An adventure is what we’ll call this,
A good story, a tale for life
At Christmas time we’ll be laughing
Because you gave us such a fright

At the moment you’re just waiting,
You’re waiting to be found;
We’ll find you very soon my friend,
I know you’ll be found safe and sound

Broken leg, or fractured finger
Is the worst that has come of you,
And from speaking to your sister
When you’re back, you’re gonna have two!!

So Gary we’ll keep on searching,
We’ll keep on searching day by day;
But I’ll share a little secret
We wish you’d give a little wave

A small wave, a noise, a whisper
Come on Gary, give us a clue
But don’t you worry, stay focused
Because I promise, we’ll find you

We’ll find you in the Blue Mountains,
I bet you’re hiding in a cave
Making fruit smoothies for dinner
And of course being very brave

Day four of the search has started
And we are hoping it’s today;
So come on Gary, times up now
Lets find another game to play

Your family and friends all miss you
And we all love you very much,
Hope, from here to Australia
And we are NEVER giving up.

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Communication is the Key

Communication is the key
The answer to all thoughts which flee,
Some try to run and hide away,
It’s much simpler to think and say

If you’re sorry then say you care,
Explain your thoughts and why they’re there,
If you love them then voice your mind;
Communication to be kind,

So many words run round our heads,
Spoken wisely they’re put to bed,
So many thoughts bounce mind to heart
Voice them carefully, let them part

Blessed we were with words to say
Blessed to make things feel ok
Blessed to have such precious time
Blessed to voice our wonderous minds

Time is short in this thing called life,
We’ve no time to be faced with strife
So careful wording helps a lot,
To voice those thoughts your mind has got

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I’ll Never Write a Poem

I’ll never write a poem
If I have a cloudy head.
I’ll never write a poem
If I’m wide awake in bed.

I’ll never write a poem
When my brain has turned to mash.
I’ll never write a poem
It had might as well be trash.

I’ll never write a poem
On such a dark and chilly night.
I’ll never write a poem
The thought gives me such a fright.

I’ll never write a poem
When I don’t know what to say.
I’ll never write a poem
When the words have flown away.

I’ll never write a poem
When words are no longer fun.
I’ll never write a poem
When my thoughts are on the run.

I’ll never write a poem
When I don’t know what to do.
I’ll never write a poem
No poem to give to you.

I’ll never write a poem
When there’s so much in my head.
I’ll never write a poem
There’s just too much to be said!


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Nature’s Music

I hear them float through my window,
Such a mellifluous sound;
Of innocence and tenderness,
A parental bond they’ve found.

Too soon the voices have gone,
As silence creeps through the air;
The birds gently sing me a song,
Assure me they’ll always be there.

You see, if you ever feel lonely,
A small simple thing you must do;
Open each one of your senses,
To the beauty surrounding you.

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I Will Work – With a Little Help

As women we expect our bodies to work,

You know, tick over nicely with as little effort as possible,

Only the necessary attention to detail needed.

Like baking a cake, getting all the right ingredients together,

Weighing them out, mixing them up, following the recipe,

Or putting a bun in the oven.

It’s easy. Sorry am I being greedy,

Which one am I wanting, a cake or a bun?

Oh, a baby, how silly of me.

Well, now, that’s awkward

Because if you know me like I know me,

You know that’s not exactly reality.

It could be a possibility,

In my dreams, maybe not.

The thing is I don’t know a lot

But what I do know is I’m broken.

I’m like that offer on the shelf in your local store,

That’s discounted that does all the right things

Almost exactly and as perfectly as every other product

But my box is dented and you take a chance

Because like the cheaper option your goods might just turn out alright…

But what if they don’t, what if they’re damaged;

What if I’m damaged?

Damaged goods are no good to anybody – especially me.

And it’s me who sees this, it’s my reality.

It’s definitely me. It’s hard.

It’s hard to know where to go or what to say

When people look at you at twenty-eight

And wonder why you aren’t trying for a baby,

Well maybe, just maybe it’s not that easy.

