Claire is a parent Carer for her two sons who have a rare chromosome disorder.

The room is small, light filled with views over town and fields 
Greens, yellows and vibrant pink 
Cushions lie on comfy sofas and chairs 
An old record cabinet sits in the corner with a shiny mirrored top 
Silk flowered curtains drape the window 
A seascape hangs on the wall looking grey and lifeless. 
 
I hear the sounds from the adjoining kitchen 
Food being prepared 
Doors opening and closing 
The kettle being filled and cups and saucers laid on the table 
There lies a lovingly embroidered table cloth, intact but well worn 
Soon the sound of laughter can heard as cutlery is placed for lunch 
A voice calls “lunch is ready” as the kettle sings its readiness 
 
Cheese quiche has a subtle delicate aroma 
Then the smell of fresh tomatoes fills the air 
Tea is being poured into the cups 
Tinkling as it hits the bottom, then by the stirring of the teaspoon 
Mum smiling and happily to see us 
 
Crunching into plain bread and butter evokes memories of childhood 
(Always the dark crusts) 
Homemade rhubarb and ginger jam on the table 
Reminds me of auntie and softness 
Hoping for the crunch of ginger 
 
Velvety cushions, warn soap suds  
Warmth, love and happiness exude from within these walls always. 

“I should have been on that plane 
but 
a dog bit the baby 
my boss had a heart attack 
my wife went into labour early…” 
so far so coincidental 
but 
“Someone up there must have been looking out for me.” 
 
So 
a prescient deity having decreed 
the rabid mongrel 
the cardiac arrest 
the premature parturition 
their suffering to ensure your survival 
chose to save you 
and consign to die three hundred others 
less deserving of his care? 

Hunting for jumble, I stumble on 
This old cast-off and disregarded thing. 
Out at elbows, cuffs frayed beyond 
the aid of needle and threadbare  
from favouritism. 
 
Home-made, from fleece to yarn to garment 
each stitch, each row, each inch 
carefully counted, fondly formed, 
its triple unity of pattern, texture, hue 
uniquely mine. 
 
Though worn, its warmth is with me still. 
What once I wore with pride, glowed to own, 
I call now an Old Friend, such as  
may be outgrown, but should not be 
lightly cast off. 
 
I will not let it go. Unvalued, out of style, 
it fits me, not precisely but with ease. 
Not good enough for jumble it may be, 
but may be yet will bring me comfort  
in less balmy days. 

How many times 
Feeling sick and anxious 
One minute past 8 
Press Redial Redial Redial 
Engaged tone, No way! 
It’s impossible 
Now it’s ringing out 
A voice, HURRAH! 
“Sorry no appointments left today “ 
The elderly and most vulnerable left to languish for another day. 
Ambulances and A&E left to pick up the slack. 
Hospital waiting times. 
A CRIME 
The systems broken 
WHO CARES….. 
I Do 

My anger smells like brown, burnt brittle 
Toffee with nasty reeks from the 
Depths of the underworld 
 
My anger looks like black 
Bleak, glowering clouds 
Hanging over dreary, desolate, discarded countryside 
 
My anger feels like rough, rocky boulders 
With jaggy edges 
Hiding in wait to ambush 
Then rip and tear at any unwary soul 
 
My anger sounds like dull, drab, dreary drums 
Pounding loudly and brashly 
With discordant beats 
 
My anger smells, looks, feel and sounds like  
I SHOULD TRY THERAPY! 

Married two weeks, excitement growing 
Train to London, luggage stored 
Night in, less than salubrious hotel 
But it’s still so wonderful 
 
Then morning boat, train to Southampton 
Honeymoon clothes a giveaway 
Hustle and bustle quayside 
Porters, moving trolleys, boxes and ropes 
Noise 
Passengers embarking, some with tears others 
So joyful 
Their faces almost split in two 
With broad siles 
Our hearts bursting with happiness 
 
Up the gangplank holding hands 
Slipping but not falling 
We can feel the excitement growing 
Anticipating our great adventure 
Australia – £10 POMS 
 
Now sixty years on, the love still there 
The smiles, less so 
Anticipating another, but less joyful adventure  
But memories linger 

Like anything new, differences are noted 
Language, food, customs all normal for most 
I didnae, oh ai, I ken, meant nothing 
Yet now roll with ease of my tongue 
My Scotland shows pride in its nation 
Kilts not only for weddings, but football with jerseys bring joy 
 
My Scotland welcoming warm hearted 
Always the offer of biscuits or cake with tea 
Never bother the inches enjoy the wee treat 
All weathers in one day no matter the season 
Foot-tapping music of fiddlers accordion drummer and voice 
Who could deny the enticement of dance? 
 
Some food too were novel with uninviting names 
Like haggis or Cullen skink 
But now am thankful I gave them a try 
Now lochs, hills and glens provide awesome views 
Unlike Devons high hedges restricting its views 
Yes, ‘come away in’ there’s much to enjoy 
My Scotland, My Home.  

It’s always sunny and bright 
Adults amble 
Children run 
Light winds blow on the shore 
Where its warm and free 
 
Children laugh and squeal with delight 
Gentle waves la to the shore 
Blue sea splashes as children jump 
 
Covered in protective lotion 
Salty sea spray in the air 
Grown ups vision seafood kebabs 
And squeezing fresh lemons 
Relishing the soft fishy taste 
With cold crunchy salad 
 
Lying on soft fluffy towel 
Laid on warm grainy sand 
Relaxing with a novel – 
A wet child jumps in for a cuddle! 

Preparing to leave – leave where, leave what, leave who 
What do we need – clothing, safety gear, 
Food to last, food to eat, food to recycle, food to clean the air, food that provides water.  
 
Ready: time for three to enter their home for months. 
Comfortable laid back seating, yet strapped in can’t move 
Windows shows view of dark sky, planets, meteors 
But these aren’t film shots – real but not true visions 
They have practiced but now it is real 
 
Can free restraint now, to become free 
Free to float, to swirl around, free spirits 
Weightless for once in a lifetime 

The moon is a biscuit 
Half eaten by clouds 
And I am in a pickle jar  
Watching through green glass 
 
Everyone thinks you are made of cheese,  
But I know you’re not 
I have tasted your heart –  
Its pure starlight 
 
Bowie strums in a distant galaxy 
We bounce on sunflower heads 
Our faces dizzy with laughter 
 
Jupiter calls for a tea break 
The spacemen arrive with peas for eyes 
You don’t crumble you stay strong 
C’mon – lets flee on a bicycle made for two! 

You ask me how I’m feeling 
I just smile and say I’m fine 
There isn’t time to explain 
The heartache that is mine. 
 
The energy, your love of life 
The memories I hold. 
For you, my love, it all has gone and  
I just need to hold on to 
All we had for so long. 
 
I wonder how you are in there 
What you hear and see and feel 
And hope that you may know how loved you are. 
 
And yet there are surprises 
The days you speak your love for me 
The days your eyes are open and  
I can see it so clearly 
So momentarily. 

A grand entrance 
The smell of her perfume 
Which pulls you back even now 
Noises in the background 
You follow 
 
A warm welcome 
Big laughs light up faces 
The sound fills the room 
Footsteps in the gaps 
With music alongside clinking glasses 
 
The room is golden 
The walls alive with stories 
Laughter bouncing off them 
Your safe and comfortable here 
 
Now, the lights are out 
The laughter is settled 
This place is gone 
But not really 
As people made it home 

Sunrise 
The birds awaken 
From the street cars sounds harsh 
Angry voices shut out the chirps 
Sacre bleu!!!