I went down to my favourite spot by the river

It is where I always go 

When my soul needs refreshment 

Still waters

Calm my emotions 

 And the smell

Of water and 

The fragrance of trees

Awakens my senses 

And lifts my spirits 

There is nothing like being in Nature

When you need space 

To think and breathe 

© Caro Ness 2016

Photo used by kind permission of +laughing waters



My love, you are my one and only,

My world begins and ends with you,

I love each little thing about you,

Everything you say, you do.

We met first across the ether,

And yet I knew your very soul,

Your gentle touch, I crave so much,

Began to make me whole.

I am your greatest work of art,

Because you forged me quite anew,

So I repeat, I am complete,

Because I’m loved by you. 

© Text Caro Ness 2016

© Photo Anthony Fawkes

Paint on chin

And paint on nose,

All over fingers,

Hands and clothes.

A painting’s never quite begun,

Unless there’s paint on everyone! 

© Caro Ness 2016

Painting is used by kind permission of +karen hayward​ who also set this #poetsprompt 

The fact is that I share my birthday,

With a woman incredibly brill!

She’s an author, an artist,

She’s simply the smartest,

I adore her and I always will.

She wrote of the wonderful Pigling Bland,

Samuel Whiskers and all of his tricks,

She wrote them as pieces,

For nephews and nieces,

The incomparable, marvellous Beatrix*!

*I was born rather more recently,

Beatrix Potter? 1866.

In an age when a girl had to marry,

She forged a fantastic career,

More keen on creatures and the paints she could carry,

Than convention or social niceties, I fear! 

She fell for her publisher, Norman Warne, 

Who, adoring, was oft at her side,

But her parents, who doubted him,

Made her pledge three months without him,

And during that time Norman died.

Broken-hearted, Beatrix left town for the country,

To a place she had always adored,

And with the help of Norman’s sister, Millie,

Her equilibrium was slowly restored.

She bought Hill Tops and numerous other farms,

In the Lake District, to which she had fled, 

Instead of mass decimation,

And complete desecration,

She saved them for the nation instead. 

She married William, a friend from her childhood,

A Yorkshireman, wise and robust,

When she died, she left William a fortune **,

All else to the National Trust.***

© Caro Ness 2016

© Photo: Renee Zellwegger as Beatrix Potter in the film Miss Potter – Momentum Pictures 

** £211,638 – the equivalent of £8 million today 

*** The National Trust preserves and protects historic places and spaces for the public in perpetuity 

A promise of life arrives in the Spring,

The unfurling, uncurling of everything…

The greening of this Earth.

Summer brings a shimmering haze,

Lazy, crazy, sun-filled days,

A fleeting few months worth.

Colour characterises the Fall,

Orange, red, gold, I love it all,

Yet it’s the signal for dearth.

Winter brings a numbing chill, 

We’re freezing, wheezing, just until…

Spring’s advent and rebirth.

© Text / Image Caro Ness 2016

We went on the ride at Washington State, 

It’s frightening, like lightning,

And bang up to date,

It has 2 giant loops of 360 degrees,

Which made me fearful and tearful,

And have wobbly knees,

It’s a whopper of a ride,

You don’t want to miss a trick, or you end up feeling sick,

‘Cause it does something cruel to your inside.

It’s a giant rollercoaster,

It’s chilling, it’s thrilling,

It makes one boast, or

As Sam said, “Let’s go again!”

 © Text Caro Ness 2016

© Image @David Palmer

I’ve walked this stretch of beach before,

This rocky, barren, savage shore ,

And it reveals one fatal flaw,

I’m grief stricken, I’m heartsore.

My head and heart fell like dominoes,

For one for whom my love just grows,

No soft caress, no sweet repose,

Just an ache that has me in its throes…

No warning that you’d pull up anchor,  

That my love would be a vicious canker, 

That for you I’d always hanker,

That my love would become a bitter rancour. 

So send your message in a bottle,

In response my skin will flush and mottle,

And I’ll wish your raft was made of whattle,

‘Cause you, my dear, I’d cheerfully throttle.

© Text Caro Ness 2016

© Image  +maricris cabrera​

Today is Roald Day. It would have been his 100th birthday today. All of the world will be celebrating Roald Dahl today, particularly Wales and Cardiff, the place of his birth, indeed Cardiff has been named City of The Unexpected in his honour. 
I was lucky enough to be invited to his funeral because I was working for Murray Pollinger, his literary agent at the time, responsible for the non-book rights in the UK and USA (film and TV, translation, serial rights, permissions etc.). 

There are unique times

On Earth

When the atmospheric temperature 

Colludes to warp the weather

And I was there in one of them

To watch

A warped moon rise.

Layers of cold air

Trapped below warmer ones

Refracted the light

And created 

A distorted moon.

© Text Caro Ness 2016

© Image Harald Wochner



+JPolamzKing invited me, amongst others, to pen a poem to accompany this photo by +Amanda Anna for #poetsprompt

Sand underfoot,

White, soft, powdery,

Fine as caster sugar,

Caresses the trunks

Of a line of palm trees, 

Beach umbrellas, ranked in serried rows,

Form a rainbow windbreak,

Under broken, cloud-filled skies,

Clearwater Beach, Florida

© Text Caro Ness 2016

© Text Image +Amanda Anna