The Life of Riley

The name Ronald didn’t stick,

I wanted to be left to take my pick,

John was an option, but thinking of myself highly,

I preferred the name Riley,

I envisioned the way my life would be,

I wrote my own autobiography, 

Conveniently named The Life of Riley,

A business man with a big heart, 

But that stayed hidden under my cashmere scarf, 

A life of betting and playing cards, 

That me, Riley, would never find hard, 

I was a teacher in many ways, 

How to live life in a practical way, 

A bottle of wine, playing trumps until the sun sets slightly,

Ace is high, isn’t it Riley? 

This is what life is about, 

I will be rich without a doubt, 

I just need a win on those premium bonds, 

Then all my problems will be gone, 

One marriage and a straying eye later, 

Will only make my love greater, 

50 years pass and here I hold my autobiography,

Conveniently named The Life Of Riley, 

I realised that Riley didn’t really fit,

I was there in name but not in spirit, 

I changed the name to The Life of John, 

All my memories of Riley had gone, 

The only Riley I had left in me, 

Was that I married Darling Peggy.

To my beautiful Grandad.

The snow fell vigorously that day,
I thought it would take the pain away,
Although the streets white, the skies stay grey,
I love you now, I will love you always

You never think this day will come,
That kind of day that leaves you numb,
Sitting in your arm chair with a glass of rum,
Could only be your idea of fun,
The sun shone brightly that day,
It sort of took the pain away,
The floor glistening and lights array,
I love you now, I will love you always

I need those three words now more than ever,
You are here no matter the weather,
The snow lay as white as a feather,
That beautiful sunshine is all you endeavour,
Sitting by that window feeling oh so clever,
Whilst you bet on that horse that will run on forever,
The rain fell harshly that day,
It came and washed the pain away,
The pitter patter of that rain as it spray,
I love you now, I will love you always.

I worship the ground you walk on

The beauty of poetry is interpretation. You can write whatever comes into your mind and it can piece together to create something beautiful. Poetry isn’t about consistency and perfection, it can be anything that flows during a wave of creativity – as always my poems consist of metaphors and always play on famous sayings, for example in this poem “worshipping the ground you walk on” so obviously I had to play on religious connotations. I hope you all enjoy x

I was an atheist until I met you, 
Always told you to walk a mile in my shoes,
Then you’d know what it was like to love you a little too much,
And how it was to smile a little less, 
And to understand this religious context,
I preyed in a different way,  
By looking into your eyes that day, 
By creating a pathway for you to walk, 
For our minds to connect and not to talk,
Where you loved me less and smiled more,
When you walked on this path your feet lit up the floor,
Beneath your feet you emitted beams so strong,
To believe in anything less than you would be wrong,
In this secular age I found a spiritual connection,
By watching your path closely and following your direction,
Your footsteps led me to an enlightened space,
Where I preyed that our smiles would one day be the same,
We dusted our shoes off and put them aside, 
We found a place that we could hide, 
I took your hand and told you to hold on,
My first time worshipping – and it was the ground that you walked on.

The Owl and The Oak Tree

Hi everyone. As you all know I love writing, and I have created a childrens book which I have been sat on for ages and have no idea what to do with it. I know it is not poetry, but I would appreciate it if you could all read it and maybe message me what you think – thank you so much!


The Owl and The Oak Tree. 

Night swept over the land where Mr Owl lived. It was like any other night but something felt different. Mr Owl was thinking back to when Little Owl flew out of the nest. He also thought about Mrs Owl not returning with the food one night. Mr Owl was growing old and lonely.

Mr Owl was disturbed by a “scuffle”. He turned his head all the way around and noticed a Mole’s home in the ground being dug up by a night Fox. He swooped down to rescue the Mole. He shouted “Mole hold onto my feathers, and I will take you up to my safe branch”. Mole scurried onto Mr Owl’s feathers and Mr Owl flew away.

They both sat upon the safe branch when Mole whispered “thank you for saving me wise Owl, night time is scary sometimes” Mr Owl being old and intelligent told Mole that “things are only scary when we let them be”. Mole closed his eyes and went to sleep, whilst Mr Owl guarded the tree from the night fox.

