Trapped in a Book

Imagine if you woke up
in your favourite book,
would you take the side lines
afraid you might mess up
the plot line so delicate,
so intricately written?
Would that convince you somehow to stay hidden?
Or perhaps you'd be eager to push your way
into the inner circle like Dan Humphrey?
Maybe you'd have your own story or something,
taking place in the backdrop of your favourite setting?

But what if your favourite story is horror?
Would you want to be involved in that drama?
Would you feel the fear more acutely in the dark of the shadows,
without the safety net of being at home, hugging your pillow?
In a love triangle would you make it a square?
Trying to be a bystander but unaware
that the eyes of the protagonist are staring at you
when they really should be staring through!

Oh the possibilities that present when you live in a story
you've read thousands of times over, so you don't need to worry,
you know how everything is going to end,
you'll marry him, or her, or win over that friend,
the enemy will die, or both lovers perhaps will,
but that's okay, you could prepare for that ill.

Well, one day, somehow, we all woke up
only we weren't living in our favourite book,
but had stumbled into science fiction,
as easily as walking to our kitchen.
A daily walk,
or maybe a run,
cancellation station,
virtual fun.
2 metre gaps,
queues for miles out the shop,
elderly inside,
behind doors firmly locked.
Restaurants, bars, shops closed,
seasons change as we stare out the window.
Protection,
hand gel,
infection,
trying to keep well,
panic buyers,
I'll trade you loo roll for pasta,
garage stocked up won't get us through any faster.

Suddenly we're in history,
suddenly, it happened so suddenly,
trapped by social distance or anxiety?
Or OCD?
Or trapped with me?
And usually,
I dance my way out,
of trouble, worry, or doubt.
But no-one has ever been here before,
no-one knows what works yet or
what's the best thing to do
when life as you knew
has upped and left
you alone and bereft. 

What's worse is that it occurs to me,
and again it happens suddenly,
that no-one will ever write a book
about the 30-something who took one look
out the window during lockdown
and decided not to drown
in the social silence
so replaced it with the sound
of old-school retro songs
from the days of her youth
and let her body take her
to some place new!
Every move an ode to the days long past,
days that I wish right now I could have back;
when outside wasn't scary,
and no sanitizer, no worries,
and a supermarket delivery slot
was ten to a penny.

So maybe I'm not making history,
but since I'm in this sci-fi
I'm not gonna let this pass me by.
Time to write,
to sing,
to dance,
to talk,
to laugh,
to clean,
to Skype,
to Zoom (whatever that is)
to move my feet,
refuse to miss a beat.
And if no-one is going to write my story,
then I won't admit defeat...
I'll just write this poem instead.

❤️ In loving memory of Liliana Grace ❤️

One day, a few moons before this,

you were just a dream, a wish, 

a prayer flying free at the break of dawn;

a yearning heart in the early morn.

And then one day, a time or two ago,

you became a realised hope,

and postponed plans didn’t stop your spirit,

eyes on a life, and ready to live it!

I saw strength beyond compare

when you returned from doctors’ care,

thawed out and ready for your new home,

a warm, safe place to call your own.

So you were safely transferred there, 

and clung on, breathing your Mummy’s air,

you grew and refused to give in,

bloomed and kept on blossoming.

And even before we saw your face,

we knew you were Liliana Grace,

and no matter what would come your way,

you’d overcome obstacles every day.

Crafted carefully,

perfectly formed,

soon you were a baby soft and warm,

and decided it was time to meet your family 

even if a little too early!

I can’t tell you how loved you are,

your very existence a shining star,

you put a smile on everyone’s lips,

whenever they saw you, it was pure bliss.

Your Mummy and Daddy were besotted before first sight,

you became their beam of light

in the darkness of a cruel, harsh world,

too cruel and harsh for such a sweet girl.

Your journey had not been an easy one,

and even on arrival, the struggles went on,

but you proved yourself to be the strongest of fighters

defying even the belief of the doctors!

And every time I saw you in that cot,

body shaking with every breath that you took,

I couldn’t help but be strengthened by you;

your resilience and bravery shining through.

It wasn’t long before your parents declared,

her strength is unparalleled, can’t be compared,

with both beauty and spirit defying what we expect

she is, of course, our warrior princess.

And that is why when you had no fight left,

when we had to watch you take your very last breath,

there was nothing at all that could be said

to fill the gaping hole that your presence left.

