There are days
I feel like yelling
“I am absolutely not ok!!”
There are days
I could start telling
My problems right from breakfast,
Right through midday,
They’d keep on spilling
Out all afternoon
And by evening
I’d take a breath and say
“I’m still not done yet –
But I need a break!”

There are days
I don’t know where to start
A smile sits on my face
Hiding worry
And concern
With all the good grace
I can possibly muster.

There are days
I sit on the floor
Feel the pressure
Feel the support
Somewhere to be
Where I can no longer fall
And I beg of myself,
“Please, oh please, no more…”

There are days
When I laugh and I sing
I might even dance
Those days I am funny
Those days I am cool
Those days I have everything under control
But those days,
Those days at the moment
Are far too few.

Some days I am weak
All broken
And ruined
Used and abused
All spat out
After being chewed.

Other days I am strong
I carry great heavy weights
In my head
In my heart
And in my arms
And I never drop a single one.


Maybe I should…

Maybe I should shout ‘fuck’ as it sweeps in again.
But I don’t.
I just loaf around.
Be mean.
Be vacant.
Be not me.

Maybe I should just scream and shout.
Maybe wail, those deep, sad, wails out loud,
kick the walls – let some deep rage out
but I don’t, I just, I just wanna be free.

Maybe I should call someone
ask them for their help?
But I don’t.
Because who is there really?
Who can actually help me?

Maybe I should just scream and shout.
Maybe wail, those deep, sad, wails out loud,
kick the walls – let some deep rage out
but I don’t, I just, I just wanna be free.

Maybe enough painkillers will kill the pain?
But I take painkillers and the pain remains exactly the same…

When will I ever be useful again?
How can anyone live with this constant,

How do I find the strength to go on?
How can I ever, ever again
be a good mum?

Maybe I should just scream and shout.
Maybe wail, those deep, sad, wails out loud,
kick the walls – let some deep rage out
but I don’t, I just, I just wanna be free.

Maybe I should just scream and shout.

Maybe wail, those deep, sad, wails out loud.

Kick the walls – let some deep rage out!

But I don’t.
I just loaf around.
Be mean.
Be vacant.
Be not me.


You and me

There’s you
and then there’s me
we stand on opposite sides
and see what we see.

There’s you
and then there’s me
we stand on opposite sides
and see what we see.

I see flowers
where you see weeds

You fear wasps
when I cherish bees

I listen to music
and you hear noise

You see rubbish
I see potential elaborate and interesting toys.

You feel anger
but I, I feel pain

I see helplessness
but you? You see shame!

You feel hatred
when I, I just feel sad

I am disappointed, lost and lonely
and you? Are you glad?

There’s you
and then there’s me
we stand on opposite sides
and see what we see.

There’s you
and then there’s me
we stand on opposite sides
and see whatever it is we see.


An official apology to Dan the Man

Dearest, dearest Dan the Man
please forgive me
if you can!
I do beseech you
I had a plan:

I went shopping
some time ago
not alone, you understand
along with Aden
my own young man.
We searched and searched
through shelves and rows
for a fitting gift
that’d curl your toes!

Aden advised me
I think, quite well,
of what young men
find pretty swell…

I filled my basket
with goodies for you
and one or two
for your big brother too.

I thought I had it cracked
this birthday present lark
I laughed with the assistant
as I handed over my precious debit card.

Then I realised!
That between your birthday
and that of your sister
there’s only three weeks:
hardly enough time
to learn a new tongue twister!

So, I thought of the pennies
as well as the pounds
(it’s so important
that there’s enough
of that lovely money
to go around).

I’d share the postage
between you three
and I whistled to the birds
some strange
(tone deaf)

Now I hear from your Mum
that your birthday is today!!!
I haven’t sent your long-ago-bought-present
and you live so far away!!!

I had the date in my head
and then, somehow, I forgot
(perhaps because I’m old?
Or ’cause my head is full of snot?)

So your present
it is here
and you are there
where I am not!
Your gift
so early bought
is clearly late!
So past the date!
I’m such a clot!

But I think
that you will laugh
once you know
the reason

You see,
I waited all this time
when your birthday
actually is
I believed it was
in fact,
on a much
later date!

And the cherry on the cake?
I still needed to buy your lovely sister’s
or so I thought
although in truth
I had it already
sitting in a bag
right next to my bed
in which I climb
every… Single… Day!

And can you believe it?
In that bag
I also found
that absent glue;
the one I knew
that I’d bought
but had been missing
for a month or two….!

I was going
to finish here
my dear.
But do you know
what happened next?
Go on
I’ll give you a moment,
have a guess…

I wrapped your pressies
all of them
and placed them
in a cardboard box.
I drove to the post office,
in the town
and parked my car
in a good spot.
And then I rummaged
all around.
I shook my head.
I beeped the horn.
I swore, somewhat.

Dearest, dearest Dan the Man,
I’d left your box
Upon my table
Oh super-silly-Sarah-smelly-socks!