Not for me, you want to make them see but at the same time you’re embarrassed.

So, when the comment comes you take it on the chin and say….

Uh Hum, Well, where do I begin…

I don’t have enough money, I can barely look after myself;

Children don’t really actually very much like me…

It would just be wrong – wouldn’t it?

Me. With a baby. Or at least the ability to make one;

For my mum – not me.

I’m not bothered. It’s her I worry about,

She’s not getting any younger and

I think she’s done with having them herself,

She’s already got three. Three whole babies,

One of them’s me… I’d like to give her one,

Give her one back. It’s like a repayment

“Thank you and here is your reward for putting up with silly old me my whole life,

I didn’t mean to cause you so much strife so here’s a grandchild…”

Go on, someone dig in another knife,

There’s room for one more – unintentionally of course,

Their hearts are in the right place but

Doesn’t really make a difference because,

In this instance I’m hurting.

Why don’t I work properly?

Why can’t I be the best, most efficient cake maker and bun baker

This side of my dreams. The side where I’m awake not just asleep,

It’s all very nice living in a different life when the lights go out

And the evenings start to suffice and show you your ability;

So cruelly.

So, I finally call the doctor.

I already know I have PCOS, so that’s not gonna be news to me,

I call the doctor because maybe, not right now but

Eventually I’d like a baby and

It’s taken me years to admit this to myself,

Always pulling out the “I’m not maternal” card or

“Children would be for me too hard.”

Hard work. What an off putter.

Who’d want to wipe all those smelly bums

And guess which miraculous little word might come first…

Not me.

I don’t want to see the carbon copy of my very own eyes looking straight back at me,

My nose, my mouth, his chin, his hair – it’s not fair.

I want to teach poetry to a little girl who’s only three… four… five…

And the rest, yeah,

Maybe it’s about time I should get this off my chest.

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Little Woodpecker

We can hear you
Little woodpecker
Pecking at our tree,
Peck, peck, peck
We can hear you,
But not see

It’s early in the morning
And you’re hiding from us all,
But our little woodpecker
We can hear our wake up call

So I ask you
Little woodpecker
Pecking at our tree,
Would you mind
Flying by, so
We can see?

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Sometimes Affection’s all You Need

Sometimes affection’s all you need
To put a worried mind at ease,
A little love in unsure times,
Reassurance can ease the mind

A friendly smile will show you care,
A gentle cuddle here or there,
A little effort means a lot,
Simple gestures when words are lost

To make another feel ok,
To Keep a worried mind at bay
You have the answer in your hands
Its called affection, when you can

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Writers Blocks?

Once I start, it’s hard to stop.
There’s no such thing as writers block.
That may sound funny or a little untrue.
But me right now? I’d rather snooze!

It’s already late, it’s already dark.
This sleeping lark’s no walk in the park.
My eyes are tired, they’re heavy and red,
So again I shall attempt to rest my head.

I close my mind, I close my thoughts,
I shut off the light and think no more.
The sheep are numbered one to ten…
at last it’s time to sleep again.


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The Point of my Write is……..

Good Morning, Good Afternoon, and as I suspected Good Evening as well. I hope to have finished writing and finally shared this little Blog Post with you before I go to bed…

I awoke this morning feeling very sorry for myself, my eyes were crying out for a couple of match sticks to prop them open with, and my bed didn’t seem to want me to leave it alone…. or maybe it was I who didn’t want to leave my bed alone, whichever way, we were definitely bonding and extremely comfortable; my bed was comfortable and I was comfortable, need I say more? I have the joy of sleeping on a memory foam mattress – if you haven’t had the pleasure of experiencing one I would highly recommend you gave it a go, even if you just sneak in to your local furniture store, and try one out on display, that’s what they’re there for after all isn’t it? Maybe even take a cup of Horlicks, wear your best pin-striped Pajamas, fluffy bunny rabbit slippers and a jolly good book to read… Or if you had any sense at all you will do none of the above and just casually stroll in, bounce about at the bottom of your carefully selected memory foam trial mattress for a while, awkwardly lay back, with the occasional glance to check no one is watching and momentarily experience the magic I call ‘comfort while I sleep’. Any way, I reluctantly rolled out of bed at around 06.55am (When I say roll, I mean it in the most literal of terms. I flopped my legs over the side and rolled out on to the floor. It was the only way I could force myself into Monday Morning mode)I threw myself in to the shower (I’m speaking more hypothetically this time) and eventually made my way to work.

