Troll tails

This is an extract from a current story I am working on. It's only a small preview of a wonderful story which will soon be available to buy in a beautiful handcrafted story book. Enjoy!

“But he’s got a tail!” Scamp whispered in surprise. And sure enough, there coming out of his trousers was a rather bushy tail. It looked to Scamp very much like a squirrel’s tail, only this was a dark brown – the colour of mud – and it had black stripes running around it.

“Of course he’s got a tail – he’s a Troll!” said the Wizard as if everybody knew this. “And when he remembers he has a tail it is his proudest possession!”

“What do you mean, if he remembers?” asked Scamp, curiously.

“Trolls are funny creatures,” said the Wizard. “Sometimes they are so busy worrying about their precious trees and rocks that they forget they have a tail.”

“But that’s crazy!” said Scamp.

“But true!” replied the Wizard. “Do you remember how I told you that Trolls are excellent at hiding?”

Scamp nodded.

“Well sometimes, if you’re really lucky, you will be able to find a Troll because he has forgotten to hide his tail!”

The Life of Shoes

Open-toed, slingbacks and heels
you ever thought of how it feels,
every day to walk the street
filled with all your smelly feet?

Big toes, little toes, all inbetween
I must admit, I've never been keen
heels and soles are just as bad
the life of a shoe is really sad

We walk down streets of cobbled stones,
some walk up carpets to big thrones!
But trainers have the awfullest deal
trudging around on muddy fields

We're rubbed and polished 'til we shine,
"Your shoes are great, but look at mine!"
Until one day we fall apart,
then we're thrown onto the dustbin cart

And so you see the life of shoes
is not so great, we always lose
so give a thought to your trusty pair
next time you leave them out to air.


I wrote this poem a few years ago when I wondered if it were possible to write a poem about anything. I looked around my room for an object to write about and my shoe rack caught my attention. It turns out that not only can you write a poem about practically anything - it can be fun too!!

Lullaby

It's dark outside, dark in here too... and so quiet. The radio is softly emitting the final notes of a lullaby and it's as if the sounds are swallowed by the darkness, until it's just me and my thoughts.

I hear your breathing, too - soft and steady - just like you. The rustle of your clothes as you shift gears reaches my ears, a sound usually unheard but so clear in the dark telling me far more than my eyes could. Instead they search the road ahead, leaving my ears to care for you.

Drifting along these country roads, the twists and turns are upon us almost before we know it, yet I have no fear... the gentle movements and steady beat never betray the attention you keep, quietly ensuring our safety this night, like so many others.

Even as I turn my eyes from the road, sleepily noting each village we pass, I know I am safe. My thoughts wander and I softly drift to sleep, the lullaby once more reaching my ears as the motions rock me.

As I slumber you smile, hearing the soft snores and gentles gasps as dreams play in my head. Soon this peace will be lost, as the day's events sweep us away - but for now you guide us safely onwards, as we traverse this road together.

I wrote this piece yesterday ready for a writer's group I run online. I love travelling as it allows my mind time to wander and it's just so special at night time when all is quiet and it feels like the rest of the world is slumbering. That is where this piece came from.

Desperate

Desperate, she stands there
desperate for someone to take away her pain,
the agony that's tearing her apart.

Lonely, she falls there
lonely and trying to hide behind a hidden wall,
a wall she's built around her broken form.

Broken, she lies there
broken by the world's crushing force,
the force that was too much for her fragile being.

If only someone had seen...

I wrote this poem when I was in the Sixth Form as I waited for my next exam to start. It was a grey day and the rain was pouring down but it was quiet where I sat and as a girl came running past me in tears closely followed by a comforting friend I began to write this. It took me almost 5 more years and lots of pain to realise that this poem was about myself.

The Greatest Gift

The greatest gift that I could give would be an unseen hand
embracing life across the earth, in sky and sea and land,
I'd give my very best to all, to help them through their pain
and share with them their greatest joy and celebrate their gain,
I'd shine upon the smallest flower and water it with tears
so it would grow to be quite strong, and conquer all its fears,
I'd help them all to learn to know they'd never be alone
for love unseen is all they need to make them feel at home,
my love for you is what I give, to help you understand
that deep inside your very being lives this unseen hand.

I wrote this poem when I was in the Sixth Form. I can't remember what inspired it but the line "water it with tears" is a tribute to the emotive poetry of William Blake's Songs of Innocence and Experience.

One Day

To hold you in my arms
just one time,
my heart would melt.

The look in your eyes
so loving and free,
my fears would die.

To kiss your lips
tender and true,
my tears would dry.

To know you
your true self,
knowing how I felt...

One day
My Love,
I hope.


I wrote this poem when I was 18 and it is about the feeling of being in love and the hope of feeling that way once more.