Wounds I Healed – Of Erin

A week ago ‘Wounds I Healed’ released, as was, as is, head high #1 on Amazon.com

A poem from within, a blogged link to Ingrid, real – and another poem here of Erin, of my mind, imagined, real?


I’m confused to be honest,
I thought we were quite happy and moving along,
then it all got a bit miserable,
I was about to go to bed, I guess I’ll not be sleeping yet.

You say you have missed me,
yet shown no sign of wanting to talk,
don’t you see the mixed signals you’re sending,
you went not me, I don’t want us to keep being like this.

It throws me every time we stop and start,
every time you come back you blame yourself,
when you go you blame me, you’d feel the same
if I did this to you, never knowing where we are.

I’m sorry you feel like that,
no, I’ve not been stringing you along,
I thought we’d have met, it’s just not happened yet,
I don’t really know what else to suggest.

I’m not sure I can give you what you want,
yes, I want you to be happy too,
no, I’m not perfect, I have my faults as you,
it’s taken a long time, sleep well, I believe we will.

Clear Up

‘Make sure you clear up’
young to old how often told,
childhood toys through paint and glue,
bikes upturned on kitchen floor,
endless times clothes taken off,
tools the lost and found of DIY,
most of all the dreaded dust,
seen, unseen, ‘Don’t make a fuss’

Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong Women is out! — Short Prose

Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong WomenWounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong Women is out! To the readers: A stunning poetry anthology. From its gorgeous pages, pain driven away by healing. Souls who endured, fought, and won. Some of them still waiting to win. Empowerment. We all need it. The life of women. We all…

Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong Women is out! — Short Prose

A Date A Day Last Week?

What’s broken isn’t,
more bend and twist of truth,
what I said you didn’t,
what you did you’ll know it,
I don’t and don’t need too,
then nothing breaks but words.


We thought we had time,
you know, the way we do,
not now but soon, so no,
well not right now, there’s
no rush, yet times does,
fate, one chance to take,
a date, a day we didn’t make.


She left me waiting,
did I get the wrong day,
was it me who left her waiting,
same day last week, I think?

50p Lil & Her Place in History

A good day – a rare blog post from author Lucy Brazier – writing of the everyday, the overlooked, the walked by, with conscience, in her unerring English way…

Lucy Brazier

How does history decide who will be remembered? And – perhaps more pertinently – how they will be remembered? How do we know who is great enough, wicked enough, famous enough, clever enough, loud enough – to be remembered? Does a person have to make a big impact to find their names written indelibly upon the pages of time?

This is quite a big question and one that started from just a little thing. That most innocuous of things, a thing that more often than not is at the very beginning of all the really big things. A conversation – between colleagues, most of whom are Northamptonians born and bred, all of them intimately familiar with the mostly unremarkable town. And there were some of them – prepare yourself, now – who had never heard of 50p Lil.

Can. You. Believe. It.

One explanation for this travesty is undoubtedly age…

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Words link…

Well, it’s done now,
words written, raw
thought released, not
held in, too late now,
no going back, if only,
we’d met, we’d spoken,
eye-lined, heard words,
well, it’s done now,
finger trouble, texted.


For what it’s worth,
I’d been warned, that
photograph, too good,
not yours, too late, you
had me, looks and lines,
the way you took to being
mine, you never were, I see
it now, yet, years on, still ask,
could you, could I, be real?


Just a letter, lying there
found on return, a week
of junk mail layered thick
picked up, shuffled, let slip,
as if a plea, don’t bin, please
read, decades on, words link,
of her, of him, pull close,
erase past doubts, mistakes,
love’s last post, of her to him.

Of the day…

A bit of afternoon rain,
unfelt, unseen above,
false light, their dawn,
their noon, heavy metal
dusk, night shrapnel stars,
screen raked, sunflowers seed.


There could be no other day,
no song, no thought, no prayer,
old men’s fingers twitch, playground
bully taunts, cold stares, grow up,
grow wiser, press, mistake, too late.


A spoonful of dreams
lace a jar of nightmares,
a trace of sweet lingers
on the waking sour of day,
all wanting greed of others,
all airways news consumes,
viral fear, war worn tremble,
‘I love you’ say be heard.

Today It Is Ukraine. Yesterday It Was Elsewhere. Tomorrow? This Never Rests.

Such depth and eloquence – I had to re-blog this…

Writing Despite Computers and Programmes

Where do we begin? How do we explain?

24th February 2022. Another Date To Remember….So many events, actions and commentaries since the day Putin and his court decided to take the next step in their endeavours to bring The Ukraine back under Kremlin control. The avalanche into the medias has been such that I literally had to check the start date. It was as if Time measured in days had ceased to be a relevant method of recording, all that counted was The Narrative, every daily action is affected by The Narrative, even Sunrise and Sunset are but part of the backdrop. So many folk are asking ‘How could this happen?’ Understandable.

Under the lens of the seemingly disturbing and dispassionate study of International Relations’ Realism theories what is happening in the Ukraine is predictable, almost inexorable. However this is not the arena to be bandying terms such as ‘Anarchic…

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