Poetry and me.

Writing slowly began to creep haphazardly onto fresh white pages, during the last year of junior school. I had always liked writing, even if my spelling was atrocious, my writing slow and laboured, but it was in high school that my earliest existent poems were written, getting me yet more hours of detention; as I…

Sickly beginnings.

My parents looked happily down at their little bundle of joy, who cried back at them, the nurses took me to a sterile incubator, crowding round, feeding me drugs, and oxygen through a mask, it was my sickly beginnings, with a two week stay in hospital, while I was cured of Pneumonia for the first…

Stories in the night.

We snuggle down, one either side of our father; (my sister Anne and I) who opens the book and reads a story, stirring our imagination, before hugging us; sending us off to bed, where mother would come and kiss us goodnight before switching off the light, and sleep and dreams would cradle us towards the…