I am a dreamer. I dream often and regularly remember bits, if not all, of the fantastical tales and crazy adventures I have during slumber. The weird and wonderful worlds I inhabit whilst sleeping can be a rich source of inspiration for my writing whilst awake, and I keep a note book beside my bed to jot down anything I want to hold on to. Sometimes when I look back at them my night-time scribblings make no sense at all, but once in a while when I check my notebook I am amazed at the insight or poeticism I find there.

A few days ago I had an unusual dream, even for me. Instead of being in the dream, playing ny part, I was an observer. And as the scene played out before me it wasn’t live action it was a black and white cartoon, all rough drawn and jiggling. I can only remember a very small part of it but it was such a striking visual images that it inspired a poem.

I can see myself in the corner
In a small stark patch of light
All couched and folded inwards
In a world of black and white

The darkness that surrounds me
Is slowly pressing in
The fear of it constricts my chest
I feel it chill my skin

But flickering, and glorious
A white light comes to shine
And rages ‘gainst the darkness
In this corner small of mine

So sensing something easing
I dare to lift my head
And see the light expanding
And catch a glimpse of red

I can see me in the corner
In a growing patch of light
All couched, but less uncertain
In a world of colours bright.

The Injustice in the Corner

Inspired by a ‘ thought for the day’ that was shared at The Arches project last week, this just kind of flowed out in response.

The injustice in the corner
Is ever so small
I turn my back, don’t see it
Ignoring your call

The injustice in the corner
I do not wish to see
Though slowly growing larger
Does not yet bother me

The injustice in the corner
Is no longer small and faint
I have to now acknowledge it
To hear your complaint

The injustice in the room now
So clearly in my view
Can still be ignored if I
Close my eyes and ears to you

The injustice I must see now
I’ll stand and rail against
But words are feeble weapons
And my strikes make no offence

The injustice right before me
I try to reason away
But all that I’m achieving
Is a break, a slight delay

The injustice in my face now
Continues hour by hour
So I must wrestle with it
And try to staunch it’s power

It may seem overwhelming
But yet I’m not alone
The seeds of revolution
Have already been sown

And so we come together
Injustice to oppose
Our common purpose strengthens us
And hope for justice grows

Day 5

Today’s prompt required a bit of time travel – going either into the future or the past to write from the perspective of someone on the brink of a life changing event. I have recently been reading The Mirror and The Light which has inspired my setting, although I cannot be sure the scene I envisioned is an accurate depiction of life in the 16th Century.

I am not yet ready
In time I will be
But time, I have not enough
The guests are assembled
The candles are lit
There has been much bustle and busyness
Many hands bearing trays of finest produce
Have borne more in one morn that in the past sennight

I am not yet ready
In time I might be
Yet not today, not so soon
The tables are laden
The feast all prepared
The clatter of wheels has told me the tale
Of many kin bearing gifts of richest treasures
As would befit the auspicious occasion

I am not yet ready
More time is requisite
Yet time I am not allowed
The servants attend me
The stays are bound tight
There has been much arranging and fixing
Many hands shaping this” finest of ladies”
to be the fine wife of our noble Lord

I must now be ready
The time has arrived
The time I would halt if I could
The fanfare has started
The doors are flung wide.
There has been such anticipation
Many Lives holding to what this day represents
I must play my Part, Obedient submission


I have soared through cerulean skies
Catching my breath on the
peaks of mountains
With the warmth of the day on my face
I have watched the clouds unfurl their stories before my greedy eyes.
I have inclined my ear to the
music of ravenous thunder
My feet have danced to the
beat of the rain.
I have tumbled in the arms of the ocean as it rolled out it’s lofty promises to
dry in the midday sun.
And when skies grew inky cold I set my course by the
whims of the wind
And hung my hopes on the shining stars

In a world that abounds with infinite possibilities
Are my truth.


