Poetry

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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 and A&C Black. My new poems Mix-Up at the Zoo and Good Moon, Bad Moon will be published in anthologies by Bloomsbury (Rhymes, Riddles and Paradiddles) and Otter-Barry Books (Moonstruck) next year.

I have also written poems for Pearson educational publishers.

My mini e-Books One Week of Christmas Poems, One Week of Dinosaur Poems, One week of Garden poems, One Week of Space Poems, One Week of Football Poems, One Week of Spooky Poems and One Week of Seaside 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.

RUNNING SIDE TO SIDE

Crabs ought to like the ocean, as we live upon the shore,
But I've always been unsettled by its foamy rush and roar,
And I wave my claws in panic at the rising of the tide,
And I try to scrabble backwards, but keep running side to side.

I need the damp to breathe, but I'm still happiest on land,
So I fix my wistful gaze on dunes of rolling, golden sand,
And my claws wave in excitement at horizons dry and wide,
And I try to scuttle forwards, but keep running side to side.

It seems I may be destined to live somewhere in between
Rolling dunes of golden sand and crashing waves of bluey green,
So whenever you may visit, I am likely to be spied
At the point where land meets water, always running side to side.

(most crabs can only move sideways as their legs are on the side of their bodies)

A WORLD MADE ONE

It’s the game of the year. It’s the game for the cup,
And the time ticks down, and the score creeps up,
And it’s two goals all as the whistle blows,
Then it’s extra time and the pressure shows.
There’s a scrappy shot. There’s a dodgy pass.
There’s a player down on the floodlit grass.
There’s a tackle and a battle and the ball goes out.
There’s a scuffle and a tussle and a penalty shout.

Then all eyes fix on a single spot
Where the ball is placed for the penalty shot.

My focus narrows down, down, down,
From the sky high stand to the green grass ground,
Where a figure is fixed in the floodlights’ glare,
And I feel it’s me who is standing there.
My heart thumps hard and my breath comes quick,
But I gulp down air and think of the kick.
Then I find I’m thinking of nothing at all
But the sliver of space between boot and ball.

Not a bird dares chirp. Not a horn dares hoot.
Not a breeze dares breathe between ball and boot.

Then boot hits ball and suddenly sound
Comes crashing back to the football ground,
As the crowd erupts in a thundering cry
That soars from the stands to the sunset sky.
And satellites spinning in soundless space
Rebound the sound from place to place,
Until round the globe you can hear the roar
Of a world made one by a football score.