Never before has someone so tiny,

proved themselves to be so very mighty,

and if any of us have an iota of you

within our hearts then we’ll somehow pull through...

Because now you are the strength in our hearts,

we are changed people, though broken in parts,

inspired by way that you lived your short life,

and  saddened to watch you to heaven take flight.

But we’ll never forget your ballerina toes,

your very long fingers, your cute button nose,

and I’m so thankful that you fell from above

because now I know the real meaning of love.

Men don't wait in line for root vegetables

What if I'm not where I'm meant to be?
What if I've veered off course?
What if I did the wrong thing
and am moving away from the Source?
How could I be so stupid?
What on earth am I going to do next?
I can't make sense of my feelings;
I'm stressed, at a loss, and I'm vexed.

So I stand up
and I sit down
and I stand up
and I pace round,
and then I catch sight of my reflection
and my thoughts are consumed by a barrage of questions:-

What if my skin is melting off my body?
(Bizarre, who's ever thought that before?)
What if my body is carrot shaped?
(Okay, seriously, will you think less weird thoughts, I implore?)
Why do my arms have those bumps on them?
(Everyone knows
that they're just your elbows!)
Why am I asking all these questions?
(It's where your mind goes
when it's left on its own.)

So I sit down
and I stand up
and I pace a little bit.
My mind is everywhere
all at once
and won't put a sock in it!

Impatient for answers,
I'd dance, but my back hurts,
but why does my back hurt?
I'm only 31, not 41,
but hang on,
where's the time gone?
It doesn't seem that long ago
that I was 2-0
and now it's 2-0-1-9
and it doesn't feel fine
and I remember the time
my mum promised a line
of men at my door,
eager to snap up
the opportunity
to be with me
but, wait a sec, I don't see how that could add up
because no-one wants to date you when you look like a carrot!

So I sit down again -
why's this now about men?
Who cares about them?
'What if-' this,
'What if-' that,
you can do so much better than that!
Didn't a wise person once say,
"Any question that starts with 'what if' is a stupid one."?
- wasn't that you just the other day?

Your mind's like a ship
that's gone adrift
and if I may quote Taylor Swift,
"You need to calm down"
breathe in, and breathe out.
Whenever in doubt;
when you don't know,
remember you know
the One who knows.
He won't leave you behind
or stuck in your mind,
drop your burden at His feet
and know you are complete,
strengthened in His presence,
even when feeling weak,
(even when you spent all night laying awake
worrying that you might be carrot shaped!)

Just don't ever give up
because God is your compass,
lighting your way
so you won't go astray,
and never live in fear of making a mistake,
because if God is for you, then what can come against?

So, whether you really did miss your cue,
or anxiety is just tormenting you,
you can breathe a sigh of relief - phew! -
because God will never leave you, nor forsake you.





PS If you really are carrot shaped then God made you like that, so don't worry about it! :)

Who am I?

I’ve lost 5% battery refreshing this blank page,

I waited and waited, what seemed like an age,

hoping for some inspiration to appear,

but nope, it looks like nothing’s here.

But I have to write something

because that’s my thing! 

And if I don’t have that...what do I have?

I stayed committed to my role the night through,

because I guess that’s what I feel I must do;

music and disco lights call me to the floor,

I’m pulling shapes I never knew I had before!

But I have to dance continuously, no break in my swing,

because that’s who I am, and that’s my whole thing!

And if I don’t have that...what do I have?

I couldn’t change one thing about me physically,

because this is exactly the height l ought to be -

even if I wanted to know how it felt to be tall,

to never need an alteration for my dress to the ball

(I’ll be honest, I’m still waiting for my invite)

I know a growth spurt just wouldn’t feel right!

Because I’m small and that’s my thing,

and if I don’t have that, do I have anything?

I thought I had this whole thing worked out,

I knew what my thing was without one shred of doubt,

but then I kept adding,

and then I kept changing,

and did you know that you can’t stop this ageing?

And so before I knew where I was

I had more ‘things’ than I thought anyone could.

I make up sayings like “barrel of confusion”

or spend my whole life misusing them,

so “more money than you can shake a stick at”

becomes “that’s a lot of pennies I wouldn’t shake a stick at”.

Or apparently my other thing is making friends,

or being the one who just can’t shut up on the train.

