Thursday, 3 March 2016

Angel McKenzie

❤️RIP Angel MacKenzie go teach those angels how to party❤️

This poem was originally dedicated to my friend Karen and her children, when they lost their father in 2012.
Karen recently lost her battle with cancer. 

I held no desire to shrivel and fade
Unable to walk or eat without aid
No wish to dribble upon my chin
whilst silently squirming from deep within
I have passed 
Pain extinguished 
Exhale and let me go
For my soul now free to wander
Will forever be with you
Feel my caress with the morning sun
and remember these words
direct from my tongue
Stop crying
I am fine
Now go and have a fucking good time!

Sunday, 21 September 2014


It begins....
I’ve got to ride it
this crazy madness wave
With too familiar pain
and tight, sickening knot
Stay with it to the end
Life becomes fast forward
panic in every frame
Explosive self destruction
emotions unrestrained.
Injustice all surrounds me
defense on red alert.
Touch and I will scorch you 
Judge and turn to stone
Pressure keeps on rising
there is poison in my vein.
Desire to runaway
become as dust.
Insecurity overwhelming
eventually tears do spark.
Heartache without reason 
everything looks so dark.
Then sudden as a sunrise 
all my fear subsides.
and with it all madness
like a wave of shifting sand.
“She Devil‘  go pack!  
At last our girl is back. 

Saturday, 30 August 2014

The Storm Within

Behold, amber warning!
The most terrifying sky.
Possessed by demons,
with force she blew.
Twice deadly as the hurricane,
that once bore her name.
Tornado lightening bolts,
soul windows expel.
Laments of injustice.
Showers of ice hail.
Attempts to freeze all time.

Yet hidden deep,
within eye of the storm
Resides the wee lass.
Who's heart once beat with passion.
Now replaced by a pendant of ice.
Sat waiting for a sunbeam,
a rainbow,
or a feather.
Just a little sign
so she can return.
To being nice.

Sunday, 17 November 2013

Still Missing

How many years have you been lost?
How many prayers have I said?
How many tears have I shed?
Years they were silent
Only now they slowly open
with a cautious clue
Yet you are still gone

Were you surprised when they came
Or did you hear the scythe knocking
against your window pane
The faces in knitted shadow
Creeping upon you
Stealing you from me?

What are you now?
Half a skull
Or tied up like game
thrown for carrion
Did you cry out for me to hold you
Facing the shallow hole in the bog
Threatening to swallow you whole
Into its sloppy dark depths

I gave up on justice
I just want to know
where you are
That you’re not a disappearing ghost
That there was no truth in their lies
I want somewhere to go
To know where your last breath
Right into our
mother’s comforting embrace

I stand now
Where they say you probably are
The earth squelching beneath my boot
I take a sharp breath
everytime I brush against
A small hard object
Hoping for
A bone
A belt
A shoe
I could dig till doomsday
And never find you

Whatever you say
Say nothing
But please
Come back
Come back to me

Author Harry Johnston 

Monday, 17 September 2012

Wildernesschic Poetry Recital - So Many Little Shoes

This is the one poem I regret leaving out of my book.
Book two maybe ...

From the black and white picture,
I will never forget.
The Angel haired girl,
standing out from the rest.
Her innocent face,
looking so out of place.
All down to a question of race.
What happened my darling,
where do you rest,
did you shower with your mummy,
or were you saved for the test ?
"Arbeit Macht Frei" 
said only in jest.
Did you friends turn against you,
what did you do?
Forced to leave forever,
the only life that you knew.
All you held dear,
overnight disappeared.
What were they doing,
why were you there?
to the left. 
to the right.
Pretty face so confused.
Eyes wide,
with fright
"What's happening Mummy?"
You had not a clue.
To me, 
you were beautiful.
To them,
just a Jew..

