I have always loved writing poetry - a poem I wrote as a child has been included in a Macmillan Christmas anthology, and I published poems before I started writing stories.  My poems have appeared in anthologies for publishers including Bloomsbury, Candlestick Press, Macmillan, Scholastic, Collins Children's Books, Oxford University Press, Otter-Barry Books and A&C Black. 

I have also written poems for Pearson educational publishers.

My mini eBooks One Week of Christmas Poems, One Week of Dinosaur Poems, One week of Nature Poems, One Week of Space Poems,  One Week of Football Poems, One Week of Spooky Poems, One Week of Seaside Poems, One Week of Pirate Poems and One Week of Puzzle Poems are available on Amazon Kindle.  The first six books in the series are also gathered together in the One Week of Poems Omnibus.

Here are a couple of poems. I'll change them every now and then so come back to see what's new.

THE SEVEN AGES OF A LEAF

First the bud, close hugged,
Curled against the cold,
Waiting for sun’s signal.

Then the newborn leaf,
Wrinkled, pale and fragile,
Freshly unfurling.

Then the growing leaf,
Full-veined, drinking deep,
Stretching, swelling, reaching.

Then the sun-baked leaf,
Spread wide, feeding upon light,
Working to store food for seed-making.

Then the celebration,
Garlanded in red and gold,
Richly signalling a job well done.

Sixth, the fading leaf,
Withered and wrinkled,
Drifting down towards the waiting earth.

And then the seventh age,
Weakened and worm-eaten,
Journeying through the earth and roots and shoots

To reach the bud, close hugged,
Curled against the cold,
Waiting for sun’s signal.

WAITING FOR MY EGGS TO HATCH

Waiting for my eggs to hatch
I worry about silly things,
Like how my croaky voice will cope
With teaching baby birds to sing.

And will this nest be warm enough,
So early in the chilly spring?
Perhaps I ought to find some extra
Cosy moss to tuck them in.

A hundred times a day I check
How thoroughly my nest is fixed.
I test the branch.  I tweak the twigs.
I rearrange the grass and sticks.

I make a long list in my head
Of fledgling things that I must buy -
Something to mash up bits of worm,
A parachute to help them fly.

Perhaps some fireflies hung on strings
Would comfort them when it gets dark?
And maybe I could make some toys
From seeds and twigs and bits of bark?

Yes, waiting for my eggs to hatch,
My thoughts do whirl around a bit,
But in the end, what do I do?
Just sit, and sit, and sit, and sit.