I’m the one who made a musical,

the one who’s always singing,

the one with a project,

the one who lives for living,

the one who signs off her messages with ten thousand kisses,

the one who doesn’t know what the problem with this is.

The one who loves Prince,

the one who loves Troye,

the one who loves a mike,

and I don’t mean a boy!

The one who’s too comfortable in front of a camera,

the one dreaming of a podcast where she is the anchor.

So I guess those are my things,

but if I don’t have all those, do I have anything?

Well, I’m pretty sure that list will get longer,

as time passes and as I get older,

I’m also completely convinced things will fall off,

and others will move so they’re right at the top.

But none of these things are really my thing,

because none of them really mean anything;

they don’t claim my identity

because that’s centred in Christ,

and He started changing me when He saved my life!

Whatever I think I am is fluid and free

because God’s making me who He created me to be.

He’s making me wise enough to know it’s a mistake

to spend all night on the dance floor without a pee break

(and yes, I can guess what you’re thinking, “That wasn’t obvious before?” - just let that sink in).

He’s making me wise enough to know a blank page

isn’t the end of all my writing days,

directing my projects,

leading me by the hand,

as I move and groove my way towards

being exactly who I am.

And so I can live not knowing what my thing is

because I know who I am, if I know who He is!

Uncensored

I still remember the moment I forgot to censor myself,

on autopilot,

in a café with a friend,
replying to you, without thinking,

hitting that x key a million times,

pressing send before I engaged my thought process...

then hand over mouth as my friend and I both giggled, wondering what you would think.

We didn’t know each other that well then -

now I do it on purpose, on autopilot or fully in the moment.

And how often is censoring as automatic as the thousand and one xs I put on the end of my messages?

Zipped lips are not my forte;

but I rephrase,

dance around

the issue,

go vague,

go airy fairy,

sometimes anyway.

And it makes me wonder how people lead private lives

because when pressed, I’m just out with it.

How can I skirt or avoid it now?

I’ll just tell you the truth.

I’m a book

completely open,

but still more guarded than anyone would suspect

with a mouth as big as mine.

Because I don’t dare tell you that I love you, you know, platonically of course,

and that would normally trip out of my mouth before I could stop it!

And I don’t want to risk telling him that I don’t like it when he makes out like it never happened,

because I feel rubbed out, like a mistake in pencil.

So I’m censored.

And sometimes,

it’s okay 

to not say

these things outloud.

I wish I’d be that way more often,

like when I got offered a soft mint

And I replied, “I love you.”

Or when the barista in Starbucks asked me how my day was

and I told him exactly how it was;

ignored the yawns in his response
(you’d think someone with access to so much coffee could keep those at bay!)

Maybe it’s just time to admit it all?

After all,

I’m usually all or nothing anyway.

That sometimes I’m confident.

Yet other times I hide in the tinned food aisle of the supermarket when I spot someone I know.

Sometimes I speak twenty words per second, and no-one can keep up.

Sometimes I have nothing to say, so speak twenty words per second to fill the silence.

Sometimes I’d just rather hide away and not be noticed,

but then on my birthday
I want that parade,

that serenade,

all through the day.

So there it is,

today I’m uncensored.

We’ll see about tomorrow...

The Cape

Today it's dress up day;

I'm wearing a cardigan that swooshes like a cape

so today, when I know how much it will ache

I wear my cardigan like it's a cape.

Emergency beards from Amazon

have got nothing on tonight's disguise.

Today when I know my face won't tell you lies,

I wear my capedigan, and take to the skies.

I put on the funkiest tune that I own

and the cape dances with me as I swoosh round my home.

I know later that I'll have to look you in the face,

but for now, I'm twirling around in my cape.

Darkness falls as the sun bids farewell,

and my heart is void of feelings of hate-

they belong to yesterday, but I don't want to be late,

so I leave the house, coat on over my cape.

And when I step inside that familiar place,

I'll take off my coat and show off my cape.

I'll be warm and cosy, and won't have to hide,

and no-one will know how hard I had to fight.

Today's a new day,

the first day,

where it begins.

It's only a cardi -

it won't give me wings,

but if it helps me smile as I swoosh into view

then swooshing is exactly what I'm gonna do!

Inevitably I'll discover the cape is a patch,

it won't fix my problem – the feeling will pass.

I want more than an add-on; an update to an app,

I need real confidence and stability that lasts.

