Compass needle pointing to North
Never wavering, never deviating
Solid, strong, unchanging, unbending.
Showing the way to the uncertain traveller.
Some people are born with an inbuilt compass
Know from the start where they are going to.
I’d like to be one like that
But alas I am not.
I struggle to make sense of maps
To plot a compass bearing
To set the map so it faces North.
Perhaps I need a Satnav
A firm voice telling me
“Turn right”, “After one mile, turn left”
You have reached you destination.


Painted Faces

<a href=””>Eyes</a&gt;

This was one I made earlier – much earlier – when I attended a creative writing class at Lancaster university. 

Make your face up,
make up your eyes,
blend the colours,
paint the skies,
gild the lily until it dies.


Mask with mascara betraying eyes,
lengthen the lashes add to the lies,
brush on the blusher, don the disguise,
put on a brave face, a sage face and wise,
colour the lips but hide the eyes.

Make up stories make up lies
save your face, shut off your eyes.





Elegy on the Death of My Muse

<a href=””>Muse</a&gt;

Sounds good.
(I knew it would!)
My muse is dead,
that’s what I said.
I’ve lost the urge
to splurge on verse
and, worse than that,
my prose is flat,
dull as a lake.
No breeze to shake
the surface stillness.
Is this an illness
that I can shake off
like a sneeze or a cough
or final and fatal
and from this date I’ll
write no more,
write but to bore?
I won’t entertain it,
can’t explain it,
But I just know
It can’t be so!




Lancashire County Council are planning – or do I mean scheming – to close half of the public libraries in the county. 

Incredible? Yes. Not their fault? So they claim. It is all to do with central goverment cutting the cash allocated to local authorities. Each year they are allowed less and less, while the services they have to provide cost more and more. David Cameron calls it “Austerity” – some of us can think of more accurate and less repeatable names!

Here is something I wrote about this situation in a hurry one Sunday morning. I don’t know where it will go …yet.

There are those who cannot read
Because they are blind:
They have braille and talking books.
There are those who cannot read
Because they are dyslexic
They have special classes.
There are those who do not read
Because they don’t like stories, plays, poems,
Anything that is not dry and factual.
There are those who cannot read
Because they have no schools, no teachers, no books.
Bare existence all they can hope for.
They have my prayers and my Oxfam donation.
Then there are those who cannot read the books they want
Because they live in Garstang
And their library will be shut
By Government edict.






My D.I.Y. Valentine


I put you on a pedestal, Or rather up a ladder

My Valentine, my Handy Man, I couldn’t have been gladder.

But as the years come and go although you’re still appealing

I wish you’d get your finger out and finish off the ceiling.

The plaster’s old (like us) and cracked, the paint had started peeling

And now you’ve put the coving up you say it still needs sealing.

You’ll have to fill in all the cracks, apply two coats of paint

An undercoat and overcoat the chance seems somewhat faint

You’ll get it done by Friday or even by next year.

But could you try to finish it  while we are both still here!


A lament from the wife of a D.I.Y. expert who is careful, enthusiastic and thorough – but oh so very, very slow!


The End of Zero to Hero – 30 days to a better blog

Good Resolutions that I’ll try to stick to:

1 At least 1 poem/verse per week – if not one of my own then a quote from somethong that has struck me. (I suppose the usual copyright rules will apply – fair usage and no claiming as mine something the poet laureate wrote! I’ll try to make Wednesday my poetry day. See if it works.CG16D

2 Weekly rant or comment on something in the news, the sort of thing that I might write to the papers about,  Monday? Monday moan? I’ll see how it goes.

As for the rest…well the mini comps that appear on elizabethfrattaroli’s blog – try to enter each month plus at least 1 DP prompt per month.

That’s all, folks.

See how it works out…


If Things Had Been Different…

th-14 If things had been different..

If I hadn’t missed the bus that day
And hurried worrying on my way
Late again, I’d be in trouble
Faster faster, at the double.

Then I bumped into you.

I stopped, you stopped.
I said “Sorry,”

You said something like “Don’t worry”.
 “But I’ll soon be late,” I said,
 Thoughts of dismissal in my head.

Then you reached out to me

“Get in, ‘ you said, “I’ll take you there
You never thought of asking where
I was bound for, was it far.
Thoughtless, I leapt into your car.

And that is how it started.

We met. We talked, our friendship grew
We laughed a lot and quarrelled too.
No longer “me” and “you” – it’s “us”
And all because I missed my bus!

NOTE: This is a piece of fiction and should not be read as an encouragement to young women to leap into cars with men they don’t know!