Beware the gift that stops giving.
A parent nestles into the well-worn seat and tells me she can’t remember life before becoming ‘mum’.
We edged through the cold, clammy cave. A roof full of glow worms loomed over us. The fluorescent pin-pricks were still, yet … More
I trudge towards the spinning line, Feet soaked by morning dew Each grass blade glistens and shines, Poking through the … More
This short piece expresses a craving for intimacy in friendship or romance. Enjoy. Your heart is Fort Knox. In a … More
Some people are procastibakers… I’m a procastipoet! These are a few of the bits of poetry I came up with … More
Today, I made a conscious effort to look around me… to move outside my head. I chose to observe the … More
Motherhood – this endless pushing forward and pulling back… this compulsive strain towards an unachievable goal in a world of … More
I am a train, And my Father owns the network. I’ve stopped for a while at this station called My … More
The timer starts. Pink line forming… Life as they know it Geared for a somersault. High-pitched cries and fiddly press-studs, Feeding, spew and midnight fury. Days … More