child,
I can't protect you anymore.
Everyone dies and it's not my fault
But forgive me, sweet child of mine.

Mornings

Such rude awakening

From pleasantly delicious dreams

By my unfeeling virtual friend

To start a brand new day.

How I long to close my eyes

Against the radiantly bright rays 

And lay my head up on the comfort

Of that soft, feathery paramour?

Yet the world beckons me to rise,

To prepare for the events of day,

To ready myself to face any obstacle

That life may throw my way.

What culinary delights

Should pass my lips

To open my mind

To all the curiosities?

Which delicate aromas may waft,

Like an angels perfume drifting by,

And stir me from my sleepiness

To take on any challenge?

No food nor drink, no slurp nor sip,

Could ever be as strong

As that first, hurried kiss

From a child up several hours gone.

Their life, their energy, their absoluteness,

Endearing and draining, and life affirming;

Taking in everything and nothing,

Lost in the moment and eager for the next.