Happy Birthday Dan!!! Your pressie is finally on it’s way!!! 🙂








For my True Love:

Reini and Children: so you’ll remember today.

Readers: Do you all know the song Twelve days of Christmas?

I used it as a basis for my husband’s Christmas present. (He works hard and spends little money on himself, so it’s my duty ;-)).

Besides, I am soppy and I do like to have fun. I also love Christmas. Merry Christmas Everyone!!

Think last verse and the best bit is: I’ve taught all the kids it and we plan to wail it sing it to him on Christmas day, once he’s opened all the pressies!!! 😀

12 Single Socks
11 Bars of Choc’late
10 Beaming Bottles
9 Capable Cups
8 Dependable Pants
7 Brushes for the Pot
6 Erotic Massages 😉
5 Fun-ky Things—–
4 Gel Pens
3 Silly T’s
Dinner for 2
And a Silly Verse from Me to You! ♥

A cat and rat tale

We’ve a neighbouring cat
who likes to kill rats
and leave them as gifts
on the front door mat

I know I shouldn’t treat
such love and affection
with pure rejection

But, in truth,
there is something uncouth
about a stiff rodent
lay there
at the foot of my stairs
I freak out!
I may shout!
Even swear…

Though, I have to admit
as she strides for the kill
I can admire her skill:
the speed of her paws
and those excellent claws
her precisional sight
then her agile flight

She plays with her toy
be it girl
be it boy
carries it around
with no heart
with no sound

When it’s dead
and she’s had enough
she brings it to me:
a small thank you
for the sausage that fell
from last nights barbecue.

Midnight wanderer

The midnight wanderer
wakes at night
his feet are itchy
full of flight

He leaves his room
abandons bed
she hears his footsteps
on the stairs

She listens to
the sounds below
unsure, afraid
of what he’ll do

She tries to muster
all her strength
to raise her
tired, sleepy head

Follow suit
desert her bed
check on her son
find out exactly
what he’s done

She leaves her room
enters the hall
but hears him on
the stairs once more


that Mama’s waiting

standing there!

Hand on hip
and bleary-eyed
until the wanderer
is at her side

She does not shout
she does not bawl
just asks
what the
commotions for

His eyes are focused
he’s wide awake
no little sign
of sleepy state

As he explains
he felt like water
in the night
that is the reason
he took flight

She warns him not
to leave his room
afraid of what
could be his fate

They separate
and lay their heads
on soft sweet cushions
in nice warm beds

He tries to sleep
and can this time
aware of mothers
watching eyes

She defies sleep
pricks her ear
for faint footsteps
from the son
she holds so dear

Until she’s sure
the actions over
she cannot close
her eyes
or throw her hair
over her shoulder

a good nights rest
is exactly
what she needs

and time to find
some inner peace.

That’s a day in the life of a typical teenage girl

They stay in their beds
don’t raise their sleepy heads

There’s noise all around
but they do not hear a sound

Then they can’t sleep at night,
have trouble switching off the light

The bathroom’s full of potions
all kinds of creamy lotions

The wardrobe’s full of clothes
but they’ve nothing to enrobe

When they see a boy
their gestures are all coy

They start to giggle
at every dash and every squiggle

Then they are enraged
by such small things, I’m amazed

They don’t hear me speak
as their ear phones pulsate musique

They’re never alone
someone’s always on the phone

They go to the shops
know just how to spend the dosh

Yet when I am sad
they take a moment
make me glad
with a cuddle and a kiss
and a heartfelt wish
and a look in their eye
that shows
they understand why.

List freak

I like lists
and charts
with boxes to tick
an inventory of choices
to pick

I like organisation
I like collation
of information

It’s hard to see
when you visit me
you have to look
for example:
for a good book

Then you will see
each one
is arranged

You enter my hall
jump over school bags
that lay upon the floor
ignore the mud
on the handle
of the door
gaze past the shoes and coats
and there
just there
on the wall
is a little bit of me
in the shape
of a large white board

With dates
and times
and papers
magnetically aligned

With notes to self
on how to live
and what to buy
who to meet
and when we fly

The writing is on the wall
which doctor I still have to call
how many washes are yet to be done
if I have been an adequate mum
whether the fight against dirt
has been won

I write shopping lists
and menu plans
I note down
if and when shampoo
runs out

But sometimes I confuse myself
at what I seek upon a shelf
a list that guided me
through all the miles
of food-filled aisles
bread and sunflower oil
salt and rice to boil
then strangely, without clues
the baffling word ‘pool’

should I read spool?
But I have gone digital…
I have no need for film at all!
Could I mean paddling pool?
I don’t understand
there’s one in the shed,
above the wheelbarrow
underneath the ledge
beside the cutters for the hedge…

To this day I do not know
and have had to let
the satisfaction go
you know what I mean –
that moment of bliss
that goes unseen
but is felt with full force
as the pen hits the paper
and chalks
the achievement

As the tick
does it’s flick.