My Secret Room
Where oh where is your secret room?
That’s what my brother said
No-one will ever find it
because it’s deep inside my head.
I go there when I’m lonely
or whenever I feel sad
I know that when I enter
I will find my mum and dad
The key to open up the door
is simple as a-b-c
but no-one will ever find it
because it’s exclusively for me
The walls are like a rainbow
violet, indigo and blue
moonlight floods through the windows
such silver, pure and true.
I go to bed and close my eyes and count from one to three
behold the door has opened
and such beauty do I see
I tell them all my problems
all my worries and my woes
and then I feel so much better
so they say, it’s time to go
I’ll see you both tomorrow
then I kiss them tenderly
my wonderful mother and father
who wait each night for me
So when the clock strikes midnight
and I head towards my bed
I am going to my secret room
that’s deep within my head.
Janet Watson
I Walk with You
Oaks and willows
Meet and hold hands
Entwined - that’s where the fairies are
Ethereal beings
One with the hollows
Eyes like butter
Clasping black tulips
Believing.
Gypsophilia swells a feather
bed higher than hips to
play hide and seek.
The canopy opens and your
soothing tumbles from the sky
glowing embers of ‘I am with you’
a gentle touch
against cool skin.
‘I walk with you and hold your hand,
in sorrow and in joy.’
Rested with the balmy earth
Light curls around your finger tips
rising with the crescent
singing softly.
Moon face glows
and the water falls and swirls
growing shapes
with the sound of my voice.
Nestled in a tree limb
The cups and curves fold
a cocooned comfort
encircling
safety in the hum of crickets
playing catch with rhythm.
The warmth of a treble clef
Essence of lavender
Nature’s song
Thriving on the nourishment of
presence
acceptance of hope
In arms.
Lucy Whiteley
Room to Grow II
Give me a room,
No not a room,
A space.
A space on a high, wide, rocky ledge
That earth has painted with her colours,
Looking down on the high peaks
Where buzzards tremble on thermals
Wind singing through feathers
Or whistling on grass harps.
A deep hollow, no door
With the sky for roof, it by the sensous moon.
Cradled in the soft earth,
A deep in a heather nest that smells of peat and home.
Where curlew sing their evening song,
A lullaby, to send me to my rest.
Andy Brookes
