The universe is mine.

What if…
The sun shines bright,
For me,
So i can see.
The moon glows white,
So i can keep sight.
What if…
The endless blue sky…
Is to remind me,
That i can fly.
What if…
The luscious green, grass grows beneath my feet, soft and warm, for the days when i am beat, what if, the stars are shining down on me, each night, to set me free, what if seasons change, the wind blows the knowing eyes, the warm smiles…
What if…
They are all for me,
What if…
I am right, i am the light.

A tangled web of red.

This is the first part of a love story that I wrote, it isn’t complete yet, I still haven’t decided how to proceed with it. However it’s been floating around on the computer for a couple of years, and hopefully by setting it free, it might inspire me. Enjoy.

“Excuse me” I called out to the red head, dropping the contents of her pockets along the chiller aisle. “Excuse me” I called again, but this time louder. She still didn’t hear me. I stood shivering along side the rows of cheese and watched as her long red hair fell on her shoulders in a tangled web of curls. Rummaging frantically through her pockets she suddenly spun round, searching the floor for her lost possessions. My heart stopped. There was no mistaking her face. I hadn’t seen her in ten years, and yet looking at her now was like rewinding time.
“Clarice” I croaked. Her name echoed across the empty store. She turned to look at me. Her deep blue eyes, searched my reddening face.
I am sure I heard alarm and shock in her voice.
“I think you dropped these” I replied. I reached out to hand her the phone and keys, I had gathered up from the floor. Hesitantly stepping forward, she took them from my open hand,. She looked older. She had Laughter lines in the corner of her eyes. Her hair was longer, but still had that unruliness to it. She looked almost unchanged.
She was looking up at me, with a look of surprise. I stepped back, to assess the situation and gain some control.
“Wow, how , what, when, I mean how are you?” Clarice asked.
“I’m good, I’m living and working back here now. I thought you had moved away” I tried to keep my voice calm, but my heart was beating so fast I was sure she could hear it above the humming fridges.
“I did Nathan, but that was years ago, I’m back here now”.
I wanted to ask if she was well, happy…single. But instead I made a stupid comment about how she obviously still liked drastic hair colours. She hung her head and looked at the floor, I wanted to tell her how beautiful the red hair made her look. But I didn’t get the chance. She lifted her head, looked straight into my eyes, and said
“I have to go, Nathan, it was nice seeing you again, take care”.
I leant against the chiller cabinet and watched as the girl I had always loved hurried away from me. My mind wandered back to that hot summers day in 1996 when I left to follow my own selfish dreams. I was sure Clarice would be better off without me. We had different paths. She was a bright girl, but lacked ambition. Her rebellious streak saw her change her hair colour weekly. She was wild and out of control, when I was with her, I felt out of control. I loved her more than I was capable of expressing. I was scared. I made the mistake of walking away from her, and spent ten years missing her. I had stupidly let her walk away from me again. I looked down at the floor, at my feet, a flash of bright red hair caught my eye, lodged beneath my empty shopping basket was Clarices work badge. I ran my fingers across the fresh face, and read the details. I gasped, a soft rush of air filled my lungs as I realised that I had been wrong, so very wrong.

I needed to get away. I needed to get to work. Why had he acted so cold towards me, tears stung at my eyes as I considered his surprise when he had seen me, how fast he had been to say he thought I had moved away, and what’s so wrong with my red hair. I reached the doors to the school, and rushed through to the staffroom. My first lesson wasn’t for an hour, but I needed time to get my emotions back in check. I sat in the corner chair behind the old forgotten pile of peoples friend magazines left behind long ago by a former teacher.
“Clarice, someone just popped into the office to hand this in”
I looked up over the magazines at Maureen, the school secretary. She was old and forgetful, due to retire at the end of term. She handed me my work id badge.
“What did they look like” I asked.
“ I don’t know Clarice, I was too busy dealing with the paperwork to look, Sorry.” I watched Maureen head toward the staffroom door, my heart thumping hard in my chest. Had I lost the id in the supermarket, with the other bits, had Nathan followed me over here, and handed it in? I stared at the girl with the red hair in the picture, I had worked so hard to become that girl, but all he saw was the seventeen year old he had left behind. I gathered up my things and crawled out from the corner. Maureen popped her head back around the door “Clarice, don’t forget you have the talk with your class today, he is just setting up in the hall now”. I let out a deep sigh, I had forgotten. “Ok Maureen, I’m just off there now” I replied with a cheerful smile, that hid the turmoil I was really feeling.

