Na Po Wri Mo – April 30 2023

The last day of national poetry month and the challenge was to ‘write a palinode – a poem in which you retract a view or sentiment expressed in an earlier poem.’ I did revisit my poems but decided to go off prompt and arrived at this:

How to Overcome Madness 

We plant seeds in the ground 

and dreams in the sky.

We hope our desires will balloon 

into clouds to carry us way 

above our wounded world. 

We sprinkle love to grow

roots deep in the soil, 

but we are on shaky shale.

The world spins out of control,

minds spiral into confusion.

The earth beneath us heaves, 

boundaries shift, fencing 

us inside our petty lives.

We smile at the sky praying 

our dreams will blossom. 

We focus attention, breathe

place hands on hearts, search 

for strength, humility, kindness.

We realise we can let go and love 

ourselves as human beings not doings.

When we discover we can escape 

the confines of humanity, leaving 

behind insanity, freedom is ours. 

We are the blue sky wonderland

where our dreams become reality. 

Na Po Wri Mo – April 29 2023

A two-part poem that focuses on a food.

Wanting More  


An ordinary pleasure 

is to sit down when it’s possible

with your favourite brew,

To open that packet of biscuits.

To ease one from the wrapping 

without breaking its delicate form.

To dip, to feel the chocolate 

melt on your finger tip.

Only then to eat. 

Oh so sweet, 

one biscuit,  

in one sensory moment,

an expression of ambrosia.


But then the mind

craving another, 

then another

and wanting more 

than it has.

One more hour,

one more sunny day, 

one more try,

another chance.

One more 

chocolate biscuit

too many. 

Na Po Wri Mo April 28 2023

Today I’ve been reflecting on spillages.

Red Wine 

Ruby jewel rivers

of desire running

across the table 

between us, 

flowing into my palms,

between my fingers,


onto my bare legs,


like pink roses. 

Na Po Wri Mo April 27 2023

Today’s challenge was to ‘write a poem titled “The ________ of ________,” where the first blank is a very particular kind of plant or animal, and the second blank is an abstract noun.’

The Lilies of Happiness 

Consider the lilies in the fields 

opening to the sky.

Contemplate the longing inside 

you to be among them, 

to lie down and breathe

the fragrance, to be washed 

clean by that beauty. 

When you think about your life 

and where you can find 

the happiness you crave 

so badly and the love

you yearn to give and receive,

look to the lilies in the field.

They know not of struggling, 

suffering, desiring, longing.

They are as they are – at peace.

Walk to the fields, notice 

what you notice along the way, 

talk to the lilies and ask them 

where is this happiness. 

Listen carefully, then go back home 

and eat what you want to eat 

and do what you want to do. 

Na Po Wri Mo – April 26 2023

The Glass 

It was three days before my mother died, 

when I broke the glass, a gift from long ago, 

a birthday present for my mother from her sister. 

That day, I received a phone call from my Aunt

it was the sort of conversation where you have 

to wait so long to speak you forget you can speak. 

I needed to tell her about the broken glass but 

she went on and on about the honey vampire 

who, she assured me, survive not on blood but sweat. 

And then, in three days, the impossible sequences 

of death and the longest night when my mother died,

I lay in bed with the completeness of loss and regret.

The next morning, my body was tight, hot and as dry 

as scorched sand so I drank some water and rang

my Aunt to tell her about the glass and why I broke it. 

Na Po Wri Mo – April 25 2023

The challenge today was to ‘write a love poem, one that names at least one flower, contains one parenthetical statement, and in which at least some lines break in unusual places.’

You are Here

With me. 

You always have been.

Even when you left

to carry on climbing

the mountain, 

we were together. 

There are spaces 

in our togetherness 

as recited in our  

wedding vows,


Kahlil Gibran. 

For you roses,

for me


We grow 

in the same

soil, our roots


I think of us 

as one magical

tree, spreading 

our branches 



You are here.

So am I.

I am.

We are.

Na Po Wri Mo – April 24 2023

Today the challenge was to write ‘a poetic review of something that isn’t normally reviewed. For example, your mother-in-law, the moon, or the year you were ten years old.’

My Father 

His hands are my hands

and if I ever doubted 

the old man 

in the red woollen 

jumper was my father, 

I did no more.

An absent father

is like trying to fly

a kite with no wind 

or speaking 

when there is no-one 

to listen

or like when your throat 


or when splinters 

shred your skin.

Na Po Wri Mo – April 23 2023

I’m off prompt today.

Here is a view from our holiday barn located deep in the Kent countryside. Although it has rained all day, the sun is now shining, bathing us in it’s warmth.

Between Us 

From across the orchard 

the sheep and I regard

each other, she with almond

ochre-yellow eyes,

I with urgent hands 

waving, wanting, wriggling.

We are aware of each other,

She of I.

I of she.

We are.

As all there is.

Basking in a golden sun.

Stillness between us.

She goes back to her grazing.

I go back to scouring 

the meadow for her lamb.

I twist in my seat, searching,

scraping the chair on stone. 

She startles, but does not run. 

I release my breath.

Her nose twitches.

Baaaaa. Baaaaa, she goes.

Her lamb skitters, gambols

from behind an apple tree,

prancing, leaping to her side.

A fragile moment of trusting, 

witnessed in presence. 

The sheep settles.

Her head lowers.

My hands find each other,

to rest in my lap.

They are full of nothingness.

Na Po Wri Mo – April 22 2023

The challenge today was to take an Emily Dickinson poem and craft it into something else, adding and subtracting words and altering line breaks. I chose her poem ‘Hope’ and my own feelings about a walk we did today along the white cliffs of Dover.


is a thing 

with feathers.

It soars above 

the white cliffs 

of Dover where 

buttercups glow.  


sings without 


It rises

like the skylark,


higher and higher.


is shimmering 


It flows in

with the waves

and settles

in the soul. 

Na Po Wri Mo – April 21 2023


Today I am 


to listen 


and be 


as I am.

I lace 

my boots

and walk


our leader.

It’s a kind

of love,

is it not?

An ordinary,



to walk?

And yet.

If I am 


today I



have rolled

out my 

yoga mat.