Chère Maman

Today, I am told, I should celebrate you

Although one day a year is far less than you’re due.

You’re the person I trust when I’m scared to tell others

& I can’t resist rhyming so this line ends with “mother”.

I was a terror in school, and I had a tough time

but when I was lost, you would act as my sign.

If you said I was right, I didn’t fear consequences.

No, my head would be high, I shook off their offences.

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I was the slowest of runners, hardly got any As

but you’d always praise effort and my own unique pace.

You taught me to live, without fear of rejection

and to always be me, not another’s reflection.

And Mum, I still need you to show linings in clouds

Less now than before, but when ridden with doubts

I try my best to see people as you always have;

To understand and to help them & to give them a chance.


There’s a lot more I know this poem hasn’t conveyed

but I owe you my life and each time it’s been saved.

You have done so much good, world’s a much better place

and I’ll always be proud that, by you, I was raised!

I love you Mummy!


Thank you for that song

I regret chasing you for as long as I did

I regret dreaming moulds that I hoped you might fit

I really wish my naive confidence wasn’t hit

but it was you who first me showed me that song.

For all of the pain loving you made me feel

For the hope and the hype before that shit reveal

It was almost all lies but something was still real

how I felt when you played me that song

I didn’t like listening to it right next to you

I preferred it through headphones alone on the tube

But you know what I’m fair so I’ll give you your due

f**k you but thank you for that song.

The Perfect Life

I don’t want the perfect life

A kid, a wife, a home, a jail

A paralytic sense of being

and passion far too easily quelled


I don’t want the perfect life

a step by step guide to success

from school to school and job to job

I respect these but don’t obsess


Because to me that is no life

and I don’t want a stable net

but then you ask me what I want

I want to not know what I’ll get

Street Life by Jamie Smith


I gave a homeless man I saw sitting on the pavement a pound this evening and as I was about to leave, he offered me a poem.

We should all try to stop, smile and say hello more 🙂  It might actually help someone get through a tough time and feel just a little bit loved.

Putting it all together

If I tell you everything

Explain each piece and where it fits

Must I put it all together

or could you just help me with it?

Because I swear I’m not being lazy

and I’ll give you all the clues

It’s just I’m not the greatest speaker

but they might listen to you

and I say “they” but I mean you

I mean the voices in your head;

The little one that they call doubt,

the bloody huge one they call dread

That’s the thing dear I can ramble

Tell me where to fit the commas?

I know nouns but it’s a gamble

if and when verbs fall upon us

I say “us” but mean myself

and each scenario i’ve concocted

Once experience joins the chat

you see my mind becomes distorted

It can’t handle these small pieces

the way I know that your mind can

So how ’bout one big ol’ confession

instead of this sad sweaty hand?

I know you know that it’s quite tempting

You can have all the control

and be the master of my fate

my dear, the captain of my soul!

Wouldn’t that just be amazing?

All you have to do is listen!

Do not judge or think me mad

or wonder if I am worth kissing

Just say “stop” and I’ll stop talking

and I’ll let you take the lead

Oh lovely, I  believe in you!

Just let me know what else you need.


I should probably go slower

I might not take the train

I don’t mind getting wet

but yeah thank you again

I agree this was awkward

but what can one do?

No really I’m fine

we should see again soon.


A walk will be good

I might find something new

something that I missed

some big change overdue

An epiphany, sign

or a coming of age

A new chapter to start

without turning a page

without trying too hard

without all the investment

without breaking me down

without more reassessments


Just a curious eye

An assumption of nothing

A shoulder stuck out

locked and loaded for brushing.

Old man, lost soul or poor artist

Something caught my eye last night

I saw something that I might write

If born into a different home

Then cast out poor, cold, and alone

The writer of it, long since gone

It seemed his words had still lived on

On cardboard did his thoughts remain

Despite Manchester’s heavy rain

He’d asked if he could earn some alms

Through poetry not outstretched palms

I walked back, to a man I’d passed

It’d been a while, since I gave last

I gave him, I believe, a pound.

And made sure to observe the ground

In case, I passed one more l’d missed

Old man, lost soul or poor artist.