With Little You: At the Beach

The waves were flowing towards the shells in the sand,

Sunk by your feet, the child’s spade,

‘Mix sand with ocean water’

The brimmed tear of accomplishment.

Triumph as the mighty castle erupts,

Tumbling over your small feet

Sing over the child’s cry, comforting.

The waves were giving water, fresh to build again.

Midday approaches

We splatter sun cream over ourselves

Spilling over the red beach towel

Rub it in so you don’t get into trouble!

You laugh, strong as the Sun’s heat

Summer with little you is rewarding.

Time to go home… my least favourite time of all.

Struggling to your feet, I hold you close,

‘Mix sand with ocean water’

The glistening eye of remembrance.

Pleased as your masterpiece stands,

Shadowing the foot-printed sand

Sing to the soft radio, calming.

The waves disappeared, promising to return.

Car Ride Home

Gasp for air,

The sudden awakening,
Like a child’s nightmare.
Everything is heavy,
Can’t you feel my heart,
Beating out, right in front of you?

Turning the stiff handle clockwise,
Embrace the wind as the window unwinds,
Stuffy air escapes and is renewed.
Gently accepting the white cold,
Greeting my face, calm,
I feel safe.

Resting my head gently on your shoulder,
Nested peacefully in your loving nature,
Put your arm around me, hold me closer.
Large gusts of Wind are heard,
But only gentle breezes touch,
My freckled skin.

Playground Accomplishments: The Swing Set

Most children have a metal and rope swing set in their back garden. Where the grass invites them to land softly, against the blunt blades, that cushion their fall from the sky. Grass will later be mowed into lumpy-mash, just soft enough for a child to bare.

Learning how to swing is like getting one fish to follow your finger along the tank’s glass. It is a challenge of the mind.

A child will never forget the day they fall off their swing. Knocking them harshly on the back of their head, the child is torn. No cry so severe; it burns the mother’s heart to hear them so troubled, shocked and hurt.

Over time, cobwebs grow. Children will argue that Spiders are stopping them from playing on the swings. Even gullible parents know of the secret grudge: the swings have a one-up on their child.

Arriving at the park, the swings are sure to grab any child’s attention.

Wooden, rusted, squeaky swings are most common. Who can get the highest, and least irritated of the awful noise, on the swings?

Children do not fear the tall, wobbling structure of the old swing set, badly cemented under ground. They fear the wasps, attracted in the summer heat. 

Wasps are the extreme terror of the mind. Children brave knowing they are attracted to the tall wooden structures, and moistened bark chips on the ground.   They avoid wasp’s powerful stings all day long.

Standing steady on the swing, they test out their new-found skill. Excited to see how difficult it would be, to sustain comfort in standing tall, and swinging high. 

Playground Accomplishments: The Zip Wire

[Everyone has a fond memory of going to the park as a child. A collection of brave, first-time park structure experiences.]

Staring up and along, tentatively watching the brave young boy perch themself up and onto a small tyre seat, you sweat silently. Attached to a long metal chain, like giant paper clips, hanging onto nothing but a long, thin wire that wobbles and twangs. Trembling lips, you notice their feet as they push off, and let go from the metal ramp. Nothing was going to stop them.

Inspired, you feel ready. Beckoning your friend to push you fiercly along the zipwire, you tell them to hold nothing back. You want to be remembered as the bravest one that day.

Adrenaline is booted-up, into your system. Your ‘natural’, Computer-conscience shuts down, and the sense of Play installs within your bloodstream.

Holding tightly onto the chain, casually seeing if you can fit your finger through the gaps of the links, you are taken by surprise, swiftly swaying freely. Like forgetting you pressed Start on your favourite video game, feeling lost and left behind. Suddenly you feel the full-swing emotion as your mind catches up with your body.

You feel the very last moments of your feet touching the last part of the ramp, but you cannot reach the soft, damp barkchips that the big-kids churned up on the turn before.

Your life flashes before your eyes, but you have no regrets. However your default setting kicks in; yelling at your friend pushing you, begging them to let you zoom free. You become engolfed in the experience, overwhelmed.

You blink heavily, but the Virus inside of you unleashes the power cable of vision for the last time. Pixelated blue sky, getting closer yet further away, as you rock in mid-air, bouncing against the large tractor-tyre locked onto the end of the wire. Suspended.

Within seconds it’s all over. You’re no longer scared of the monsterous zip wire. The crowd of kids cheer at the sheer beauty of the scene. At ease, you wave at them with one hand, waiting for your friend to rush over to you, and help you off of the sweaty tyre-seat. You exit the game, proud.

