Poetry Friday; Mirrors – Isobel Thrilling

I love the imagery of the poem – the sense of beauty and expectation that can happen just from the dresses in your wardrobe!



An aviary of dresses

alive with silk

roosts on

the rail of your wardrobe.


Each day you disturb

the flock

shake out a flight

of fabrics.


It’s your own rainforest,

mimic plumage

from shops,

your several selves,

crimson, macaw, blue-foot

booby, albatross


looping the world


Isobel Thrilling


I am a major dress-aholic and I love the idea of wearing a colourful dress is like wearing a plumage of a bird and how it would change you and your personality



Poetry Friday; In The Skip – Brian McCabe

Poetry often makes you look at the world in a new way or perspective and this one takes a fresh looks at the rubbish found in skips.


In The Skip

Half  a dozen bricks

are clinging to their brickness

and to the idea of being

a wall.


Drawers lean on drawers as if

their crazy staircase could recall

the time it was a kitchen cabinet.


A mattress, doubled-up, yearns

to yawn, stretch, turn over

and scratch itself where it’s ripped.


Dust, yes there is dust.

And sometimes I think

my history is there in the skip:


a gap that was once for sitting on;

a piece, missing its jigsaw;

a smatter of glass, convinced

it was always meant to be a window.


I peer into the rubble, to see

What’s salvageable


Brian McCabe


There is something very poignant about all these items discarded in the skip dreaming of being the thing they used to be.

Poetry Friday; Frost – Valerie Bloom

A very suitable poem considering the weather Scotland has been having!



Overnight, a giant spilt icing sugar on the ground,
He spilt it in the hedgerows, and the trees without a sound,
He made a wedding-cake of the haystack in the field,
He dredged the countryside and the grass was all concealed,
He sprinkled sugar on the roofs, in patches not too neat,
And in the morning when we woke, the world around was sweet.

Valerie Bloom

This is just a gorgeous image and I love the idea of the giant spilling icing sugar everywhere — did he do it deliberately or by accident? (I like to think he did it deliberately, can picture him smiling as he surveyed his work)


Poetry Friday: I’d Like To Be A Tea Bag – Peter Dixon


I cannot tell a lie…I am a total Tea-aholic and think if I am reincarinated I would like to come back as a tea bag like the character in this poem!

I’d like to be a Teabag

l’d like to be a teabag,
And stay at home all day –
And talk to other teabags
In a teabag sort of way . . .

l’d love to be a teabag;
And lie in a little box –
And never have to wash my face
Or change my dirty socks . . .

l’d like to be a teabag,
An Earl Grey one perhaps,
And doze all day and lie around
With Earl Grey kind of chaps.

l wouldn’t have to do a thing,
No homework, jobs or chores –
Comfy in my caddy
Of teabags and their snores.

l wouldn’t have to do exams
l needn’t tidy rooms,
Or sweep the floor or feed the cat
Or wash up all the spoons.

I wouldn’t have to do a thing,
A life of bliss – you see . . .
Except that once in all my life

I`d make a cup of tea!

Peter Dixon

I think it is the lack of stress in a tea bag’s life that I like – would love not to have to tidy any more rooms and just lie in a tea caddy listening to other tea bags snore! I wonder what kind of tea bag I would be – probably not an Earl Grey as that is too refined for me, in fact I would probably be one of those tea bags that burst and would spill out into the tea caddy!

Poetry Friday: The Sun Has Burst the Sky


This week (8th January) Jenny Joesph died aged 85. She is most well known for the poem Warning – where she discusses how she is going to misbehave when she is an old lady wearing purple. I looked for other poems by her this week and came across this beautiful one.

The sun has burst the sky

The sun has burst the sky
Because I love you
And the river its banks.

The sea laps the great rocks
Because I love you
And takes no heed of the moon dragging it away
And saying coldly ‘Constancy is not for you’.
The blackbird fills the air
Because I love you
With spring and lawns and shadows falling on lawns.

The people walk in the street and laugh
I love you
And far down the river ships sound their hooters
Crazy with joy because I love you.

Think it beautifully sums up  that awesome feeling when you are first in love and bursting full of the joy of it.

Poetry Friday: Christmas Thank You – Mick Gower

Thank you note

 This poem should help you write those difficult thank you cards if you got a present as awful as Jon and Garfield’s!


Dear Auntie, Oh what a nice jumper.
I’ve always adored powder blue,
and fancy you thinking of orange and pink
for the stripes. How clever of you!

Dear Uncle, the soap is terrific.
So useful and such a kind thought
and how did you guess that I’d just used the last
of the soap that last Christmas brought?

Dear Gran, many thanks for the hankies.
Now I really can’t wait for the flu.
And the daisies embroidered in red round the ‘M’
for Michael. How thoughtful of you!

Dear Cousin, what socks! And the same sort you wear
—so you must be the last word in style,
and I’m certain you’re right that the luminous green
will make me stand out a mile.

Dear Sister, I quite understand your concern—
it’s a risk sending jam in the post.
But I think I’ve pulled out all the big bits of glass,
so it won’t taste too sharp spread on toast

Dear Grandad– don’t fret, I’m delighted.
So don’t think your gift will offend.
I’m not at all hurt that you gave up this year
—and just sent me a fiver to spend

I love the humour of the poem and also the kindness that lies behind it. Yes, some of the presents were truely awful but the narrator is careful not to offend anyone with his thank yous. I often think about what my worst present was and I always come up with the same answer; a rainbow striped jumper that itched from dawn till dusk…I wonder what positives I could use to descibe that!


National Spaghetti Day

In honour of National Spaghetti Day (who knew that Spaghetti needs their own day!) I would like to post one of my favourite poems/songs from when I was a youngster. I know that it will be stuck in my head all day…but is that really such a bad thing?

“On Top Of Spaghetti”



On top of spagetti
All covered with cheese
I lost my poor meatball
When somebody sneezed

It rolled off the table
And onto the floor
And then my poor meatball
Rolled out of the door

It rolled in the garden
And under a bush
And then my poor meatball
Was nothing but mush


Oh, the mush was as tasty
As tasty could be
And early next summer
It grew into a tree

The tree was all covered
With beautiful moss
It grew lovely meatballs
And tomato sauce

So if you eat spaghetti
All covered with cheese
Hold on to your meatball
And don’t ever sneeze