Hours passed and the sun began to glaze over the land where Mr Owl and Mole lived. It was like any other day but Mr Owl had never seen daylight before. “Theres a ball of burning fire in the sky!” cried Mr Owl, “The trees are so green!” exclaimed Mr Owl, “The sky is so blue!” screeched Mr Owl. “Mole wake up you have to see this!” said Mr Owl. Mole woke up from his sleep after hearing Mr Owls excitement. “Everything is so bright and beautiful, with us being night animals we don’t get to experience this often, isn’t it beautiful?” said Mr Owl to Mole. “I can’t see anything wise Owl, my eyesight isn’t all that clear” sighed Mole. Mr Owl then remembered that Moles could only see outlines and shapes. He couldn’t let Mole miss out on seeing the beauty of day light, so he decided to explore the land and describe to Mole what he had seen.

Mr Owl flew amongst the grass. He flew so fast past a patch of dandelions, the dandelion clocks clouded his vision. He wanted to find The Oak Tree where him, Mrs Owl and Little Owl used to live years ago. He reached The Oak Tree hoping that Little Owl might be there now he is older – but there was no sign of him. He set himself down on the highest branch and overlooked the land, it looked so clear in the daylight. The light began to slip away so Mr Owl returned to Mole to tell him all about what he had seen.

They sat under the shiny stars and Mr Owl described The Oak Tree to Mole and how much it meant to him. He said it was where he watched Little Owl grow up and fly away and where he lost his Mrs Owl. Mr Owl said how the tree felt like home, but he had to leave it and move on. He also described the patch of grass, the dandelion clocks and the journey leading up to The Oak Tree. “Now I’m growing old and tired Mole, if anything happens to me I want you to visit The Oak Tree and stay there” Said Mr Owl. “But I can’t see!” Said Mole. “Your imagination can be just as beautiful” said Mr Owl. “Now Mole, after staying awake and guarding this tree, and exploring all day I’m very tired, I must rest my eyes!”
Mr Owl closed his eyes and passed away peacefully.

Mole woke up that morning, and although he couldn’t see the sun, he could feel the warmth on his whiskers. He tried to wake Mr Owl but could not get a response. Mole shed a tear for Mr Owl, but a tear of happiness for the friendship he had been given. Mole knew then that he had to follow Mr Owl’s wishes and vist The Oak Tree. He climbed down from the tree using his imagination and senses and set of on his journey.

Mole passed a patch of grass and brushed his whiskers on the dandelion clocks. The same dandelion clocks that had regrown after Mr Owl flew past them. Mole felt happy as he knew things could grow again and be as beautiful as they once were. Mole sat down and imagined the daylight to be as beautiful as Mr Owl had told him about, he rested his eyes and fell asleep.

Mole woke up the next morning, it was like any other day, but Mole felt lost without Mr Owl. He feared travelling alone but remembered that things were only scary when we let them be. Mole travelled along this path for 2 days using his imagination and whiskers to guide him.

Eventually as night was closing in, Mole felt a massive tree infront of him. “This must be The Oak Tree!” cried Mole. He touched it with his nose and felt the rough bark and damp moss. Suddenly a night fox appeared and chased Mole. He remembered to not be scared and scurried in the other direction, until suddenly he was grabbed and taken to a branch in The Oak Tree. “Mr Owl is that you?!” exclaimed Mole. “I am an Owl, but I don’t think we have met before, that fox was very scary, especially for a partially blind Mole like you!” Said this Owl. “Things are only scary when we let them be” replied Mole. “And your imagination can be just as beautiful as your eyesight” said the Owl. Mole was shocked, he remembered Mr Owl saying that to him in the past. “You must be Little Owl who flew away, he taught me that too!” said Mole. “Well we have both learnt from the best then.” said Little Owl. Little Owl had found The Oak Tree and visited it every night for the past few days hoping to find Mr Owl, but Mr Owl had been visiting it in the daytime. Little Owl felt sad, but also happy to meet his fathers dear friend. 

Both Little Owl and Mole waited for the sun to rise that morning, it was like any other day but Mole realised Mr Owl had not only shown him The Oak Tree and the beauty of daylight, but had shown him a deep friendship. Little Owl described the daylight to Mole everyday from that morning onwards, and even though Owl’s can turn their heads almost 360 degree’s, Little Owl never looked back – and Mole was glad his friends “opened his eyes”. 

