On the anniversary of my grandfather’s death

Little bird tapping on the window (Edna Johnson)

Words get lost in her throat

like the days of the week

and the name of the man in the

picture frame next to a

little bowl of sweets religiously

offered to every visitor

still immaculately dressed

by Marks and Spencer

good manners, money and a tie

always went a long way with Edna

our land army girl. Her music hall

piano skills, her tall tales

the glint in her eye and her glee

as she tucks a tenner

into my palm to ‘treat yourself

dear’ are long gone

but this final time, I’m blessed

we eat crisps in the sun

and I’m eight again, sitting with

Alex, Zak and Dan watching

Batman on a Saturday afternoon

in the small TV room

while she and Johnny hold court

at the Anchor

until a little bird tapping at the

window brings us back

I wrap her tighter in her blanket

and wheel her inside
Substitution (Johnny Johnson)


of karmic debt paid 

You were soft charm
and hard sparks
and so was I
a hurricane
the best of times
We were rare
and roared like angels
who had come home
But mirrors sharply expose
any and all
of our unresolved pain
We can use the nails to build a life
or to seal a coffin
and sometimes healing arrives
after a journey has come to an end
So now I’m a new beginning
I’m whole on my own
I can hold my own
and because of us
I know I can love my own too
and I’ll always hold onto the echo
that beats in time with you
Thank you for being poetry
and in another life
I might be lucky enough
to again run into my other half
Then perhaps we can sit together
under the Bodhi tree


I meditated this morning.

Trying to find a bigger


in the smaller space I currently inhabit.

Days become heavy with illness.

The light lasts longer

yet seems much further away.

The breath helps.

But it’s the first coffee of the day

that reassures me.

I am still alive.

I cried yesterday

and the day before.

I’ll probably cry later today.

But it’s not all Eeyore.

There is beauty too.

Minutes of deep appreciation

for the love in friends and family and myself

to tidy the fear away.

And books and words and TV

Though when I watch yet another episode of dodgy American sci-fi

the other voice in my head keeps turning  up to remind me

it’s not a fucking holiday.