Friday, 28 February 2014


In dreams I see your eyes that shine
Like sunshine mirrors on the seas
You move so soft in graceful lines
As primrose swaying in the breeze
My thoughts are filled with love unbound
Of tender soul that I have found.

The clouds of grey and black subside
Allowing light to flow within
The shadows nowhere left to hide
Banished as an untold sin.
Forever held within my heart
You live in me, till day we part.

The Wolf

Tracking me,
Its presence hidden from view
Preparing to strike
Attack came
Stealth and speed
Unable to escape its clutches
The bite is deep
Jaws squeezing my resistance
No fight left,
I accept my fate

Thursday, 27 February 2014


Through the window,  daylight streams in
Another day of endless reflection
Of times to be shared or left alone
Questions fired indiscriminately
With answers never to be found
Like a radio show station
Playing the same song
Over and over,  you long for the change
Yet get used to the tune

Wednesday, 26 February 2014

Corinthians Tale

Age of innocence,  age of fun,
playing around the battery gun.
A telescope, from which we'd look,
out to sea for Captain Hook

Age of innocence, age of fun,
playing around the battery gun.
In the seat we'd spin about,
till we felt sick and tumbled out

Age of innocence, age of fun,
playing around the battery gun.
In burn of summer or sting of rain,
we'd stoke the furnace of our train

Age of innocence, age of fun
playing around the battery gun.
Round and round the steps we ran,
playing tag,  me, Bill and Dan

Age of war, no longer fun.
Serving around the battery gun.
Grown up now, Bill, Dan and me
shoot for our lives at the enemy.

Monday, 24 February 2014

Life Through A lens

We see light,
reflecting back images
of that which is around us.
Staring from our office windows,
zooming out from our
mundane existence,
feelings are blurred,
out of focus with
our reality.
Shutter pressed, an instant
is trapped, time stood still.
We can change direction,
where do we want life to go?
To make that choice that becomes
the new frame in our personal reel.
To expose happiness and delete sadness.
A chance to create the perfect set,
where fantasy becomes reality
in a heartbeat, rather than waiting
for it to develop.
We can follow the storyboard,
edit, direct it, without limit,
until we press again.

Sunday, 23 February 2014


North, South
Different paths
Running parallel
Far away but so near
Unaware of the other
Brief encounters
A subtle glance
and knowing

Saturday, 22 February 2014

Unsocial Media

Temptation is pinching
My thoughts confused
Sleepless nights,
tossing and turning
Like an addict
I crave your attention
Unable to resist
your charms
Cannot keep away
Find excuses to see you
Are you mine?
Or somebody else's
Can you be shared?
Slumber arrives
And still I'm craving
Awaiting the morning
When I can replace my mask

Friday, 21 February 2014

Mind Games

Without thought,
You dispense.
Anger, bitterness,
sadness, loneliness and tears
are spewed,
in a linear direction
towards your target.
Each word, thought,
diminishes their light
They retreat,
looking for a corner
to hide, to disappear.
Your darkness lifted,
you move on, released.
The black cloud is
passed on, to envelop,
to isolate, to deny
and finally to defeat.

Thursday, 20 February 2014

The Watcher

I'm looking at you
You're there in that little window
You know I'm watching
Twisting, turning, eyes making contact
I press on, wanting more
Lights come on, time is precious
Give me that look again
Its going faster
Finally we're done
That divide is bridged
Together we look back
All is well
You'll be back

Wednesday, 19 February 2014

Rise and Shine

8.10, wake up call
Still sleepy, rise, time for ablutions
Overhead a shower poured noisily
Each fiery drop opening concrete pores
No longer sleepy
Eyes open, alert
Above the heavens roared
Flashes of light and thunder
Fill my eyes and ears
A storm unabated
Looking for shelter
Ravaging, pain,
Numbness, nothingness.