So I look to my heavenly Father above,

I seek His presence and knowledge of His love,

my Lord looks at me and sees beyond my cape

and yet He still loves me and shows me His grace.

Finally I see where my real strength resides,

I'm no superhero, yet I know it's inside,

because I'm infused with the inner strength of Christ,

so I take off my cape and step into the Light.

Today it's dress up day;

I'm wearing a cardigan that swooshes like a cape.

But it's late, and I'm tired of bearing the weight

so I lean on my Father and leave off my cape.

A Story for Their Grandkids

This is the story they'll tell their Grandkids,

so honest and genuine, no need to convince.

The wholly credible,

utterly incredible

post-modern

pre-Tinder,

pre-kinder,

post-Cinder-ella

today's rags to riches

moving a mile when they aimed for inches.

Rose now calls this, “The best summer of her life”

you can see why, now married, content and a wife,

and it all started outside of a pub,

you'll be pleased to know, not where she met her hub.

I was fresh back from a winter abroad,

of hearing those stories, Rose was well bored -

I suppose I must admit there's only so long

'This one time in Poland' stories can go on-

anyway, where was I? Oh yes!

Outside of a pub in Guisborough I guess.

And we were walking,

and talking,

about the big and the small,

and the wild, and the wonderful,

about life and high walls

that confine and restrict

your ability to fly,

and Rose felt closed up and just, “Whyyyyyy?”

And that girl had dreams of touring the world,

with a brand of music; fresh and yet heard,

and I felt the sigh of her heart as she said,

“I just need a sign for what I'm to do next.”

Well I was feeling super wise-

I guess I'd learned from my travels, or something, I surmise,

so I turned to my little sister, utterly perplexed,

“You don't need a sign, just do it!” I said.

“Do you expect a placard to fall from the sky,

to hit you so hard that you can't deny,

the next move that you need to make?

You'll know what to do with the next step you take!”

At this moment I noticed a sign myself,

you'd think I'd have seen it before, but that can't be helped,

and I read it aloud, “Open Mic every Wednesday...

Rose you should go in and ask if you can play!”

Well you wouldn't believe the pushing she needed,

but I waited outside as my advice she heeded,

and later I found out that her eyes were greeted

with a sign reading, you wouldn't believe it,

“If you were waiting for a sign, this is it.”

And so those words on the interior of a pub,

were revelation to her, and - spoiler alert- led to true love.

The next Wednesday Rose was trembling with nerves,

but I vowed that I would go along with her,

and that was the best decision we ever made,

because after that day, ever Wednesday we played

a set of three songs, two originals, one cover;

we came alive on that stage, who needed a lover?

Well...actually, we can't have been doing that very long

when Rose heard word from Dan that he wanted to come along.

This was out of the ordinary! I mean, we'd last heard from,

who we'd always referred to by his full name 'Daniel Skillcorn',

when we were both still at school,

well college for me, but still,

what could have fuelled,

this sudden interest in performing on stage,

when we hadn't seen the lad for an age?

So the next Wednesday we arrived at The Ship

and who had arrived before us, you guessed it, Dan did.

Well, funny, he never did go up and sing,

but that didn't matter to Rose since she was falling.

She continued to go to Open Mic alone,

when I was away travelling in the land of Home

and Away and Neighbours and all that,

it seemed that Dan did too because when I came back

from all of my exciting adventures in Aus

I got a scoop of the most delicious goss -

that Rose and Dan had got together,

while I'd been sunning myself in much better weather.

It transpired that Rose had refused his insistence

to meet for coffee, but that boy had persistence,

and he'd invited her on a trip to the Baltic,

'Milnosh is coming!' the truth he pole-vaulted,

later having to ask him to come,

when it seemed that Dan's convincing had won,

and Rose agreed to go,

since Milnosh and Kirsty were going, you know.

Of course that's why they're probably the only couple

in the whole world who have a photo

of them out together on their very first date

thanks to the company provided by Dan's very best mate.

So that, my dear friends,

isn't the end,

but where I leave off with this story,

because, as they say, the rest is history...

So here's to my inspirational little sister,

who's found herself a wonderful mister,

I'm so glad that I told you not to wait for a sign,

that you weren't passive waiting for the stars to align,

but you took that first baby step towards your destiny,

it's out there, so go and get it, it's meant to be!