The Painting

In year three I painted a bowl of fruit.

Focusing on the shapes involved,

How the composition lies,

Why the lemons in the bowl –

are heavier than the thick paint,

I was lacquering onto the canvas paper.

Hours of tummy-turning anger,

Lemons; bright and yellow as fire,

My destructive talent, I hated my canvas.
Presentation evening:

I scavenge the hall quickly,

Wanting to find my painting,

It’s hanging boldly on the board.

With my friends’ golden paintings,

I point at all of theirs’,

Diverting each parent’s attention.

Anxiously wondering who notices

The painted bowl of lemons, grouped sour.
We bring the painting back home,

Exhausted I sleep, relieved it’s over.

The bowl of lemons haunts my dreams.

The next morning, I travel the house,

Irritated, I notice the bowl of lemons,

Staring down at me,

From above the giant door frame.

I could never reach it,

Stuck above the door, for anyone to see.

The painting had won, 

Against the perfectioned-mind

of an eight year old artist.

Fizzy Drinks

I’m six years old.

The camera is rolling, 

It’s not my birthday,

It’s not Christmas, or Easter,

Why am I getting so much attention?


I sit back, and try to understand

How to embrace myself,

For a beaker of Fizzy Drink.

Everyone enjoys it, right, 

So what’s the big deal?


Exploding fireworks!

My taste buds cry,

Surprised, it spills.

Shockingly cool,

My skin tingles.


Ten years on, 

Sat by myself

Smiling as the glass fills

In my control, 

Addicted to Fizzy Drinks.


Spitting out of the glass

Taste twangs against my tongue

Pulling a funny face,

My first Fizzy Drink memory

Rewind the tape to start all over again

Lone Flamingo

Why do I stand on one foot?

I am not an Ostrich, 

Nor do I bury my head into the sand 

For when I am scared, 

I stand on one foot.
Searching for a fellow white bird,

Loneliness has left me bleached.

I desire to be inked,

Pink, or yellow, like my beak

I take a glimpse at another,

Fantastically painted, I call her

But I stand on one foot.
Tall, I stretch up to the greenery

An orange, as alone as I

I found use for my elevated leg,

To bury this orange.

This is why, I stand on one foot.

Catfish

Catfish:

Rivalry of the Big and Small,

Catfish should be friends.
Small. hiding all the time,

The Coral was its mother.
Big Catfish swims,

Attacking viciously;

Eating tails of other fish,

It was an evil one.
But the protecting Coral,

Who had worn weak,

Could not stand any longer.

Small Catfish was left,

To defend for itself…
The other fish swam,

Flicked their tails in the stones,

Barricading the Small Catfish

Safe, but Big Catfish was tough
Demolishing the wall,

With one swoosh of his tail,

The stones and sand caved in,

And Small Catfish was gone.

The Love I Wanted To Keep

Lips softer than an Angel’s heart,

Eyes that glow in the Sun’s reflection
Ripple in the ocean,
You smile a light
That shines right through my reality.
Focus strongly as you hold my chin upwards.
The perfect angle; kissed by the ultimate,
Devil in disguise

The once-so-warm heart turned cold.
Apologies shouldn’t tear these trees apart;
They took so long to intertwine
Their branches like
Our small fingers interlocking,
A promise without words.
Perfect clasp,
Hopeful for a summer full of bliss
With you that would have been possible
But now our energy is escaping.

Can’t you see this is salvageable?
We have everything in common,
Yet, no spiced feelings shared
Why did you change your mind?
Late nights,
Hours of conversation, turned to dust:
Compliments burnt in the pure white fire,
Singed to ashes,
Nothing will make sense between us again.

Your eyes glistening as my tears are held back,
With the reighns of the tamer’s,
hands fragile like the pettles of the flowers,
So many bees were inside of those beautiful flowers.
Graceful was you watching over the bees
but keeping an eye on me, I saw,
Protected in your comforting branches
Never have I experienced such welcoming vulnerability

I thought you cared
Gestures genuine to my heart
Passionate actions to my skin
Willing, as I trembled over the roots of our trees,
That were once content being tucked-under the soil.
I want to stay tightly tangled with you,
But against the World and my reality
I had to escape this toxicity that remained
Still left suffering

Our branches that were once so strong,
Rotting away from each other
Grasping, begging for newfound oxygen
Our roots have been destroyed