Thursday, 13 February 2014

War and Peace

The smoke filled the lungs, like mist rolled across a valley
Fear, panic, bodies falling against the splintered timbers
Noise so extreme, it may even wake the dead
Men struggling to move as mud clung to their boots like limpets to a mine

Incessant rain pounding on a tin roof, driving men to despair
Whistles, bangs, booms and screams filled the void
As streams of warm cherry liquid flowed unabated
Shards of metal strewn across the dug out trenches

Hidden in the corner, like a small child, huddled a man
Crying, scared, unable to move to save himself
While thousands more climbed out of fox holes aiming for the metal monsters,
who ejected this vile fire from their bellies

Suddenly silence, in the distance a solitary, fluttering, white cloud was held aloft
Men fell to their knees, sunshine breaking through the gloom
The monsters had been soothed and were now sleeping quietly
The anguished screams replaced by smiles and tears of joy

Four long years of hurt and pain, in an instant brought to an end
For millions life would never be the same
The war to end all wars had reached its finale
Thankfully this would never happen again.......would it ?

Wednesday, 12 February 2014

Attending my first writers group

Tonight, I attended my first writers group at Hartlepool Library. My youngest daughter is taking an interest in writing, so she tagged along for the experience.

It was sci-fi night, and although I love sci-fi shows and films, I don't write about it...yet, but we were asked to write something about applying for a life on Mars, or a narrative about being there and what you are getting up to. Once I started writing, it was as if the pen had taken control and was scribbling away madly. If anyone has watched the sci-fi series Heroes, imagine those who draw the future and you get the idea.

Afterwards there was a bit of a read and critique session, which was great, but I only read a small part of mine, as I'd wrote too much and time was running out.

Wish I knew why I can write when I'm given the premise, yet suffer from writers block on my own book attempt. Tonight I wrote about 1000 words in an hour, if I could do that every day for two to three months I'd be over the moon.

Never thought I'd be the type for writers groups and poetry workshops, but looking at them with an open mind has given me a new outlook on my own writing, which I hope will improve as a consequence.

Tuesday, 11 February 2014

World War One Poetry

As I mentioned in my first post, I am attempting to write poetry, I have joined a group of people that are trying to put together an anthology of poems about the World War One bombing of Hartlepool, a small town on the North East coast of England. On December 16th 1914, the town was bombarded by the German Navy for around an hour, with over 1000 shells being fired into the town. Here are a couple of poems I have written.

 The Christmas Hour

One solitary hour, stood alone like a stranger in a crowd.
 The seconds ticking a regular clanging boom,
 as it moves unerringly through its perpetual motion,
 it offers misery and hope.

Each accurate strike tells the story of men, women and children,
 whose lives were ended by each quarterly chime.
 It brings together communities, like a net gathering fish,
 and rebuilds all that it has destroyed.

It drags the sun across the skies, wiping away the smoke and fire,
 then this stranger moves on, never to be seen again,
 replaced by another stranger with a different purpose,
 to offer peace and goodwill to all.

One single, tiny hour can shape an entire world.
 It holds memories, like a child holds a balloon.
 Bringing new life and taking away the sick.
 Always following the same path away from us.

 The Swarm

In the distance they waited on their ships,
 one thousand strong, huddled together waiting to strike.
 The order came and like wasps they swarmed across the sea.
 The streets, just beginning to wake,
 were met by the stomping of the incoming throng.
 No polite knock to come in, but an uninvited crunch,
 as doors, walls and windows were violently wrenched open.
 Families hid under beds, pretending not to be home,
 as a single, giant hob nail boot wreaked havoc on their belongings.
 No longer just the welcoming, recently lit, coal fire in the hearth,
 but countless vicious little flames licking at the edges of the splintered furniture.
 The smell of burnt nail varnish remover filled the air,
 but there was no pretty girl applying makeup in the shattered mirror,
 instead the faces were frightened, streaked with tears and blood.
 The thousand had arrived, bullied and destroyed but never returned to their ships.