Photo by Nadine Shaabana on Unsplash

Occasionally, when I am in the midst of a bout of depression there come odd bursts of anger. Sometimes these are nothing more than the irritability that many experience as one of the symptoms of depression, or a result of the lack of proper sleep, another all too common symptom. Sometimes they are outbursts of cathartic rage against the injustice of mental illness. On rare occasions they are my brains way of saying “Enough’s enough! No more! No more hiding, no more apologizing, no more feeling sorry for myself. It is these outbursts that act as a catalyst, pushing me one more step along a journey of change, of better self understanding, and hopefully a step towards freeing myself from depressions’ grip.

I have had enough of cowering cowardice
Of having so much to hide
Of clutching my mysteries so tightly
I have almost engulfed them in my very flesh
And have shrunk with the weight of them.
But no more curling my defences around my core
As you creep advancing.
I will open up,
I will Unfurl and stand tall.
I will lift my head high and
Throw wide my treacherous arms.
And as I grow taller with each breath
I will let all who would
see all.
For through exposure I am
And when I stand full free –
Tall as the sky and
naked as a babe
You will have hold of me no longer.
And I will smite you.


Sometimes, it doesn’t matter how hard you try . . .

There was a star I reached for
I stretched my arms so far
I wanted to embrace it
And clutch it to my heart
I tried so hard to grab it
I sought to make it mine
My hands outstretched, my fingers
In it’s beams I did entwine
But as I tugged I realised
The mistake that I had made
It’s burning heat seared through my flesh
And made me much afraid

There was a star I reached for
I stretched my arms so far
I wanted to embrace it
And clutch it to my heart
With both my hands I grasped it
This glowing orb of joy
My arms grew weak, the might of it
I knew would me destroy
I let it slip from twixt my hands
For I am not that strong
And further heavenward it rolled
And took my dreams along

There was a star I reached for
I stretched my arms so far
My failure to possess it
Will ever break my heart

Spring clean

The sun outside is shining brightly in the clear blue sky. A bit of sunshine always boosts my mood, and somehow I feel more awake and enlivened on a sunny day. As I sit here though, I am also aware how the sun shows up all the dust – shining into all the shadows and revealing what had previously been hidden. Catching the dancing specks in the beam of light through the window. Time for a spot of spring cleaning I feel, but not just in the physical sense. It it time to take a look at those things that lurk in the shadows of my conscience. The things that chip away at my confidence and steal my contentment. Things whose prescence I am largely unaware of, even if their effects are felt all too painfully. Time to do what I can to sweep them all out and get rid!


It is time to brush off the cobwebs
To throw wide open the door
It is time to clear out the rubbish
And sweep up the dust from the floor.

As we purge of what is now stagnant
And bid past remains an adieu
We turn from the comforts of winter
And look to beginning anew.

It is time to step out of the darkness
And know we are where we belong
It is time to recapture our freedom
To rise up and sing our new song.

How is it?

Something I have been thinking about a lot lately, is how it is possible for people who seem so similar to have such widely different opinions. Friends and colleagues who I have assumed were like-minded, say or do something that makes me stop and go ‘wait . . . what?’. I have been guilty of assuming that because I have something in common with someone that we think the same about everything, but this is just not true. I live life viewing it through the lens of my personal experiences, my up-bringing, my education. Even today is colouring tomorrow. When I look around me I see such divisions in our society, and rather than have civilised debate people throw insults and abuse, and do not even try to understand each other. It is hard when discussing emotive issues to remember that none of us can see the whole picture, and what I can see may bear no resemblance to what the person beside me sees. I may argue that everything is blue and that they’re stupid to believe that everything is green, when in truth if I took the time to look I would realise that while i am gazing at the sky their head is bent and they are staring at the grass. So, with this in my mind I wrote a poem.

How is it as we look on this, I do not see as you
How is it as we look on this, we see a different true
Why is it when our hearts are moved we do not feel the same
Why is it when we rage at this we disagree on blame

Why is it when we look on this hearts breaking at the wrong,
that even as we rail at this we do not get along
We see guilt spring from different roots  and do not understand
That if we are to change this, it must be hand in hand.

Is it then, when we look on this and feel a different rage
the stories of our lives are written on a different page
I do not see as one whose life has not been lived as mine
You do not see through eyes like mine however I opine

Why is it as we look on this I cannot see as you?
Why is it as we look on this, I crave a different true.