As I ate my bowl of porridge and drank my second coffee of the day on my morning break it suddenly dawned on me; you may be wondering what the point of me explaining in great detail my day so far actually is?! The answer being, dear reader, there isn’t one. Not really, I was just feeling very Monday-ish when I started writing this Blog post and thought I’d share the fact (with any one who slightly cared, or made the mistake of reading this pointless post I am writing today) that I would rather have stayed in bed, well, at least for another couple of hours anyway!!

Lunch time has been and gone and after a bowl of Chicken soup and a peppermint tea I was feeling much more alive, work flew by nicely, and I had a productive day. I have to add, the reason this is taking so long to write (Morning, Afternoon, Evening) is because I’ve been doing it on my breaks at work, and when I get a spare second at home.

You may or may not have noticed (I’m guessing the latter is probably the most appropriate) I have decided to cut back on how many updates and poems I grace my precious little page with, and I have (what I seem to think) a very good reason for this. I was very much excited when I started, please do not misunderstand what I am saying, I still do love it just as much today as the day it was born, however I have come to the realisation that if I was to carry on as I started (a poem almost every day) eventually I am going to run out of poems to share with you all, and that would be just terrible, I know I like to have the occasional ramble of nonsense every now and then, but my Poetry really is the core reason for the evention of my website in hand.

I wrote, what I would consider, my first proper poem when I was 15 years old. By proper I mean it consisted of more than just a couple of lines which happened to rhyme. I am under no illusion my writing is any thing spectacular, I don’t claim to know every poetic rule (if any at all) off by heart, but the one thing I can claim, and I hope is obvious, is how every thing I write comes from my heart. Every poem has a story behind it, or a reason for me writing it. However, as much as I write to release, and as much as writing is a part of me – even I don’t have enough in my back log, or write enough current ones to continue posting a poem a day on

So I am going to have to begrudgingly add my poems sparingly. I say sparingly, you’ll definitely get at least one to read every week. But I also need to turn my energy to writing some new ones. Since has come about, ironically, I have barely written a poem or had the inspiration. Maybe my energies have been used up else where, but I am on course to set them straight and I have made it my mission to have written something new by the end of the week.

On that note, It’s past midnight, my boyfriend is probably thinking I have been kidnapped from our lounge, or fallen down the plug hole unable to escape, or gotten lost on route to the bedroom… or more realistically he’s probably sound asleep and hasn’t even noticed I’m not yet there beside him. But I shall be, in just a few minutes. Good night to all. I will leave you with a poem tonight. I hope you enjoy.

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My Bondilocks Dream

There she was on stage,
The Theatre was packed full.
Her face painted like a porcelain doll.
The lights shone down on her,
Red velvet curtains draped.
It’s like we were in the Eighteen Hundreds.
She was in full view;
Her long black hair
Camouflaged with her leotard, 

The spotlights must have blinded her eyes.

She danced as delicately as a feather,
Mystically and artistically,
It was entrancing to see
My friend who was starring the show.

The audience were captivated,
The gentlemen smoking their pipes
Nodding heads of approval,

Swift, soft, subtle movements
Mesmerised the greater crowd…
And then she speaks.
She speaks poetry
In so many words,
Words I can’t relay,
I wish I could remember,
But I remember how it made me feel;
How it made every one feel.
The strange eeriness mixed with elegance,
The words harshly whispered but true
And then the applause

“Bravo” “Bravo”
And then I wake….

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