Towers of Blackberry and apple bits.

This is a slightly edited version of an earlier post, Blackberry Towers, I like both poems equally, but I think this one delves in a little deeper to those childhood memories. Enjoy.

I remember a time when I was young,
When us kids went outside to have fun.
Our mums drank tea, had a natter,
Their laughs echoing over the kids chatter.
The men earned honest money, with hard graft.
They were the days, but they didn’t last.
I remember it fondly…

Daffodils breaking through the warming earth,
As the promise of spring filled the street with mirth.
We wore hand me down clothes, real leather shoes,
played in the growing corn, had lunch on the kerb
We played kerby and footy, bulldog and chase,
Everything we did was always a race.

On the summer days, in the summer haze.
The field of corn lined with trees, no hint of a breeze.
Daisy chain ropes that reached to the skies,
Dandelion clocks, oh how time flies,
Purple fingers, tell tale lips,
Blackberry pies with apple bits.

Bonfire night, the woolies are out,
In before dark the mothers did shout.
Sparklers, fireworks, penny for the guy,
Halloween sweeties an endless supply.
We play on the cornfield, so empty and bare,
Its hard to remember what they grew there.

Snowmen so big we stood in awe, then
took turns aiming for the highest score.
One in each garden, some on the path,
A pile of wet socks, gloves, hats and scarves.
In the cornfield trenches were dug, ammo created
The older kids, always, dominated.

I remember the cornfield swaying in the breeze,
Before they laid brick, took away the trees.
Everyone got busy, the air grew stale
And nobody noticed when the kids grew pale.

The Bumble Bee. Life Writing.

This is some life writing I did last year whilst completing A215 Creative writing with the Open university.

The Bumble Bee.


