Words & Reflection

I started writing poems for my mum and dad — a gift on my 21st birthday to hold everything I couldn’t quite say aloud.

Since then, poetry has stayed close.

When I write for others, it’s their faces that stay with me — the tears, the laughter, the moment we all feel something together.

And when I write from the world around me, it often begins with a single sentence that won’t leave me alone, asking to become a poem.

This is a quiet space for those words.
Unpolished, honest, filled with feeling.

From a Ceremony I Wrote

Mark and Betty, both from Whitby, met by chance one Thursday evening.

I had the privilege of writing their wedding ceremony — this excerpt captures a quiet moment of love, stitched with humour and devotion.

They gathered the threads of each passing year,

Of fish, of fabric, and love held dear.

Two hearts, one thread, stitched tender and true —

A love story still unfolding, with all of you.

My Wonderful Mum

She brought me into the world, to become my lifelong friend,

A relationship that would grow on a person I would depend.

An endless gift of love and memories of having fun,

This person could be no other, than my wonderful mum.

She brought me into the world, to care for me when I was sick,

From numerous nights mopping my brow to the kiss it better trick.

When I got lost she would leave that thoughtful trail of breadcrumb,

This person could be no other, than my wonderful mum.

She brought me into the world and assured me on any fear,

To talk major things over with and mop up every tear.

Helping me make lifelong decisions, no problem I couldn’t overcome,

This person could be no other, than my wonderful mum.

She brought me into the world, was there when things fell apart,

From jobs to relationships, all matters of the heart.

She was there when I was pregnant and gave birth to each son,

This person could be no other, than my wonderful mum.

She brought me into the world, helping me through the good times and bad

Telling me to pick my feet up and walk on the days that I felt sad

She was always there for me, my best friend, pal and chum

Yes, this could be no other, than my wonderful mum.

Written to honour my mother’s unwavering presence and friendship across every chapter of my life—from childhood through motherhood. This is a tribute to the love that shaped me.

Who's That Person

Who's that person looking back at me,
It's not the person I expected to see.
They're not in their twenties with youth on their side,
They've passed that stage and their hair is dyed.
You can tell by their face they have stories to tell.
And sometimes life hasn't been quite so swell.
Their face lights up when they smile at me,
Full of emotion and honesty.
With bluey green eyes and the start of crows feet,
They look familiar like someone I did meet.
I pick up my brush to comb my hair, then stop for a second look and stare.
You see I know the person looking back at me,
It just wasn't the image I expected to see.
They're not in their twenties, young and free.
They're over 50, that person is me

A poem on identity, age, and quiet acceptance. This piece honours the relationship between self-perception and memory, and the gentle moment of recognising one’s own reflection.

Birth

Giving birth is a perfectly natural thing

With all the joy a new baby can bring

It’s incubated and safe tucked away in mum

Nice n warm, fed and watered in her little tum

I remember the day my first child was born

I reacted to the medication and felt all forlorn

That didn’t last long as soon I had to push

Giving birth to my child turning forlorn to mush

Their a miracle I really must say

The way they are made and come out that way

They are all perfect with 10 fingers and toes,

a cute little face and the perfect nose.

You’ll be there when it smiles and first start to talk

When it takes it first steps and then starts to walk

You should cherish every moment and hold back the tears

Remember you responsible for another 18 years

A poem reflecting the emotional, physical, and miraculous journey of becoming a mother—full of candid memory and reverent joy.

It's A Glorious Day

I'm sat in my garden on cushions of blue
A bench painted purple and sparkly lights just a few

The sun is shining it's a glorious day
There's no sound or noise to get in the way

I look out across the fields of green
Horses, sheep, donkeys can all be seen

There's the dull noise of traffic not far away
And the tweet of birds in the trees they stay

A cup of tea in hand and I've just had some food
Sombre and peaceful is this moments mood

I like my Sundays when I'm home alone
Lay back relax and mute the phone

Occasionally I sit up and write a line or too
To add to a poem, create something new

A quiet poem capturing the peace and inspiration found in a Sunday sanctuary—sunlight, nature, and a cup of tea for company.

Emotions

You watch things they trigger emotions
You see things they trigger the same
I sit and wonder I don't know why
Sometimes I laugh sometimes I cry

You listen to things they trigger emotions
You feel things they trigger the same
I sit and wonder feel like a clown
Sometimes I smile sometimes I frown

Emotions are a wonderful thing and the feeling that each one will bring
They catch you sometimes unaware
You sit and wonder how you got their

Emotions creep up from behind
A way into our hearts they do find
And then they leave us a quick as they came
But the feeling we are left with is not the same

A tender meditation on the way feelings rise and fall—sometimes without warning, sometimes with great impact. A quiet ode to the human heart’s resilience.

Baby Brother

I was six years old and sat eating my tea

My brother and sister were sat with me

All of a sudden the phone did ring

I wonder what news this call would bring

Dad put down the phone and said no other

Than mum had given birth to my little brother

I couldn’t contact my excitement you see

This bit of news meant the world to me

Being the middle child I always felt left out

Now I had something to shout about

A little brother to help mum look after

And fill the room with his baby’s laughter

Mum brought him home the very next day

What’s his name we all did say

She told us his name, it really did fit

When we said it to him, his face it lit

I helped look after him, nothing was a chore

As a little girl, I couldn’t have wished for more

Forty odd years later and in my life he has a part

A love my baby brother, he has a place in my heart

A childhood memory transformed by love and time. A poem that celebrates the moment a bond began—and the enduring presence of a brother held close in heart.

This is the moment my journey from celebrant to published author became real.

See the big reveal

Words & Reflection

From a Ceremony I Wrote Mark and Betty, both from Whitby, met by chance one Thursday evening. I had the privilege of writing their wedding ceremony — this excerpt captures a quiet moment of love, stitched with humour and devotion.

This is the moment my journey from celebrant to published author became real.

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From a Ceremony I Wrote

Mark and Betty, both from Whitby, met by chance one Thursday evening.

I had the privilege of writing their wedding ceremony — this excerpt captures a quiet moment of love, stitched with humour and devotion.