I threw all my poems into the bin When I was young, I’d studied the way of the human p… By Freud and Jung. I felt they would make me feel

Like when my darling Matt threw back his head on the back seat of the car and at the top of his five year old voice triumphed, “and I wish you joy,” (oh what a tremolo), “and happiness,...

The bond that was broken cannot be… whilst you wax bitter in your shel… But I can see more to this love a… Let our love live again. Let our love live again.

Twilight the blue sky fades to gre… Golden yellow sun always there, Burning my back and bleaching my h… And bleaching my hair. The sea holds an answer I feel as…

I cannot begin To capture my Love for you In prose or Haiku

“What is it?” (A baby of course,) “Oh it’s a boy.” And as you slapped on to mothers t… Like a wet fish,

Nobody loves you. They say that they love you. Love you. Love you. But you can’t hear!

I’ll write some drunken poetry, It may not even rhyme. It doesn’t rhyme. It’s not even poetry. You soft lad!

When mother died, I hid under her… I needed a fortress, a safe space. All that was available was the liv… My two year, younger sister joined… Two huddled lumps of, I’m not qui…

Do I write my poems and prose and… Cowardly! Do I publish them and say, "this… How indulgent! Do I say nothing?

Oh I waited for you once in a whi… Kicking my blue sandalled toes aga… Regardless of the scuff. You were busy. I was an accessory.

When you can’t do this, What do you do? You do that! My heart is broken. And I can’t do this.