Lullaby, no added sugar

Word jar I wish I
Could jam my way

Like a jazz musician
Feeling akin to
Misery in beats

Tipping top lip and
Sticking toes’ curlable
Bits to the very

Top tips of sweaty
Sox from the drum
Hum of the streets

Word jar, I wish I
Could jam my way

SAD, never mind, anticipate Spring.


This is the time of year when

Music needs to dig deep

To find us, rap a rope

Around our waists and wind

Us up to the light.


This is the time of year

When summer sounds are

Hollow and clatter round

Like flies scanning for jam

Round  an empty jar.


This is the time of year

When Love’s warmth is

Set in relief against the

Grey, when any ray is welcomed

 Like a hero from the war.


This is the time of year

When something as tiny as a

Crocus bud is all the hope

We need to prove again that

Life springs from mud.

It’s time for tea

We lock our hearts away

In a strong case made of

Glass you can see but not

Penetrate and behind each

Plate we line up the cups with

 Matching saucers, best bit turned

 To face the audience while behind

It cracks choke on dust and the

Wood collects gloom for want of

Other company; these cups have

Nothing to say, locked away for

So long, they have forgotten how

To warm their bones with tea, how

To handle the soothing, be cradled in

Jammy fingers and strawberry thumb