Hidden

07/03/2021 - Poem a Day Compilation



I’m hiding somewhere good

No one will ever find me

Not an inch of me is visible

And I can’t see a thing



It’s a bit dark where I’m hiding

But they’ll never think to look

And I will be the winner

For the first time in my life



They’ve been looking for a long time

I’ve been quiet all the while

I can hear them searching everywhere

Except this place where I am



They know I don’t like the dark

And I’m being very brave

My bother and sister will be surprised

When I finally reveal myself



I know they’re really struggling

They’ve roped in mum and dad

I can hear them making a search plan

To try and find my secret spot



The cupboards are being opened

Even the ones I cannot reach

But I’m not behind any closed door

Just tucked up in my spot



The dog has sniffed around me twice

I think he knows that something’s up

But he’s not given me away at all

And I love him so very much



He’s curled up in front of me

Blocking me further from sight

It must have been an hour now

And they still haven’t found me



It’s rather comfy here

With a rug and pillow to keep me warm

And the dog breathing deeply

As he dreams about chasing butterflies



They’re taking their time finding me

And I wonder if they’ve given up

I’ll give them a little bit longer

Before I show myself



I’m getting a little bit tired



    My eyes just won’t stay open



        I don’t suppose it would matter



            If I just had a little nap



I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep

I don’t know if I slept at all

But, somehow, I am in my bed

Snug as a bug in a rug

The Loss of Innocence

03/12/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



Take me back to the before

When idyllic summers were misremembered

As more perfect than they had a right to be

And people were genuine.



Tell me that such a time existed

Not just in the recesses of my grown mind

But in a reality not so harsh and cruel

As experience deems fit to show me.



Let me pretend, just once more,

That the superficial, animalistic lustings

Of men old enough to know better

Are figments of my imagination.



Return to me the trust I had

In the honour of parents to keep secrets,

Now stripped unceremoniously from my eyes

Never to be seen again.



Allow me to spend one more day

Sitting at the foot of a man

Who inspired fear in all others

But fostered my innocence.



Save me from a reality that stains my heart

With loss, and grief, and a heartache that burns;

That wrenches a knowledge of all that trembles

From the dark niches of this world.



Take me back to the before

When fairy tales merged with the everyday

In such a way that reality itself was bent

And innocence was not lost in time.

A Letter to Myself

30/11/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



If I wrote a letter to myself

From me as I am now

With all the knowledge that 40 years brings

To my teenage self

Who thought they knew it all

And probably wouldn’t listen

It would go something like this:



Say yes more often when you’re young

But not so much when you’re older

Opportunities should be grabbed by the horns

But as we get older, time becomes precious

And knowing what will bring you joy

And what will bore you to death

Is a wonderful skill to have.



Don’t worry about what people think of you

Because most of those people won’t matter

Not in five years’ time, nor in fifty years’ time

So, choose wisely whose put downs you hear

Take the insults with a smile

And be gracious in victory

Because everyone battles their demons differently.



Follow your dreams wherever they may go

And don’t let anyone try to pigeonhole you

Into being someone or something you’re not

Because you’re a long time an adult

And doing something you don’t want to do

Just to pay the bills

Is hard slog until retirement.



Find your people

The ones who make you shine

From the inside out

And who share your excitement

Even if they don’t understand it

Because having someone there

Who offers that is magic.



Don’t let the excuses you make for yourself

Tie you down or hold you back

When you know what you’re capable of

When the world is your oyster

And when it’s your own voice betraying you

Because you could be great

If only you let yourself try.

The Station Master at Caringbah

18/11/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



When I was a child

My mother didn’t own a car.

She hadn’t driven very far

Since before the day I was born.



We took trains a lot,

And buses, but mostly trains

To school and home again,

And to sport training sessions.



It wouldn’t matter the weather,

Nor the season, nor the occasion,

We would traipse up and down steps

To and from platforms and concourses.



Most staff would give us a smile

Or say hello as we passed them by

Our faces familiar to them

But nothing beyond that.



But one station master was different

He would go out of his way to help,

Stop for a chat with us both

And felt very grandfatherly to me.



Maybe it was because I was young

And all older people seemed that way

Because I’d not had a lot of experience, 

With both grandfathers long since gone.



All I know is that he was nice

And a genuine kind of man

I wish I could remember his name

But it was so long ago.



When it late and dark,

He would keep an eye on us

Making sure nothing happened

And that we made our train safely.



And if the wind had a bit of bite to it

Or it was raining cats and dogs

He’d let us sit in the ticket office

By the heater so we’d stay warm.



He taught me how the indicator board worked

And how to change the destination signs

Without any notion of reward

For the kindness he bestowed on us.



Now I am grown with my own child

Who loves the railways, too.

He hopes to work for the network

And become a train driver one day.



I wish I could have introduced them

Because I’m sure with all my heart

They would have gotten on famously

But I know it’s far too late.

The Significance of Childhood Possessions

05/10/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



There are so many material objects

From our younger years, our childhood,

That we manage to let go of,

Never understanding their significance,

Yet hanging on to the insignificant

For the remainder of our years.



They’re not so insignificant, really,

But their significance is just to us –

A cheap locket with a faded photo,

A trophy from a spelling bee,

A dress worn to a cousin’s wedding

Or a teddy bear given at birth.



They are the ties to our past,

The anchor for our futures,

Our life jackets in times of need

And the safes for our memories

That we dare not throw away

For fear of being haunted by them.



They are the parts of us

That will live on long after us –

That tangible link to our lives,

Speaking stories of our adventures

When we are no longer able

To generations we may never meet.

The Architect

20/08/2020 –  Poem a Day Compilation



I’ve always wanted to be an architect,

Ever since I was a little child,

But circumstances conspired against me

And I chose a different path.



I wish I could go back

And offer my teenage self advice

To follow your heart

Instead of what you feel obliged to do.



I would have told myself to work harder

Because it’s something I’ve come to regret

And now it feels impossible

To reach for that dream again.

Tiny

20/05/2020 - Iso Well-Being Compilation

 

When we were little

You had a little red car

Painted with racing stripes

And with tiny tinted windows.

 

It was always your pride and joy,

You took it everywhere.

In a pocket, or in your bag,

Or just in your tiny hand.

 

When you got sick it sat alone

Upon the table by your bed,

As machines whirred and beeped

All around your tiny head.

 

Eventually it got put away

You didn’t need such things –

It found a new place to live

In a tiny wooden box.

 

I used it on the wedding cake,

My something old, so goes the rhyme.

And all who saw it did shed a tear –

A tiny part of childhoods now long gone.

 

Now it’s come out again

And I know it’ll bring much joy.

It has another chance to play,

For another tiny heart to love.

 

And as you look down tonight

I know you feel it, too.

That car will be a part of her,

As it was a tiny part of you.

 

That car’s story is not over yet

And neither is yours and mine

As we stand here as a family,

A tiny red thread binding us together.