Is there a mystical force at work just outside my front door? I sometimes wonder. It’s the portal between reality and home and something always has to happen just as we cross its boundary. I’m suspicious when it doesn’t. Sometimes it’s a forgotten item; water bottles, coats and jumpers. Sometimes it’s the wonder of nature, the streaming rain or howling winds. Today it was a Bumble Bee, I didn’t hear the little wings flapping furiously in flight, or see its black and yellow suit of armour, but Emily did. She stood rooted to the spot, just there, at the door entrance, one foot in one foot out. Complete silence fell upon us as she stood un-moving, her arms out stretched, her face frozen into a position of fear.
‘Mum it’s a bee.’ she said, her eye’s glancing toward me.
I took a deep breath and let the front door slam shut, hoping to scare the ferocious flying insect away. I knew better than to question the where abouts of the bee, instead I repeated the same mantra I have repeated since the first day she discovered that they have a stinger attached to them.
‘It’s ok leave the bee alone and it will leave you alone.’ I said, hoping my voice was convincing enough.
We were running late and any delay would mean cancelling our quick stop of at the park. Her fear quickly thawed as the buzz became a distant hum and off we went.
I don’t like bee’s they move to fast and appear out of no where. Avoid them, that’s the advice, but how when they insist on following you? I hide my fear, or at least I try too. Emily-Rose is a naturally anxious child. She doesn’t need the burden of another persons fear on her young shoulders. So I don’t scream or wave my arms around in a frenzied attempt to avoid the bee, I simply take a deep breath and move away, whilst my thumping heart attempts to break through my rib cage.
‘Have you ever been stunged by a bee mum?’ she said.
I dread these questions. I want to tell her the truth. Nothing good ever comes from a lie, but am I just fuelling her fear? The problem with impromptu questions is you never have time to consider the right way to answer it. The swings are calling us with the schools bell echoing fast behind it, the sun is distracting and the morning rush is upon us.
And there you go the answer is out there, I know what the next question will be, am I prepared? Of course not, I’m too busy enjoying the feel of the warm rays of sun that are finally spilling across my skin.
‘Did it hurt?’
‘Yes it did.’ I said.
Her face looks a picture of horror. Her blue eyes open wide, and her jaw dropped open, I have just destroyed her world. I am mum, I am indestructible, nothing hurts me. I can see the words swimming around in her mind, if the bee sting hurt mum then what will it do to her? Its time to slow down the pace and have ourselves a serious conversation.
‘I was the same age as you. Me and my friends were playing on the big log at the far end of the school playing field when I got stung.’
‘You was just little?’
Children have such a hard time imagining their parents were ever small. They see the pictures and have heard the stories, but like ogres monsters and dragons they suspect these are just ugly rumours or amazing fairy tales, what they are not, is true. In Emily’s world, little mum is an entirely different being to who I am now, she is a small child with blue eyes and yellow hair that looks distinctively like Emily’s most recent school photo. Little mum is a world of amazing bedtime stories and soft tears in granddad’s eyes as he recalls the days gone by, little mum is photographic evidence and prove of our connection little mum is not and never will be big mum, not in Emily’s world.
‘Yep, I was just little.’
I breath deep knowing I have redeemed myself. I am once again Superwoman and nothing can hurt me. I hold her hand a little tighter, her soft fingers interlocking with mine. The sun is beating down on our backs, the birds are chirping and there is a cheerful energy all around us.
‘Did you cry mum?’
‘Yes, a little.’
Here I am again lying to her. Parents would make fantastic politicians, we seem to constantly lie, or bend the truth as a politician might say. Yes I did cry, I screamed so loud that my brother heard it from the other side of the playing field. He came charging over demanding to know who was hurting his sister. My brother had the cutest little face back then. The family blue eyes and porcelain white skin all set together with orange hair, that’s right orange. There are so many ways to describe his hair, auburn, strawberry blonde, ginger or orange. Carrot top that’s what they called him once, just once because he also had the temper to match. So standing there by the old long forgotten log at the far end of the play ground beneath the summer blue skies I screamed whilst my brother attempted to defend my honour.
‘Did it hurt a lot?’
Did it hurt a lot? An amazingly simple question that requires such a complex answer. What she is really asking is what happened next? Did an ambulance come rushing onto the school field with its red and blue lights flashing, did I lose a limb, did a war break out around me the little people versus the bees, was a potion required that could only be obtained from the highest peaks of the highest mountains. She wasn’t looking for a simple yes or no, she wanted to know everything.
‘No just a little.’
‘Did you have to go ‘ospital ?’
‘No. No hospital. They stuck an onion on it and made me sit in a classroom.’
‘An ONION, where did it stinged you?’
‘It was on my neck, but it’s all healed now’
Of course this revelation means we have to stop so she can investigate my neck. Her small hands hold back my hair and she leans in closely, other mums, dads and people with kids are having to walk around us as we kneel in the middle of the cold damp alley that leads to the school gates. The sun never reaches this far and the alley is always cold and dreary, no flowers grow here, no bees fly here.
‘Mum, if you get stinged in your belly the sting goes right through and you die.’
And there we go, her fear of the little buzzing black and yellow insect has a root cause.
‘Emily, has daddy been letting you watch futurama again?’ I know the answer is yes before she even has to speak. Mentally I am thinking of the best way to handle the situation, should I string him up first and then torture him? Or perhaps a marathon day of Barbie movies will do the trick?


January, February, March, April, May

Then i’d like to skip a month,

and sleep away the days.


Fresh life, beginnings, chances and love

the atroscities of envy

sent from up above.


January, February, March, April, May

Then i’d like to skip a month,

and sleep away the days.


Promises, lies, fantasies and fate,

The creation of an invalid world,

that leads to Satans gate.


January, February, March, April, May

Then i’d like to skip a month,

and sleep away the days.


Sacrifices, loss and loves that have been,

the past is long behind us,

but my heart always see’s.


Blackberry Towers.

I remember the cornfield from when I was young

The place that us kids would go to have fun.

Daffodils breaking through the warming earth,

As the promise of spring filled the air with mirth.

We played kerby, footy, bulldog and chase,

Climbed trees in the hope of reaching space.

Our knees were bloodied, elbows bruised,

We wore hand me down clothes and real leather shoes.

Daisy chain ropes that reached to the skies,

dandelion clocks, oh how time flies!

Purple fingers, betraying lips,

Blackberry pies with apple bits.

Bonfire night, the woolies came out.

In before dark! The mothers did shout.

Sparklers, fireworks, penny for the guy.

Halloween sweeties in endless supply.

Snowmen so big we stood in awe. Then

Took turns aiming for the highest score.

One in each garden some on the path,

A pile of wet socks, gloves, hats and scarves.

I remember the cornfield swaying in the breeze

Before they laid brick, took away the trees

Everything got busy, the air grew stale.

And nobody noticed when the kids grew pale.