Tinder Tower


It’s difficult for me to comprehend the suffering of those who were in Grenfell Tower when the fire struck. There are now many questions needing answered.  Reports are coming in describing what could have went wrong at Grenfell (the list is long).  There are stories of Government officials  ignoring safety advice in order to save money and cut corners.

They wanted pretty
Got kitchen sink gritty
Like a sore thumb
Hanging over them

Differences forbidden
Wrap it up, nicely hidden
Tinder tower white
Dangers lurk in sight

I’m Alright Jack

Definition:  Alright Jack is a UK slang term used to indicate those who acts only in their own best interests even if assistance to others would necessitate minimal effort on their behalf.

I Care much. I’m

In touch.  I


Got mine. I’m

Just fine. I


have job. I’m

No yob. I


Vote right. I

Will fight. I’m


Robbed blind. I

Do mind. I


Won’t share. I

Don’t care.


Inspired by Gwendolyn Brooks, ‘We Real Cool’.

Feeling Small

Poem Below

Teenage Me

Last week I met a friend from the past. I forgot that she was into fake tanning and was surprised by her colour. She looked great though, just a brown version of how she used to look. It’s guaranteed that any time I ever meet anyone from the past I look awful.  Last week was no exception.  Hair unwashed, clothes chucked on – just the usual look to be honest. We chatted for a short time, all smiles and family chat. “What am I doing with myself? Oh just a childminder” I replied. Why do I always feel like a failure when I bump into the past? I’d love to add that actually I’ve had lots of shit hot jobs and qualifications and I looked great last year (put on a few pounds). I scrub up not too badly either. You can’t do that though. You are taken as is. Chubby and plain with a job that people undervalue. I don’t undervalue it and usually don’t care what people think. I do like me. It’s just that when the past appears, it’s like your past self is judging your present self. I think me from years ago would think it’s a bit of a shame that this is me now.

A while ago I swam past a guy I used to go out with. He tried to say hello and I blanked him. He’s aged well, looks fit and I felt like I haven’t. I felt awful for being so rude and I messaged him to apologise and explained why I ignored him. It was awkward. Here’s a poem about avoiding those people from the past:


Saw you just the other day
Took me back in time
When we were young and horny
most of life to climb

I forgot how tall you were
The past looks so grand
You hold on to polished charm
I’m now small and bland

You caught me in the window
Your mouth upturned to .
I hurry on eyes to ground
I’d disappoint you

Don’t know what they’re doing now
People from the past
Meant to keep in touch with some
Never could it last.

The Blind Mice

Another British General Election and more mayhem. The Tories failed to get a majority, resulting in a hung parliament. The solution? A new government being formed between The Conservatives and the DUP.

* explanations below the poem.

The blind mice
rolled the dice
without a guide  *
Just British pride –
we’ll pay the price.

The boss fled  **
full of dread.
Now she’s here  ***
we’ve got the fear
but made our bed. ****

In a tight spot.
Strong we’re not. *****
How bad could it be?
The DUP.
We’ve lost the plot.

* Brexit – many (not all) folk didn’t have a clue what they were voting for and their vote was ill informed.

** David Cameron – he thought OMG, that wasn’t meant to happen – BYE!

*** Theresa May

**** so we’ll lie in it

***** despite what they keep on telling us. We are far less stable today because of this shambolic quick election.




Forgotten Viola

I’m not the best mother, nor am I the worst. I’d describe myself as a mixture of super and sub-standard. The go-to mum for parent helper on the school trips but the mother who can’t find a comb to present a tidy child for the school day. I’ve given up on tucking his shirts in  (he untucks when he goes to the little boys room anyway).  Last week I gave him a half eaten black banana for his play piece. In my defence I have to get six children out of the door on time in the morning and I occasionally (all the time) chuck stuff in his bag quickly. Here is a little poem about my parenting mishaps:

Forgot your viola

and sponsorship form

Forgot it was sports day

so you didn’t have the right gear on

I’m a disaster of a mother –

I am.


Forgot your inhaler

The brown one, sorry hun.

Forgot to mark that homework

so your teacher thinks it’s undone

I’m not the best mam out there –

I’m not.


I always remember

Hugs and pecks on lips;

Bedtime tuck ins, listening to

your same old scripts.

I’m a hopeless case some days –

but I’m yours.


Moving On

Hi, it’s been a long time since I’ve posted on here. I’ve been (way too) busy with college and life events, but fortunately college ends tomorrow for the summer – hurray! In other news, it’s my birthday today. This coincides with me trying to deal with an (unusual) addiction that I’m not going to go […]



The ache radiates

‘til he’s wound up

in it.

Tests await.

Weeks,  days

and hours.

Counting days

’til the mail drops.

Gold star –

but not yet.


but let’s just…

Ten more weeks to wait.

Dark secrets inside –


All in the mind


something more.


I’m waiting for the call

to say he’s fine.

A worry over nothing –

or a mountain to climb.