Under the oak there is a door,
do you wonder what it was put there for?
For fairies to get out to the world,
to watch the little boys and girls.

They keep an eye on each of you,
check the things you get up to.
Try and see you're safe from harm,
snuggled up at night and warm.

When you're there, they hide and peep,
in the bushes, hidden deep.
So when you see a flower sway,
there's fairies watching as you play!

Burns music tomorrow night
singing and dancing words take flight
just to be there with the ones
who take the lead and start the fun
tend to stay a wee bit calm
always quiet cause no harm
so much kindness all around
good folk make a special sound
when all's done it's home to sleep
warm and happy thoughts to keep
hope this poem gives a peek
we'll do it all again next week

Today.

Saw blackness today in the corner off my eye
brooding close and unexpected amidst smiles.
Blackness of tomorrow's threat,
clinging to the edges of bright and kindness.
Feeding on scattered jewels of joy,
building its strength
biding its time to move into her sight.
By then it will be strong
and she will not.

Dream.

She was sat tired and ill
on a upholstered chair
placed on broad and ancient steps
curving to her front
cliffs behind
no strength
we were arranged to her front
scattered to try
to keep it back
and down
it was enjoying our distress
that of the children most of all

I didn't see the end
but have been crying for an hour

It will come for her soon.

A weird yellow car rammed a crane in the storm
the best  I could think of to try and perform
I know it is lazy, poetically weak
but my poems today are well short of my peak.
If I had more time  epic tales would appear
of knights fighting  dragons with  sword and with spear
sadly to say nothing great in my head,
so I've gone and put down all this ******* instead.

She owes them nothing yet she still goes home,
squalid glances all they can give, the walking dead,
each one  fallen away from her respect or love.
The way wet filth falls from a  city sky,
but the moon and stars still shine above.

Soiled but inviolate, not marred by callous scorn,
no dreams of pulled triggers, not anymore.
Tonight is the last.
Tomorrow will come.
Tomorrow she will fly beside Angels.

Crying on the phone
tears cross short miles to stain my face
desperate, desolate
loved but not valued
carrying her family
forward with her love and her heart
when will the tide turn
when will they say
"Mum are you ok?"
I say I love you, They love you
they just don't show it or
do what you need to breathe and soar
How is it women can cry so often,
and cry so hard without just dying
That despair would **** me
this despair might

Should I ever die, what would miss me and why?
Places, faces, things that dwell.
Creatures of heaven, beasts of hell?

Strangers passing in the street, see me lying at their feet.
Glancing as they move around,
the shadow lying on the ground.

Melt a man-shape in the ice, frozen solid in a trice,
blur as one a sculpture set,
solid ice, a mans regret.

Sleeping pills are kicking in
but one last poem still to spin
having too much fun to go
but drugs are saying "no, no, no."
What a special day this one has been
all the lovely folk I've seen
and on this site for such good fun
such a laugh from everyone
poetry is like a vent
for me it is like heaven sent
keeps me going when I'm down
helps to lighten up my frown
tonight I'll have a great big smile
keep it there for quite a while
so tomorrow if the day is tough
poems will save me soon enough.

She sits in the corner
glad to be fallen.
Her eyes still trying to shine
with the light of last year.
No glances can cross the gulf to her heart.
The last warmth flown away,
what is left can only die,
like a  swallow,
left to starve as winter's cold flows in.

Want to write a poem sweet,
about monsters or dragons with big feet.
But got sad things inside my head.
So want to write happiness instead.
So I'll go to bed and dream of things.
Fairies and scaries and beating wings.
Then all the sad stuff will fly away,
tomorrow, I hope, my mind will play.

Deep in the woods, cold sun on His face.
Trying to find a hiding place where He is safe.
From Him. Frisk myself.
No knife, no pills, no bleach or drugs,
just cold to crawl into.
Like a frozen barren womb that has,
as the last act of its painful life
barred my return to the warm.
That warmth is so close, an hours walk,
a quicker ride, ***** it, hide!
They're asking Him in but stay outside.
They will get through,
no circle keeps the good ones out.
He thinks he hears singing,"we're going to get you,
make you warm, make you smile,
for a while.."
He will just lie here and listen for the deer,
just for a little while more.
Just long enough to be so ill,
maybe then He can hide again.

How and why?
Jer can try
not got the eye
aim for any
and hit sky  
why for all
who are sad
all bad and mad
let you all
run out and fly

Why did you wait to tell me                    that you knew all along
until you were dying                                  and did nothing
time to cleanse your conscience?        you didn't even clean me
you should have washed me                   just cold dry emptiness
I always  wondered                                     why were you quiet?
and never dared to ask                             Why did you let me hide
were you somewhere crying for me    alone under the stairs
or lying to yourself and  denying          on the day my childhood ended