We went to pick blackberries up in the woods
With a plastic bowl each and our old welly boots
But the berries were smaller than in previous years
And you said, ”We’ll not find the best ones ‘round here…”

Kathy O’Toole

Kathy O’Toole was a painter, not the ones you hang on walls
But skirting boards and ceilings, window frames and doors
Steel-capped boots, jeans slung low, curls cut close to her head
Paint on her t-shirt, between her toes
Big Irish smile wherever she went

Kathy O’Toole came from Cavan but a-travellin’ she did go
And we met her in London in a pub on City Road
Oh we weren’t in a hurry ‘cos it was Friday night
And 5 or 6 pints later
We’d put the world to rights…

The Rag of Spring

New shirt with old jeans
Smell of Al’s coffee beans
Soft pyjamas on my skin
Sweet sound of a mandolin

Sunset over Wanstead Flats
Garden walls with grumpy cats
Bluebells bursting from the ground
In love again with this old town…

Acrostic poem

This is two acrostic poems. The first one using bad things I’ve been called and the second a much more positive interpretation!

Emma the weirdo, out of place
Manic – Depressive basket case
Miscreant, no control
Alcoholic, on the dole….