The Thing I Wrote A Long Time Ago


Last one in this vein, I promise, but found this whilst having a sort out this weekend and it was too funny not to share. I can only hope my poetry has become better with age, and how tragic are the last couple of lines? I’m not sure if they made me want to laugh or cry…



Things I Wrote Tomorrow

With thanks to Constant Variable for the idea for this one…


…I woke up.

It had all been a dream
Or a nightmare,

But you wrapped words around me like arms:
There, there.


I decided
To quit the day job,
Make myself happy
And invent the rest


When I loved you tomorrow
It was still as much
And so I told you.
And maybe you were bored
Of hearing it,
Or me,
Or both,
Which was unfortunate,
Because I hadn’t grown bored of telling you.


Things I Wrote Today

The Things I Wrote Yesterday

Things I Wrote Today

I am oddly pleased with the oh so ‘creative’ titles for today and yesterday’s poetic offerings. Hopefully the poems are marginally better…There was only going to be one poem for today but then I ended up writing  two, as you do, and couldn’t decide which one I liked best…


I gave the most transparent hints all week:
This is what I need.
You gave them right back again:
This is not what I need.


Sometimes, the struggle isn’t only yours,
It’s mine too.
Sometimes, behind the smiles you see,
There are tears.
Sometimes, all I need is to know,
Is that you still love me.
Sometimes, perhaps I explain this all wrong;
Upset you.
Sometimes, I should probably just give up,
Accept defeat.

The Things I Wrote Yesterday

It was one of those days that meant poetry…


The blind is almost closed
But you find your way in
As streamers of sunshine
That have arrived late
To a celebration that only you and I will attend.
Outside, clouds float, far off voices shout and life happens
To this room, this moment,


How I wish I was that workman
Sitting in his corrugated shed
On a cheap plastic chair drinking tea
And laughing with his mate,
No care,
Just waiting to build.

How I wish I was that workman
Sitting with you,
As we waited to build.


By the end of the day I’d given up listening,
What was the point if it wasn’t your voice I could hear?
Faces dissolved in front of me until it was only you I could see
And when I thought, all thoughts became you:
Where were you?
How were you?
Were you thinking of me?

Later, on the train ride home,
The rhythm of train on track
Became your heart,
And the window, where I leant my head,
Became your shoulder.
And when I dozed, my day dreams were of you,
My only dream was you.


This is totally what I would do if I was only allowed 167 words a day…


In an effort to get people to look

into each other’s eyes more,

and also to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.
When the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.
Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.
When she doesn’t respond,
I know she’s used up all her words,
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.




I don’t want to be a stone in your shoe,

I want to be your jaunty sock.

I don’t want to be likened to quicksand,

When I want to be your rock.

I don’t want to be a winding footpath,

I just want to be your road.

I don’t want to be a worn out sole,

When I want to take your load.

I don’t want to be wellies for winter,

I want to be flip flops for sun.

I don’t want to be the forgotten pair,

When I want to be your one.