Broken and Beautiful – Poetry

You are as beautiful as you are broken

And I would have glued every shard of you together

Piece by piece

Until blood poured from my crippled hands

Just to make you whole.

But you will always remain fractured,

Ill fitting in the body and mind which god granted you

Until you stop looking for what you see as normal.

And if you love men

Love them with all you are.

As I loved you.

Holding Hands


Pressed Moments – Poetry

I remember being young and my grandmother showing me flowers in a book

Not pictures of green stems and read petals

But small, paper-thin flowers

Colour pressed out over time

Held between tissue paper

A moment from long ago warped and frozen in time

A gift from my grandfather, who she met as a young man


I was given flowers, sunflowers and small purple flowers

They were beautiful, casting a large shadow on the wall beside my bed

I loved them

When they began to die I took the small purple flowers

Carefully wrapped in tissue paper and placed them inside a bible

To wait out time until they are as thin and faded at the flowers my grandmother showed me in her book

Moments from her past


These may not be flowers I show to my grandchildren

A moment of my past

They may become forgotten, lost in the story that is my life

But now they are a moment freezing in time

A moment stood still, unknowing when

If time and grace will end it

But now it is my silent symphony

A moment for myself

I have achieved a wish from my childhood

I have cared enough to press the flowers flat in the book

And in nurturing them I will leave them untouched

Because only time and patience will allow the moment to become fixed


FlowersShadowsGran and I at my Graduation


25 by 25: Number 11 (Part 1) Novelty Builds Neurons

I decided on Saturday to have a day of novelty. As novelty builds neurons. So I visited the Cardiff Fashion Quarter (CFQ), which had some amazing art outside it and some amazing clothes, accessories and retro stuff inside. I didn’t buy anything, mostly because I was overwhelmed with the mountain of things, and it fact that people in the 70’s/80’s were all made around a size six.


After that I went a bit of a wander, bought some books (shocking) and went to the library and took out more books, because I obviously don’t have enough at home already. Then I bought some new coffee (because novelty builds neurons) which I came home and drank while reading The Great God Pan by Arthur Machen. I took this book out of the library because the back page described it as “An Incoherent Nightmare of Sex”, but it sadly did not live up to what I expected; which was some horror filled sex romp about the God Pan (Pan’s Labrynth with more sex). It may have been true when the book was released in 1894 but did not live up to what I expected.

The coffee on the other hand was amazing!

In Reply to an Arse – Poetry

You say that words read from paper

Held in my hands are not worth listening to

If I cannot recall from memory the words.

Does that mean that the words must be memorised;

Stored in my mind to hold any significance?

Did Shakespeare have to hold every sonnet in his head

For it to be worthy of your ears?

Did Mozart need to play from memory his life work

For it to be justified as sacred to you?


The man who stumbled and bumbled does not appear humbled

Perhaps you would not have fumbled

If you held the words in your hands


Do works of wonder, held captive by paper or screen

Not make your heart light?

And does it make me any the less an artist

Because I cannot hold on the tip of my tongue

The words I think will entrance you?


I have papers stacked on my desk

I would struggle to recall a single complete sentence

Does that mean you should ignore what the paper holds

Your arrogant words do not need to tell me-

But show that you are a fool

You are not here with a room of Wordsworths or Byrons:

You are here with a room of wordsmiths who just want to be better

To share small thoughts with this small world

And make people smile, or think,

Or cry.


I will memorise this poem not to gain your respect

But so when I share it with the masses

I can look you in the eye and tell you

I am not Shakespeare or Burns but Sir neither are you!

So respect those around you

The ones who cheered when you rose to talk

The ones who applauded even though you

Fell over your own well memorised words.

So do not scold those who you do not know

Because next time you stumble I know I

Will be fucking smug

Remembering your previous words:


“If you cannot be bothered to learn your poem,

why should I be bothered to listen?”

Back of the Pub Poetry Club

I performed this recently at the Back of the Pub Poetry Club which was a fantastic spoken word event in Cardiff. I had a fab evening and the performance was recorded so I will hopefully get a chance to see myself perform.

Thank you to the lovely Hayley Cathryn who helped with editing 🙂

Stars – Poetry

First there was pizza

Hot and satisfying

Eaten from plastic plates and paper boxes

In the light of day we retreated

Not wanting to share


Then, there were stars

Hundreds of them

Scattering, dusting the plane of our existence

In that moment I saw a universe

That shone only for me


As night fell

The stars that filled my galaxy,

Which had just been my entire existence

Were hidden from the world

Our secret cosmos

Orions Belt

Said Little, But Said Enough


I remember very little of one of the hardest days of my life. But I remember you. Holding my mother as she cried for the loss of her father. I don’t remember what was said or who else was there, but I remember you. Tall and strong, teaching me with your presence how to comfort someone for whom words could never be enough.

You told me of my twin cousins, dead before their first breath. You consoled me then. Said little, but said enough.

I can’t remember the first time we met. As is with memories, when I think hard enough I think I can remember. A false memory, a patchwork of times and places that my mind has assembled till the joins are barely visible.

You have always been quite. All through my childhood and adolescence the silence has been there, a shadow in the background of my life. Never a silence of distance or awkwardness. A comfortable silence. Like a sofa that is always there, not always appreciated but there none the less.

I don’t know if these words will be said in person, or what you would think of them. You have been there at my best and at my worse and your silence brought me calmness.