She sits in her aerie

In defiance at the world

Assinine tongue

Barbed comments

No one is good

Nothing is good enough

This one is okay but for the

Fill in the blanks with

Some distasteful phrase

Or another.

Aerie living alters perspective

Always looking down on folk

Getting the wider picture

But none of the relationship.

She sits and knits

As she tuts at the world

Her life is uncommonly unfound

How many days will it be

That she sits eerily on aerie

Whilst breathing no more

Before someone notices



The stone of my childhood

Limestone, sandstone


Were held in a wire wall

I wanted to set it free

And let it fall wherever it fell

But I didn’t

I took a snapshot of the wall

And thought about back then

Being contained in something 

That was not normal or wanted.

Julia was contained in Toby’s body

I am sure she didn’t wish

But lived a life of torment

Unable to break free

She was contained in fleshly prison

Much like the stones in this wall

Unnaturally held in stasis

Eighty four years later 

Julia shared her news

Like a surprise party that

No one turns up to

Or arrives later than the guest of honour

It all fell a little flat

Not shocking or disturbing

Poor Julia surprised herself

Oh wall of stones

Hail down like a downpour from heaven

Shake us up

wake us up 

Don’t be contained in a man made prison

Be set free

Her history

Let’s face it; pure bullshit

I never believed him

Catching him in lie after lie

But it was what it was

It is what it is

And I
Must let him go, once more

Another tile placed in the mosaic of my life

Only through the lens of God’s love

Can I see a way to move on

To hold all the facets of my life

In my hand

In the early morning light

I now have more clarity

A little more form to the portrait

Started so very long ago.

Lord I pray she has peace today.

Morning tea at the Midland Hotel, Manchester

The rain poured onto the cold cobbles of Manchester

So I retired to a hotel for tea

Not just any hotel but the Midland

Famous in Manchester for its tea.

The concierge so kind, showed me where to sit

To imbibe the layers and textures of said tea.

A man sat at a table to my left

He ate a hot buttered tea cake from my youth

And drank, according to his moustache

A creamy cappuccino with chocolate

A man sat at a table to my right

Eating a sandwich most undignified

I couldn’t see what it contained

But I wondered was it crumbly Lancashire cheese

With obligatory pickle.

Front and centre to me were two ladies

A large and portly one on the right

Sucked in piece after piece of croissant

Whilst sharing, dare I say over sharing

Her mother’s hip and bathroom frailty

The lady on the left said little

Smiling copiously and nodding

Like a dog in the back window of a car.

Time passed, I read the meno over and over

Delightful snippets of my northern childhood

And the tea blends I wanted three.

British mint and caramel without the caramel

Cleanse with hints of cinnamon

And northern black tea that as I recall

Granny could stand a spoon in.

However this day was not the moment

For a tea revelation for me

As the good staff at the Midland chose to ignore

My pleas for service and tea.

After half an hour of listening to

Portly mother’s woes and how young

Lewis looked so much like Uncle Bendedict Twist

At seventeen and starting university.

I got up, gathered my scant belongings

And like any poet knows, stored up

The occasion for a passive

Aggressive rant.

Dear Midland Hotel

I would like to try your tea

Perhaps you could bring me some

If I deign to enter your door once more.