I live behind a locked door

in self imposed exile,

my room is my world

and if I stretch out my arms

I can almost reach

from one bare wall to the other.

Within these familiar boundaries

my books, with their words that stretch

the confines of my phobic solitude,

occupy the small places

behind the chair

and under the table

and on the threadbare rug

in the centre

is just enough space to dance.


The broken fairy

Every baby is born with the potential to fly.

The world of faerie is very close by.

Children as they grow begin to doubt

their world fills with earthly facts to find out.


But this little girl was growing her wings

at night in her dreams she danced faerie rings

at school she always had her head in a book

reading magical stories, the teacher’s head shook


Although all the adults around her despaired

and muttered that she would grow up impaired

the faerie child just smiled and flew

she was doing what she wanted to do.


But faerie children living an earthly life

are often singled out for conflict and strife

Grown men have need to own and possess

that which is different, they found her address


And in the dead of night they came to her door

they took her free spirit and still wanted more

so they ripped her gossamer wings from her back

and stuffed them all crumpled into a sack


The faerie lay broken, the magic was gone

she didn’t want to carry on

better to die than live in such pain

never to fly in freedom again


The broken faerie grew up in sadness

inside her head her secret madness

All her dreams had been taken, there was nothing left

but a consuming anger for the long ago theft


Long years went by in isolation

She felt only longing and frustration

The world called her crazy and locked her away

they fed her on pills, she had to obey.


A therapist gave her a camera one day

when words had failed to help her convey

the height of her longing, the depths of despair

and how she didn’t belong anywhere


She looked into bushes and up into trees

at buds and berries and fluttering leaves

and there was the faerie world she had once known

all the beautiful places as a child she had flown.


She has a place in the world now, her pictures are sought

and she glows with pleasure each time they are bought

and on the inside she embraces a child

who was once part faerie, so free and so wild.









Finally, in you,

I have found all of my anger

from a lifetime of abuse

and intimidation,

you have given it a face and a name.

I have nurtured the spark carefully

and fanned the flame.

I have protected it from

the cold winds of my fear

and the quiet rain of my tears

and so it grew strong.

The more you try to oppress me

the stronger you make me,

You are teaching me

and I am a willing pupil.

I learn from every raging storm

you hurl at me.

I am not afraid of you

and I will fight you

till you run from me knowing

how small and helpless

you really are behind

the bully’s mask.

Never again

will I let anyone treat me

with anything less than dignity

and respect.


Autumn fire

The woods are on fire with autumn.

Each leaf flares bright in the sun,

then waltzes with the winter wind

as it flutters and twirls to it’s earthy grave.

The brief bright firelight

will give way to grey silence

as the wind steals the voice of the trees.

They alone will bear witness

standing in quiet judgement.

They can give no more shelter

in their naked solitude

but they will see all.


I will return to this place of lost innocence

in the bleak years ahead

and the trees will bend to whisper in my ear

We saw, you are real.


Old roses never die


So many years were wasted searching for oblivion

walking with death at my side,

caring for nothing and no one,

but then you came

and took death’s place at my side

and I just kept going

on and on and on

though my body may fade and wither,

though my eyes cry and my heart falters

my spirit will always keep on going on,

old roses never die.


(You can now buy this photograph in a range of prints and gifts here )