Poetry Blogs (childhood)
This space is like a ghost town
Trestle tables row on row
Echoing with the hustle bustle
Vendors cries of long ago
I held my mother’s hand
And listened to them shout
‘apples sixpence a pound
Come on get your money out!’
Comics stored in cardboard boxes
Toys stacked high on stands
Gleaming in the Friday sun
Just out of reach of sticky h...
Monday 6th July 2020 12:50 pm
Needles & Thread
I remember her sat at an old Singer sewing machine
Turning the handle in the half-light of autumn
Making dresses and skirts for herself
So that precious pennies could be invested in children
She made me a Lone Ranger mask
From remnants of black cloth
She had left from one of her creations
I wore it with pride and a whoop and a holler
Friday 3rd July 2020 1:59 pm
There's a big iron bell on the roof of the barn
that is used to call men from wherever they are:
from the fields, from mending the fences
from tending the cows in distant pastures.
There's a boy who likes adventure,
to find interesting places and things.
He likes to explore different places alone,
to go wherever he will near home.
Call him home from the forest, farm bell.
Call him bac...
Wednesday 10th June 2020 5:30 pm
I had a book all full of spells
Where childhood magic
Weaved its way
Between the yellowed pages
Where dragon’s breath
Set woodland glades alight
And lost children danced
With the frightened and the fey
The teeth of angry wolves
Chewed at the edges
Whilst chattering little demons
Clawed along your spine
Strange apples fell from wizene...
Friday 8th May 2020 2:40 pm
I wonder what happens
To the poorly drawn images
We keep abreast as children,
Sheltered inside our notebooks and their crinkly pages.
I envisage those pages accompanying
Balloons, bubbles and butterflies,
And the colors in them adorning
The sallow face of the sky.
I like to believe that my poorly chalked out blades of grass
Somehow appended the greenery on earth
Thursday 7th May 2020 8:47 pm
My Mother’s Kitchen
I’m in my mother’s kitchen
It’s a Monday afternoon
The oven’s heated up the air
The buns will be out soon
Everywhere there’s an aroma
Of cinnamon and spice
An apple pie sits on the table
I’m waiting for a slice
A black-leaded coal fire
Does it’s best to dominate
The heat and the smells
That the baking permeates
An old fridge hums...
Tuesday 28th April 2020 2:50 pm
Glam Rock Man
A stack heeled stomp in platform boots
Trowelled make-up and glitter suits
Feather cut hair and tinted roots
It’s Glam Rock, man,
it’s Glam Rock
Teenage Rampage, Ballroom Blitz,
Radio One plays all The Hits
Driving your dad out of his wits
It’s Glam Rock, man,
it’s Glam Rock
Jackie, Smash, Disco Forty Five
What a great time to be alive...
Wednesday 15th April 2020 12:42 pm
I remember playing in a hayloft
with older boys, daring to jump like they did.
I tunneled alone through hay and darkness,
to find light at the other end.
As my memory goes back to those carefree times,
I wonder if I tried to impress older boys
as if they were my father.
Was I trying to outdo my brothers?
Was there a sexual element
in body sensations in free fall in hay?
Thursday 9th April 2020 2:01 pm
“Time for bed” they said,
In a front room warmed by coal fire licks
Where the red and orange and white flames
Danced patterns on the walls of falling dusk
They push, cajole, entice you to the stairs
And do not notice terror tears welling in your eyes
Fourteen steps up the narrow stairwell
Tracing fingers on a pale wallpaper wall
Festooned with or...
Thursday 2nd April 2020 12:36 pm