One Simple Gold Band

The nursing home had labeled it.

A thin strip of sticky white paper

folded over the band, pressed together,

with your name in neat, tiny letters

as if it was a reminder in itself

that the person who once owned it

could no longer claim it as their own

and had to be told ‘this is yours’

‘this is something precious to you’

‘this is part of who you were’.


Tonight’s prompt was to write a poem based on a token such as those left by mothers for their children at the Foundling Hospital in London. Make sure to click the badge above and check out the other wonderful poems written by the fantastic poets taking part in tonight’s fun.



Barefoot I followed you across the shoreline.

My feet shy of sharp things,

I squinted in the darkness for warnings

before edging my toes closer to the water

not quite prepared for the bite

brought about by the sunset three hours before

when this had seemed like a good idea

and I’d taken little convincing.


While you waded in hip height

I lingered in the shallows

tide around my ankles,

cold fingers creeping up my calves

and a knot in my stomach

that wouldn’t let me go any deeper.

When I asked you to drive me home,

you didn’t ask why.


Daily Prompt: Dim



When I woke it was with me,

curled around my shoulders like a scarf

both there and not,

tickling the hairs on the back of my neck

as I shuffled around the kitchen

to brew the tea and start breakfast,

crockery clinking between my hands

while it whispered around me.

Seeing the shadow across the door

brought relief.

The same as when someone balances a plate

too far beyond the edge of a counter

but you can’t do anything except watch it waver

half way between safe and broken.

When it finally hits the ground

shattering into bright, white slithers

that dance across the tiles into every corner

the chord snaps and you can breath again.

It’s the waiting that drains you

until there’s nothing left to give.

Daily Prompt: Premonition 

This is the fourth poem I’ve posted today here on writing and works, I’ve been trying to write more poetry and I’ve found the more I write the easier it gets. It’s also helping me improve my poetry so if you’ve got the time any feedback would be greatly appreciated.

I’d particularly like your thoughts on a piece called Legs Eleven .¬† It’s a little more political and perhaps personal that my normal fare but I hope it’s a poem with a little more power as well.

Thank you for reading.

Pieces Of You

I have learnt where the pieces go by now.

I have the blisters to show

how many times I rebuilt your spine,

and added reinforcements to the vertebrae,

only to pick up the fragments

when it inevitably snapped and shattered

onto the floor again.

There are splinters of bone beneath my skin.

The bits of you that became too sharp,

that became too much like thorns

to bear them in your own sides.

I let you turn my fingers into bramble thickets

and plucked out all the edges

of careless words hurled in your direction

when all it really took was a whisper

to knock you down from the scaffolding

and my arms around you were no real protection.


Poem For The Daily Prompt: Rebuild