Garden Den

We once had a garden shed
Beside our garden flower bed,
Until we got it in our head:
‘We want a garden den instead!’

So we took out all the garden pots,
(There were lots and lots and lots)
And anything that likely rots,
“Are these some bits of someone’s cots?”

We stuck a wire through the garden wall
Now we have light! And best of all,
We took the radio from the hall,
“We’re going to have a garden ball!”

Now we sit in our garden den,
We come out here now and then
We sit on pillows and hearts unharden,
Our den full of love, out here in the garden.

An Anthology

I compiled an anthology of poetry for part of a poetry module I did for my BA in English that I have now finished.

The anthology is called ‘Interconnected’ and is about communication, technology and the internet.

It features some very powerful and popular poetry and a lengthy introduction about how I came to assemble the collection.

View it here: Interconnected


My lack of motivation
Causes immediate cessation
And instant deviation
From any task or vocation.

I’ve found a new solution
An April resolution
It’s free of convolution
A new me revolution.

Tomorrow is a brand new day
Say goodbye to yesterday
Jump out of bed and say
“What is there to do today!”

That ‘can-do’ crap is just that
Some awful feel-good nonsense tat
It’s easy to feel spent or flat
And good advice usually doesn’t rhyme.


I feel like someone has drop-kicked the jigsaw of my life down a flight of stairs
Now I’m left scrambling to pick up the pieces
There don’t seem to be any edge pieces, but 3 too many corners
Bits fit together if I force them, bending and tearing the edges,
The picture on the box doesn’t look like what I’m making.


Winter sun shines on winter faces,
Bouncing white light off winter places.
Winter people start their winter week,
Frigid winter fields in the winter bleak.
Winter weather warnings tell commuters what to do,
Whilst Fingers, thumbs and toes turn a winter blue.
Winter freezes cracks and crevice in the winter earth,
Soon the ground will Spring open in wonderful rebirth.

Smashing Plates

Plates smashed ‘gainst the garage floor
Pieces bounce off wall and door
Porcelain cymbals crash on a concrete canvas
An orchestra of rage hitting a swelling chorus
A paper thin china temperament
Each cascade of crockery an instrument
Of attempted frustration catharsis
But you know the funny part is
Now I stand with broom in hand
Sweeping bad decisions into a corner and
Inside I feel the same
Full of hate and rage and shame