The End. 

A mental artist

Hey guys, I am going to be very honest and real with you all, so I hope you appreciate it.

I didn’t want my blog to become really mental health orientated, because it was supposed to be used as a platform to share my poetry, but ironically, suffering with my mind has made my poetry really mental health orientated! Now, I’m going to explain some things I have been going through, and I don’t expect anyone to understand if they haven’t experienced it – but it is very scary and very strange. I want to talk about it because when it first started happening, I had no idea it even existed and genuinely thought I was going crazy, I even googled it and not much came up 4 years ago – but now I am seeing more and more articles about it, which is so amazing. DEREALISATION. A very scary and very real symptom of anxiety, it’s different for so many people but it is how it affects you, I remember when it first started happening I could only describe it as being in a bubble, or like a pane of glass was in front of me, it then progressed to me looking at things and not recognising them – everything looked the same but it felt different. Once, I looked out my window and everything looked like it had been painted, thus my next poem, being trapped inside a painting. It’s became a part of my life and I am living with it, it doesn’t define me, I am living perfectly and normally – but I cannot begin to tell you how hard it was when I had no clue what it was, so if anyone is feeling the same, I have experienced it so drop me a message please. You’ve got to learn to love yourself no matter what is going on inside your head, it’s taken me years to be honest with myself and everyone else, because you feel embarrassed, you want to be strong and you feel weak, but there’s nothing stronger than fighting a battle with your mind everyday. So, to me derealisation feels like I am stuck inside a painting, what does it feel like to you?

It isn’t what I imagined being stuck inside a painting,
I heard that art was beautiful, but for now I am waiting,
You said you painted gold on the canvas but I can only see black,
Every brush stroke of delicacy will only reveal a crack,
Michel, you said you painted an angel,
Oh, it’s a red figure and I can’t see a halo,
Andy, I am trying to be at peace but I am fighting a war,
The hole is getting bigger and I’ve fallen in it once more,
The beauty of this painting I so desperately want to explore,
Now please explain the painting to me once more,
You’ve painted a tree but I can see it in 3D,
The branches are swaying and waving at me,
I can’t work out the colour of the leaves,
You said they are green, but my brain it deceives,
My mind has painted a picture itself,
No matter how hard I look, I see something else,
Your art is beautiful, but to be free I must follow,
For now just paint da’ other one, Kahlo

Love Your Elders

Today I want to write about loneliness in the elderly community. As most of us are aware, grandparents are very special. For those who are lucky enough, including myself, they can raise you like a second mother and father. However, what about the elderly who have no family around them? They are full of so many amazing experiences and stories but sometimes they have no one to tell them too. You can always volunteer at a retirement home and show that age does not define meaning. A lot of people leave this earth with the whole world in their hands, just because your body gets old, doesn’t always mean your mind will. I wrote one poem when I was 14 which explains this issue and I wrote another 4 years later. Here’s the journey;


14 years of age:

Like a gust of air,

Soon he just disappeared,

An old feeble man,

Dying he feared,

An isolated room,

With a window and a view,

He overlooked the trees,

He watched the birds as they flew,

Nobody knew his name,

He’s too old to be remembered,

40 puffs of his pipe – his life will soon be surrendered,

Not capable of moving,

No trace of his existence,

Just another life form evaporated,

Swept into the distance.

18 years of age:

You could see a whole world behind those glasses,

So many stories to tell about all those romances,

Lost his childhood sweetheart at 70 but still full of love,

An experience in which he was undeserving of,

Memories of school dances back in the 1950’s stay fresh in his mind, 

The innocence of two lovers – to now he was blind, 

Each wrinkle on his face marked a symbol of greatness, 

He was a chef and she was a waitress,

They met in work over an old fashioned stove, 

It was love at first sight – and to make her happy he strove,

Only reliant on each other, 

When she passed – he lost his lover,

Now alone in his home he thinks about those nights,

That they’d go to sleep together and switch off all the lights,

Dream about each other until the sunlight glazed, 

Forever in his heart those memories will be engraved,

Even though his body is old – his mind still full of wisdom,

His last wish is to share these stories with those that’ll listen.