So many questions.
Yet nothing to do,
but to remember forever,
those thousands of shoes.
Once belonging to people,
just like you and I,
taken away by the call of
 "Sieg Heil"

Tuesday, 28 August 2012

Sunday, 12 August 2012

The Beautiful Ones

Where do all the beautiful ones go?
When they start to fade
and their looks have flown.
To risk their life, under the knife?
For a nip and tuck, that could surely fuck up.
Or to leave the scene.
Disappear from view, opt out and go.
Live life alone, like Greta Garbo.

Thursday, 9 August 2012

Exciting Times

“So, who are you and what do you do?”...

How many times I have been asked this question in life.  Somehow, judgements, whether they are right or wrong in their presumption, are often made on my answer.  

I do many things and have been many things to many people, but, the true description of what I now feel I am, is an artist.  I have always appreciated style and beauty.  For years I have enjoyed making people look pretty, by styling them.  Their hair, makeup, clothing even their homes.  I thrive on a quest for the perfect french chandelier or an art deco evening bag and will spend hours trawling junk shops, attic sales and Ebay, for that perfect something.  In a local gift store, people have been known to rummage through my trolley, mistaking it for display. It has been said that I possess an eye.

There is nothing I love more than enhancing that natural beauty within and unconsciously search for it in daily life.  The way a shadow falls, or the light filtering through boarding on an abandoned building.  There is beauty and emotion everywhere, now I love to capture it either by sketching, photographing, or writing about it.  

After much persuasion, from people who’s opinions I hold with tremendous respect.  I decided to publish a book of my poems. The artist in me wanted to create something a little different.  I thought if I used a few of my images, it would make it more visually appealing and compliment the words.  It was never about the money, it rarely is with me, I am always motivated by the heart first.  

Of course what I hadn’t considered in this quest, was the cost of publishing, so when the publisher gave me the price the completed book would eventually retail at, I nearly wept.  I felt that I had created a very beautiful thing, that would never sell.  Personally I would love to gift you all a copy, but my husband would kill me.  So back to the drawing board. 

Had this book been in black and white, it would be a whole different story, yet so would the book.  I began to experiment with black and white, but after seeing the full colour book, well, it felt disappointing.  So, working closely with the production team, we have reformatted the book reducing the page count, which then reduced the price a little.

I have also made the decision to forgo my royalties.
I repeat, it has never been about the money.

I just want to produce a book that I am proud of, that I would enjoy reading myself and as it is dedicated to my dad, I wanted it to be perfect.  Poetry is never going to set the world on fire, unlike “Fifty Shades,” but sometimes a poem can really touch a part of your soul as you identify with the writer. 

"One of the things a poem can do
Is remind us of what
We forgot we knew"
Brian Patten

So many people have been so supportive and lovely about wanting to buy my book and I am delighted and humbled by their support.  I know it will be a lovely “Coffee Table Book” containing, I hope, a poem and images for everyone. It will be available to order online at £17.99 SB and £24.99 HB from Amazon, Xlibris and Barnes and Noble. I am not yet sure of which UK stores will be stocking it.

What I intend to do for all my followers and Facebook page friends, who wish to purchase my book, is to take pre orders.  Where I can buy the book using my author discount and be able to provide everyone copy at a more reasonable price of £12.99 for the soft cover and £17.99 for hard back.  I will even sign it for you if you like ... Giggle.  

So please if you would like a copy please email me at  I do not want any money now,  I only wish to know how many books I need to order.

So now when the next person asks me, what do I do, I could answer, with a huge smile, that I am a published poet.  
Even though I won’t have changed, I am still a full time housewife and mother,  I do have to admit to owning a sense of accomplishment.

Monday, 4 June 2012

Sunshine After The Rain

Morning sunlight smiles upon the land.
Green fields 
sweet summer grass 
Waves of wild flowers
The evening rain fall
making everything new.
The air feels soft 
A sky so blue
filled with birdsong. 
The river high and opaque
as it meanders past.
A lane in motion.
Crows calling from on high
as I watch the lone Buzzard fly.
Trees filled with age and wisdom 
whisper through new leaves
“We love you, you are not alone.”