your gloved hand
the comfortable
silence
Tag: children
the new normal
soft rain
returning
to school
drip feed
trickling down
the kids ask about
the old coffee percolator
puff puff
storm clouds
in the caravan
a pillow fight
holidays
low tide
ice cream below
the cone
My daughter’s haiku homework
facemasks on Zoom
closeness
of my friends’ homes
one o’clock
dandelion clock
young dad
holding tight
The Gruffalo in the Kitchen
Through the woods the Gruffalo stumbled
“I’m not going in no Gruffalo crumble!”
Exhausted he crashed through a field of sheep
Where with her long crook stood Little Bo Peep.
She looked up into his bright orange eyes,
And said “You gave that wolf quite a surprise”.
The sheep gathered round and started bleating
“Thank you we didn’t want to be eaten”
They rubbed their backs on his purple prickles,
“Stop, please” he chuckled, “that really tickles”
“Well” laughed Bo Peep, “looks like they’ve made a friend”
“Can you stay on guard, I’ve a fence to mend?”
“Of course” he yawned, stretching out for a doze
As the sheep scratched themselves on his turned out toes
“All fixed” said Bo Peep, “time for some porridge”
“Come for supper at my hillside cottage”
“That’s terribly kind of you.” “Great, let’s go,”
“I’m having supper with a Gruffalo!”
The porride was horrid, grainy and hard,
It tasted of burnt sprouts, old socks and lard.
“How about tomorrow, I cook for you?”
“Something simple and hot, tasty to chew”
“Wonderful, yes, a great plan” said Bo Peep,
“There’s room in my woodshed where you can sleep.”
At dawn the Gruffalo jumped out of bed
And slipped the chef’s apron over his head.
“What shall I make for her, what shall I cook?”
“Here’s an idea on page ten of this book”
A big knob of butter, swirled round the pan
Then three eggs, crack-crack-cracked with just one hand.
Mixing them briskly, then turn down the heat
More butter, salt, pepper, ready to eat!
Ketchup spiralled over eggs on the plate
“What’s that?” said Bo Peep. “Why its scrambled snake!”
“Delicious” she burped, “Can you stay for lunch?”
“But this time make something with a nice crunch.”
The Gruffalo sat to think what to make
Carrots, honey, oil, vinegar then bake
Use two for ears, head, body, tail, feet
Roasted fox, on the plate, ready to eat.
“Lovely” said Bo Peep, “and is there dessert?”
“Yes” said the Gruffalo, “just let me serve”
Two scoops of ice cream, a cone in between
Crumbled flake for feathers – there owl ice cream.
“Delightful” said Bo Peep, “a real winner”
“You can’t perhaps also stay for dinner?”
The Gruffalo beamed, “I thought you’d never ask”
“I have been saving my best dish for last”
Vegetables, beans and fresh herbs in the pot
Cheese, nuts and oats sprinkled over the top.
Into the oven until its bubbly
“The smell” sighed Bo Peep “the taste – so lovely”
“Thanks” said the Gruaffalo looking humble
“This is my Grannie’s Gruffalo Crumble”
“Well, I’d eat that every day of my life”
Kneeling he asked “So will you be my wife?”
“I’d love to” she smiled and gave him a kiss
Happily they’ve lived from that day to this
Royal Concert Hall
the emptiness
of the concert hall
filled with music
harvest
children peel little apples
autumn breeze
this afternoon
on the garden swing
only leaves
footsteps
low tide
the toddler’s
toe-prints
jigsaw
dining room cool
the missing jigsaw piece
on my elbow
Villandry
the chateau’s formal garden
giggles
from my princesses
graduation
junior school graduation
the blackberries
almost ripe
flow
riverside path
children
drifting to school
underwater
diving
children’s shrieks
now silent
willows
willow tree tunnel
remembering
when you were little
long grass
lost
in the long grass
childhood summers
barefoot
schoolgirls
kicking their shoes off
into the tree
growing up
family bike ride
the blur
of the nearest trees
dandelions
into the dusk
dandelion seeds
and Sam’s giggles
kitchen music
clarinet arpeggios
some ingredients missing
from the soup
lull in the music
before the encore
texting the babysitter
walk with Sophie
tiptoeing
through the woods
spring moonlight
playpark
spring afternoon
children swing
into the sun
was I good?
after her solo
searching the audience
her mother’s smile
outgrown
too big
for his childhood bike
his bony ankles
at the school gate
she skips away
across the playground
my cheek still kiss-wet
with Sophie
warm milk-wrapped
hands
soft marshmallows
Indietracks
puddles
by the stage —
toddlers mosh pit
past her bedtime
recounting the penalties —
two tucked fingers
to one
After her performance
Paper flowers,
still on the stage — my
tired ballerina
Dad, where’s the rest of it?
Thoughtfully to school
under half the moon,
your mittened hand in mine
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