One million chances to try to make it right To my shame, the results the same I cried another night.  

There is something I need to say about this place where I live Not the structure that protects my head from rain This body, my living frame that I live in each day It follows me everywhere that I go It is broken and tattered,…

Olivia sat with her friend Ollie the bear, as she waited for her two friends, Oxie the fox and Ellie the elephant calf Today was a bright, sunny day — perfect for their planned picnic. Olivia had worn her favourite red and green dress Oxie…

‘Excuse me’ a tiny voice she heard ‘You’re sitting on my beard.’ A  large butt cheek she heaved And the bearded lady was relieved.   ‘Excuse me’ a hand tugged on her skirt ‘I’ve fallen and I am hurt’ Blood pooled stickily on the ground…

My journey has taken my pet fox and I many places in search our lost family, past spray painted graffiti, forests of lively green trees, we picked up the bear in the forest, she’s lost someone, lost friends, lost relatives, we search together, a coalition of seekers,…

Green on grey outside, a world of cement and tin, a kaleidoscope.   Paper boys and girls, playing underneath the green, above them, grey skies.   Metal cars whirring, as paper men go to work, waving the green ‘bye.

Sycamores are their own regime. Please startle the starlight. Crawl into the murmuring of swallows. Please wake Judith and her knife. What is lost but palm trees and grief. What is lost but the living.

the pink lemonade and limeade colored graffiti lined street ten steps of a labyrinth slice the cunning leading the exuberant first fox, then bear, by his side girl child what transcends is motion outrivals ambition leaving monarchy behind the adventurers who can’t get lost in…

They followed sly fox, through the cement surrounded trees. Lil’ Red, keeping pace With black bear, Who’s ready to hibernate.   They see the sky-blue pink, poka~dotted, artistic walls As they stroll along   Sucking the life, From paint, into words In ekphrastic forms. Poets,…

Not my genre   I find it hard to describe art, that I can’t get into. No offense to the painter, it’s all good and in the pupils to remember.