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.

DOES A CATERPILLAR DREAM?

As a caterpillar crunches
All those lovely leafy lunches,
Does it raise its little eyes
To the butterfly-filled skies?
Does it watch them as they dance?
Does it wish for just one chance
To escape its leafy place,
And fly free in light and space?
As it chews and chews and chews,
Does it long for different views?
An escape from endless green?

Does a caterpillar dream?

As a butterfly is drinking
Golden nectar, is it thinking
Of lost days of steady munching
And companionable crunching?
As it flits through sunny skies,
Do faint memories arise
Of the crawl from leaf to leaf
In the shady world beneath?
Of a time when it was green,
Trying hard not to be seen,
Long before this rainbow splendour?

Does a butterfly remember?

THE PAST
 
The past is full of cavemen dressed in animal skins,
Running around chasing mammoths,
Waving clubs above their heads.
 
And Roman Emperors wearing togas,
Eating grapes and swans and dormice,
Wearing sandals while Vesuvius erupts.
 
And knights struggling into suits of armour,
Galloping about on horses, brandishing swords,
And living in draughty castles.
 
And Queen Elizabeth I,
Standing stiffly in so many clothes that she can hardly move,
While someone trills and strums to entertain her.
 
And bombs dropping from aeroplanes
Into jungles and seas of mud,
And cities where sirens are blaring.
 
And grannies and grandads,
Wearing old-fashioned coats and hats,
Driving to the seaside in cranky cars, with picnic hampers.
 
And Mum meeting Dad,
When Mum wasn’t Mum and Dad wasn’t Dad,
And I wasn’t anything.
 
And playing football in the playground yesterday,
And the head teacher droning on in assembly,
And Mum cooking sausages for tea.
 
And writing the line before this,
And the line before this,
And the line before this...