A bunch of  carrots on my plate,

Eaten cooked or raw,

Either way they taste just great,

And you’ll be back for more. 

Supermarkets all expound 

A certain shape and size,

But flavour isn’t ever found,

On the evidence of just your eyes.

These veggies that I’m eating

Are, every one, home-grown,

Ànd their taste ŵill take some beàting,

So go on! Grow your oŵn!

© Text Caro Ness 2016

  
Image. Veronica Sheather 

I’m Harri, and I’m very cute,

But if I don’t know you, I wilł scoot,

And hide in a dark and secret place,

I can fit into the smalłest space!

© Text/Image Caro Ness 2016  

Late!

The tempo of my heart

Matched that of my racing feet!

Late!

No excuse for dawdling,

Daydreaming,

Being effete. 

Late!

No respect for others,

For time restraints,

Just deadbeat!

© Text/Image Caro Ness 2016

  

 

The view from the roof of

The Royal  Londom Hosput

Is a long one,

A spectacular panorama

Of this glorious city.

Yet, if you see it on a daily basis,

You do not stop to admire this

Incomparable vision,

Because you will be a member

Of the London’s Air Ambulance team,

And therefore more interested in  

 managing trauma.

The age-old irony,

Beauty in the midst of pain.

 ©  Text Caro Ness 2016

Photo: Eleanor Steyn  

I went for a walk in the woods today?

Sasha and I both like to play,.

We jump, we tumble, we  we run and run,

We have games together, it’s really fun!

But now I’m dog tired, like the living dead ,

I want some grub and I want my bed! 

© Text/Image Caro Ness 2016  

 

If I could, I’d walk through a storm,

To keep our love both close and warm,

There’s nowhere safer than in your arms,

With all your glorious, myriad charms,

Your eyes, your laugh, your touch, your smile,

All seduce, bewitch, and yes,  beguile,

I want to spend my whole life through,

With you, yes you, just you.

© Text/Image Caro Ness 2016 

 

Grapes,

Sun-drenched,

But with cool dew

Still upon them.

A thirst-quenching start

To my day!

© Text Caro Ness 2016 

 

Early mornings,

Hugh and I

Would go fishing in the creek.

The sun would bathe the place

In a gentle glow,

As if it had been drawn anew. 

And we felt like we were

The only two people in it. 

© Text Caro Ness 2016

 
Winslow Homer, Fishing, 1878

As the sun goes down,

The lights come up,

And each city block is illuminated,

Mapped out, 

Like a jigsaw,

Neatly,

And expertly pieced together,

By skilful master architects.

© Text Caro Ness 2016

  

Why don’t more places do this at the beach?

So for wheelchair users the surf is within reach.

Being in a wheelchair is not what we chose,

So it’s lovely to be able to get sand on our toes!

© Text Caro Ness 2016