Happiness is just a bird
Alighting on the branches
Of the tree of life,
She is quickly scared away,
We may see her swoop
Above us, beyond our reach
Or watch her land
Just outside our grasp,
Sometimes we catch a feather
(A promise to believe in)
And we hold it
Until happiness returns,
Because she is a bird
And she always flies back home


Shelter (a poem about M.E sufferers)

We knocked on your front door to ask for shelter
When rain had soaked us to our very bones,
We waited in the lightning for an answer
As hail fell down in hard and stinging stones

We cupped our hands and looked in through a window
To see you laughing in the warmth and light,
We hammered on the windows for your kindness
And you just shut your curtains on that night

You played your music louder and we heard it
Above the roar of thunder from the sky,
Much later you would say you’d tried to help us
But truth be told you know that is a lie

There never was a darkness like the darkness
While you were safe and sleeping in your beds,
You left us drowning in the raging downpour
And told yourselves the rain was in our heads

We knocked on your front door to ask you simply
To give us the humanity we need,
What kind of men are you to kick the fallen
And not to give a damn how much we bleed?

Counting Stars

I like to play piano in the summer
And throw the windows wide to hear the birds,
Despite the notes I miss, the chords I crash through,
They join me in a chorus without words

I like to stand outside on balmy evenings
To lean back far enough to count the stars,
I think of all the others who can see them
And tell myself there might be life on Mars

I like to let imagination take me
So far beyond the confines of these walls,
I leave this room behind to go to places
Where love is ruling and adventure calls

I like to learn about the moods of nature,
Both savage and as gentle as the rain,
And when I’m deep within the land of darkness
I like to think I do not live in vain


I watch you pass looking sexy and so fabulous in shades
With the pretty girl in sports clothes who has blonde hair in cascades
And the boy who’s iPods blaring Garbage straight into his brain,
Past the man I see roll cigarettes outside my house again
While the little children skipping on their way home after school
Make faces at the teenagers who are trying to be cool
There’s an actress whose employment is dramatic turns of phrase,
She complains to kindly strangers ‘til their eyes begin to glaze,
It is like a lively circus of the fabulous and strange
With the couple in their matching coats that never seem to change
And the well-groomed King Charles spaniel who trots by just after four
With the pompous air of someone who has seen it all before,
He is glared at by a Bassett who can’t quite decide to move
Or is just too fat and happy to have anything to prove,
By the time I find my notebook the whole motley crew has gone
But there’ll always be tomorrow and new sights to gaze upon

Further than the eyes can see

I look outside and the view seems so magnificent. Everything I see from the parked cars to the rickety fence of my neighbours opposite seems beautiful. The sunshine is indescribably perfect and I can’t imagine how I walked through the world without continually stopping to notice how amazing it was. I guess I see it more because now I am an observer, life beyond the glass feels more like a good book I am reading or a painting hanging on a wall. The people are beyond me, they have dreams and ideas that I can no longer share. That’s not to say I don’t dream. In my head, in my secret life I do so much but its like dreaming of fairytales come true, it isn’t tangible and I can’t touch it. I miss so many people so very much, some dead, some living and there are so many old friends I just want to reach out and hug. I often don’t think I will survive this. For years I have struggled through every day and it has all been such a nightmare. I don’t remember not being afraid, I don’t remember feeling safe. My body holds me captive and it shows no mercy. I think physical pain in the end is the easiest to bear; the thing that really gets you is the emotional impact of it. The sense of loss and the fear of what will happen next. You promise yourself that it will get better but when you are in hell it doesn’t really matter to you that the year before last was more appalling. And you feel alone because no one can save you. In the early days I even envisaged some white knight of a doctor riding up to cure me. But I reckon he’s got lost….
This last month has been a brash reminder of the most appalling years, I didn’t realize how far I had come until it was snatched away again.
There’s a line in a poem that I keep thinking of “If you can watch the things you gave your life to broken and stoop and build’em up with worn out tools”….I guess that’s exactly what I have to do!