I gave Younger an impromptu lesson in mindfulness today. We went to the shop and we bought some bread. Just baked. And it smelt wonderful. And I gave it to him to sniff and I said to him darling, this is what you have to remember. What does that smell make you feel like? And he It’s made him feel warm and safe. And that was the point.

And here is today’s poem…


People soup

Porridge tastes better in the dawn

As water drips off my wetsuit 

a chorus of chatter, of laughs and faint screams 

and make mine a chocolate and don’t hold the cream.

the sun slowly lighting us up as it lifts 

and time is so precious 

So relish the gift 

and soon we’ll return to real life – The rat race 

But this is my bubble

A bright shiny place. 




I was once told that there are two

Types of folk in this world

The ones who leave you safe and warm

And those who leave you cold.

Not cold as in, you just don’t care

No, I mean chilled and hurt

All life leached out because they drain

Your joy by their salt words. 

I see my friend affected thus

Pecked by a ravens beak

Picked up upon with gimlet eye

And gossips thrill to speak.

I find it hard to see this as

I felt the same attack 

But if I may quote that Mr Poe

“nevermore” is now my track…

So no to social bullying 

to those who strike a spark

and no to those who fan the flame

And burn to leave a mark. 

For life is truely much too short

To be upset or cranky

Ignore Those revellers in discord. 

 it’s them not you who’s manky . 




Today I folded paper and

My son dictated the design. 

He chose my folds, the way I turned

The paper, here then there. 

I find the folding soothes the soul

I love to concentrate

To focus is to forget – i find

It helps me lose the thread. 

I like to let my mind unwind

And fold until it’s done. 

Yet, if I hadn’t joined this club

I wouldn’t even know. 

Just think, without this illness

I would not have had time to fold

I wouldn’t take my Boys to school

I’d be late home 

An absent mum

And so to conclude I say

My brain while raddled understands

That illness brings both good and bad

And we can choose to some extent

The kind of life we had. 



The timeline is complicated

But unforgivingly straight 

Before the night We shine

We burn

I’m bright, I know

I have letters to prove

To me, at least.

But Perhaps this fire this inner flash

This drive these files this splash

Are my last gasp

My battle cry

Before I start to fade.

I’ll rage against the downwards force

Oppose it with my will

I’ll go down fighting

But I know

I’m going downwards still.

I see it clearly now and then 

I catch a glimpse of truth

And I ignore it

And push on

There’s f2%k all else to do.


Berlin face off 

I was standing on the pavement

My fingers cold and stiff 

The phone loose in my hand 

It’s job done

Directions good.

I saw my goal

Iconic and cool

Lines clean against the cobalt rise

And then a blue

Familiar friend

Caught my eye and

As I bent

Towards its light

 I saw my life

The first one – past –

Just sitting there

Edging in my view

Not framing

Not quiet

But glowering, dark

No face just squares

And that same blue

That I wore close

And thought would stay

Now shadowed by the new design

The squares no longer box me in

I turned and walked




I crashed and burned today, 

my body just refusing 

To move the way I wished it to,

I stopped and pain ripped through.

My friend appeared and so I asked

For help.

She did, of course.

And so I glided home

A passenger

 all tucked in tight

But weary to the bone.

My partner saved me at the gate

And placed me on a throne

Of rocking chair and threadbare stool

And gave me water cool.

I cried, I have to admit now.

I cried, the tears were hot.

Because I have so much to do 

But I had quite forgot,

That moderation is the key,

I have to pace myself.

Because a swoop begats a dive

And I can’t face myself.

And yet I’m here at almost 12.

I’m sitting up alone.

Because despite my limits clear

I still must make you hear…

Make you understand – 

 this Disease does not define me

Confine, oh yes, it does that well

But best me? 

Not a hope in hell.



How do you become a real poet?

How do you get paid to write rhymes ?

Do I quote intellectual-

Would that be effectual?

Or am I behind with the times.

An agent? A slam night?

Try open mic sessions…

I’m serious 

but there’s no exams like professions …

Pay hundreds to study?

Or will this just muddy

My words, so that I just go wrong. 

I’d love to succeed:

I’d love you to read

My poems all printed out pat.

But frankly it’s daunting…

Promo without flaunting 

Tell me, how do I do that?!  


Sage words

How much farrow and ball does the world really need,

When will we be too too tasteful?

Will all the dives

Become too gentrified,

Will all that’s bright become hateful?

The march of the neutral, the hoards of the taupe,

The mouse ear, the off white, the bone. 

The urban landscape will melt into one

And we’ll all have a beautiful home. 

And once they have painted that final top coat they’ll look at their cafes and say

“We’re high end, we’re top notch, exclusive, so chic,

of course our dear customers must pay”

Put prices sky high, make them feel so elite

The margins will shoot ever upwards. 

But beware greedy traders

You really should know

That business can also move backwards.   

A few weeks will go and a new place will show

Up, with paintwork a shimmering sage. 

You watch punters flock

To the new kid on block

And wonder where did you go wrong. 

The moral is clear: 

You’ve nothing to fear

If you look after people not property. 

Shun farrow and ball

Ignore revamp calls

And you’ll end up with profits not uppity.