Be still,

And listen to your body.

Feel how instinct inspires it.

Grasp its intuitive understanding

Of life itself.

Be still,

And watch your breath.

Move into it,

Move into the moment.

Feel the abdomen pull in,

The chest push up,

The rib cage expand,

The oxygen fill your lungs.

Don’t forget to breathe out,

And in, and out again.

And as your brain subconsciously activates

And monitors each action,

Consciously acknowledge

The miracle that is you.

This was written for my beautiful daughter, Isla.

I felt you,

Felt you growing inside me.

The whisper of your movement

The percussion of your heartbeat

The sharp stab of a foot or arm

Adjusting to limited space.

I dreamed of you.

And one day,

There you were,

Fully formed,

Beautiful.

No time for a water birth

You rocketed into the world

Like a shooting star.

When you took your first bath

I swear you smiled.

And priceless as you are,

You’ve been a

Child of light

Ever since.

This poem was written about the extraordinary events that took place on the night our mother died.

Owls held a special significance

For our mother.

She loved the barn owls that lived

In the buildings round our house,

The screech owls that called

From the lime trees,

The little owls that clung tenaciously

To the phone wires.

Just before she died

The owls started hooting.

They came from everywhere,

Many of them,

Calling her home.

And since then,

People we know have commented,

“What is it with the owls?

They’re calling more often

And at unusual times during the day.”

And we, her family,

Have noticed, in turn,

That it is always those friends

Our mother did not have the chance

To say goodbye to

Before she died.

Love is just a four-letter word

Like long, or like, or wish, or hope,

Yet, though it may seem quite absurd,

It encircles the heart with silken rope,

And makes each day seem bright and new,

With myriad wonderful things to do.

No hill too steep, no road too far,

To be precisely where YOU are!

You, the lover, you the muse,

You the beautiful dancing shoes

That sashay into the mind, the brain,

And linger, like a sweet refrain,

That needs discovering again and again….

Love is just a four letter word,

Like sing, or grin, or feel or hold,

Yet it’s the icing on the cake,

The greatest story ever told.

It’s the fizz in a fine champagne,

It’s the huff and puff of an old steam train

The breeze breathing gently on your face

The intricacies of a piece of lace,

It’s euphoria, it’s a dream

It’s the cherry on top of a large ice cream,

It’s a name you can’t ignore

If I’m the apple, your its core,

It’s a megatastic superstore.

Love is just a four-letter word,

But oh, it is so much MORE.

Oh here he comes, the genius, the rock star, the king!

Just wait till he get’s going, the rafters will ring!

A surgeon with his baton, a shepherd with his hand,

He’d make a world class orchestra from a small school band!

To begin with, he shakes hands with the first violin,

She’s a graduate of Juilliard, named Amy Simkin.

Then gest’ring for silence, his hand goes up, just so,

As we launch into that ascending, grand arpeggio.

And the music takes over, waves of high emotion,

The Promenaders beam back with the greatest devotion….

But I’ve noticed from this perch, right here at the back,

There’s an oboe in winds that is not really black,

And a fellow in brass who came here alone,

He’s got two odd socks, along with his slide trombone!

Now, I must pay attention, need to count myself in,

This is my big moment, my Lohengrin…

I have to wait till the bar, when the tenors all sing,

Then I pop up with my triangle, ting, ting, ting.

He doesn’t have clothes, like Rupert,

Doesn’t jive like big Baloo,

He doesn’t go funny, for shed loads of honey,

Like tummy-led Winnie the Pooh.

Not Paddington, named for a station,

Unlike Yogi he isn’t smart,

He just isn’t Okey, like woodsman Smokey,

Can’t act like the thespian Bart.

Not fit, like a bear from Chicago,

Not wise like the wondrous Bear Grylls

And this little fellow

Unlike Fozzie ain’t yellow

But he does have the cure to all ills.

His name’s Hopeful, it isn’t Barney,

He travels wherever I roam,

At the end of the day, I am always OK,

Because wherever HE is, is home.

The lovely Marian, who is partly responsible for running this marvellous nursing centre, challenged me to write a poem about this…so here it is!

I am, at present, in a nursing home

Quite by choice, you understand,

I’m doing physio, on my own

Feeling better, feeling grand!

And I have learned a great new word…

That makes one gasp with great surprise,

The reverse trendelenburg!*

A name you’d link with World War spies….

But it’s a term used to describe

A position, as if in a chair,

The only problem is that I’m

Six feet up, yes, in the air!

This brings with it certain dread.

And carers have me bang to rights,

‘Cos this manoeuvre’s in a bed…

And I simply have no head for heights!

(*Huzzah! I didn’t even think I’d find a half rhyme for that!)

Download an App from the iTunes store

And it seems your bed frame is so much more..

It’s got wi-fi and bluetooth – that missing link –

So Apple products can effortlessly synch…

iPhone, iPad, iPod Touch,

All double as remotes, as such…

Turn on a fan, from the comfort of bed…

Or switch on a light, to get your book read…

Dim music for a romantic mood…

Oh, let’s not go there…it might get rude.

Fancy something relaxing, something more chilled?

A 15 speed massage is currently billed

As a must for your welfare, good for your poise.

• the Whisper Quiet Motor ensures there’s no noise.

Billed as “Wall Hugger”, it stands flush to the wall

From there, your desire’s at your beck and call…

If lying flat on your back is passée and boring,

Raise the bed head six inches to stop you from snoring…

Want to feel weightless? Free of that stitch?

Zero Gravity’s applied at the flick of a switch!

Tremendous for endless, remorseless pain,

Collapse into bed over and over again.

You can even opt for a split frame design

So I lie flat, you’re at a gentle incline…

King-size, Queen-size, even a twin,

Begone insomnia, let dreamtime begin…

So that’s my poem, and here comes the crux

What do I get for plugging the Reverie Deluxe?!