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.

THE WISDOM OF THE SNAIL

The ants all complain that I’m terribly slow,
But I haven’t got anywhere urgent to go.
I like noticing things as I glide on my slime,
And I don’t see a problem with taking my time.
I like watching the sunlight that falls on a leaf,
And the pattern of dapples that dances beneath,
And the puddle of shade, with its coolness and calm,
Where a snail can breathe easily, hidden from harm.

So I don’t understand why the ants seem to need
To go scurrying round at a dizzying speed,
And I like to stay perfectly still as they pass,
Just enjoying the soft, springy feel of the grass,
And the delicate breath of the breeze as it glides
From my tickle-proof shell to my sensitive sides,
And the silvery sheen of the pale morning light,
Long before it gets glary and scary and bright.

So my message is this: do not dash on your way,
Stop to look at a leaf, smell a flower every day.
Yes, the thing that I always find works, without fail,
Is slow down, smell the grass, feel the breeze...

Be a snail!