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As I sit up at my kitchen worktop
Weary but aware
I observe the fields a little way off,
The crows up in the air.

I sip my hot, hot, tea
In a way I never did,
Absorbing every little taste
It shakes about my head.

My Two, you’re cuddled-up upon,
The cushion laden sofa.
Mess surrounds you silently,
Like a city left forgotten.

The tapping, whirrs and zaps
Of both your chosen devices
A reminder I said, ‘I’d never do this’
Tech, before the sun rises.

But in an effort, to hold together
A little sanity
Its key to loosen the reins a little
Allow time for us all to breathe.

To undo the buckles on that straight jacket
That were telling me what to do,
A packed agenda, All the shoulds,
Even swimming lessons in the pool.

If anything this funny time is sure to teach in buckets
Is to embrace the quieter moments,
Free of structure,
To embrace those precious ‘Lucketts.’

Lisa Timms. 1st April 2020.





If I had a little artist...

If I had a little artist
I’d carry her in my hands.

And call her by her name
I’d give her lots of hugs,
not bury her in shame.

I’d build a little boat for her,
to sail across the shores.
I’d make her wear a special hat,
Like a red beret with a shawl.

I’d take her out for dinner,
and give her space to breathe.
I’d buy her lots of fancy pens,
so she could doodle with ease.

I’d create a special room for her,
Where she could feel content.
Where she could make all kinds of mess,
Where she could rest her weary head.

I’d take her to all kinds of galleries,
See paintings big and small.
By famous artists
And much less known ones too,
I’d let her see them all.

She’d wear a special artist smock,
Most likely in a shade of orange.
And to sustain a day of art,
I’d encourage her to eat porridge.

If I had a little artist,
I’d know exactly what to do.
I’d get her big, big brushes for her birthday,
And great big paint pots too.

If I had a little artists,
I’d listen to her whisper.
The one that says,
“But I’m not good enough”
And then,
I’d kiss her!

I’d tell her just how much
I longed for her to be,
The lovely little artist that
she longed so much to see.

To just go ahead
And splatter
All those canvases with bright and bold.


It does matter.

I’d tell my little artist that being perfect is too hard,
Why not opt for being kind,
Surely that would be a good start.

Like everything in life,
when we are not sure.
I’d tell my little artist,
You’re doing well my love,
Keep going.
Be free, feel sure.

August 2019

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