Freya and The Fairy

One Spring morning,
When Freya was two,
She wandered the garden
For something to do.

While she was looking
At flowers and bees,
She saw something unusual
Amongst the trees.
She decided to look
A bit closer to see
What could be down there?
My! What could it be?!

Young Freya looked down
At the tree stump below
And guess what she spied?
A door, ever so low,
With a tiny gold handle
And a snowbell to ring
She couldn’t help wonder
Who on Earth lived within!

She wanted to knock,
But her hands were too big
So she looked all around her
And picked up a twig.
Gently she used it
To tap on the door,
So surprised when it opened
She fell to the floor!

And what do you think
Stood in front of her eyes?
A tiny young fairy,
Oh! What a surprise!
The fairy looked frightened
To see the huge child,
But she began to feel calmer
When the girl-giant smiled.

“Hello! I am Freya,
And I live in this house.
I am sorry I scared you,
I was quiet as a mouse.
I discovered your door,
And was excited to see
If there was someone inside
Who’d be friends with me.”

The fairy flew up
Into Freya’s kind hands
And said, “I’d be so happy
If we could be friends.
But the Queen might chastise me
For talking to strangers;
She’ll be worried my new friend
Might put me in danger.”

“Oh no!” exclaimed Freya,
“I would never hurt you.
You can be my little secret,
And I’ll be yours too.”

And so from that day
In the garden they met,
Every bright morning
(Unless it was wet).
Under cover of trees,
They’d sit in the flowers,
Where if mum didn’t call
They’d have chatted for hours.

As the days passed,
The two became close,
As they sat on soft pillows
Made of daisy and rose.
They developed a friendship
That they never betrayed –
Friends they were then,
And friends they remained.

Joanne McBride / 28th November 2016


Merry Christmas, Grandad

I had only lived a third of this life when I lost my Grandad on Christmas Eve. I was 13 years old, it was my first loss and I have never experienced another loss like it since.

Twenty-seven years have not altered my memories of one of this world’s most wonderful men. I wish he had stayed here long enough for my children to have met him.

I wrote a poem that was read at his funeral, which from memory went something like this…

You will never be forgotten, Grandad.  Merry Christmas xxx


I’m scared

So scared I’ll never hold you in my arms
Scared you are going to come to harm, if not before then after and you’ll be taken away.
I have never wished so hard for a day to come.
I just want this to be done, so I can have you here, hear your cry and feel your heartbeat against my chest.

I wish there was some way of knowing,
Confidence that you are in there growing strong enough to fight your way into the world.
I let my guard down, allowed myself to get carried away with pink bows and pretty things – 
Your room is beautiful; I sit in there nearly every day, rocking in the chair imagining you are there with me.
And then I imagine coming home without you and I don’t know what I would do if that were to happen.

This journey has been such a long one, and now we’re nearly done I need to know you are going to be alright.
With every ounce you have grown, I have grown to love you more than you will ever know. 
And so I need you to fight little one, fight against whatever my body throws your way, and make it into this world ok. 

Writing 201: Poetry Day 4

Today’s challenge: concrete poem, enjambement, animal.

If I had the time my plan was to write this using the image/shape of an ant. For those of you who are unfamiliar with my story or the content of my blog, ‘Ant’ is my unwanted BFF automatic negative thoughts. She’s an old friend that I don’t really want in my life, but who seems intent on sticking around.

Apologies for not meeting the ‘concrete’ brief, but if you knew the night I’d had I think you’d let me off, just this once.


Almost invisible to the human eye, but ever there. Ever busy. Annoying little ANT.
You think I can’t see you, but I’m not stupid. My thoughts of you are lucid as the words I speak.
You think me too weak to deal with your ever-present shadow.
What I do know is that you can’t beat me, even now. Not when I frown, not when I’m down.
Try as you might to spite me, I’m fighting. Busy, annoying, little ANT.

Writing 201: Poetry Day 3

Today’s brief:-
Acrostic / internal rhyme / trust

First attempt, again just let the words come out with no editing. I’m still in bed (best get up for work!).

For context, you could read my post entitled ‘One Girl, One Day’

Here is today’s offering:

School Bully

Believe me when I tell you I can smell you even now,
Underneath the trees I went to, searching for acceptance.
Lying there in wait, filled with hate you pounced;
Laughing in my face with every punch, as leaves crunched under my feet.
You will never know how hard it is for me to trust since that day

Writing 201: Poetry Day 2

So the brief today is journey/limerick/alliteration.

In the interests of not straying too far from the core subject of my blog, I’ve decided where possible to weave my personal journey into whatever poetry assignment is thrown my way! This pregnancy has indeed been a journey, so I’m attempting to capture the last 8 months in a series of limericks. Here’s a taster so far…

I thought I was done with my brood,
Then I noticed a change in my mood;
One day I felt sick
So I peed on a stick –
It was month one, oh hell I was screwed!!

Ok, so I didn’t quite manage any alliteration, and in isolation it isn’t a journey, but both will be covered when I’ve finished 😜

Update: I had a bash at completing the journey, so below is the ‘finished article’. I don’t like to play around too much with my poetry – I like to just get the words out of my head and leave it pure. As a result, I haven’t managed to meet the alliteration brief, which it might have done had I edited my work.

It is therefore a particularly immature piece of work, but I kind of like how the standard limerick form has allowed me to produce a trivialised version of my pregnancy journey, which has been far from jovial at times.

Bluemama’s Journey

I thought I was done with my brood
Then I noticed a change in my mood
One day I felt sick
So I peed on a stick
It was month one, oh hell I was screwed!!

By month two I was still in shock;
I thought I had switched off that clock!
But my body had plans,
So I went for some scans,
And confirmed there’s one more for the flock.

Month three I still felt no better.
I had wanted to be a jet-setter.
My big plans for travel
Had begun to unravel
As I looked forward to just getting fatter.

Month four it began to sink in;
Still not ‘happy’ but more settled within.
And though it still wasn’t great,
I accepted my fate
And accepted my baby therein.

Month five came and went without drama.
I stopped believing this was some kind of karma.
No point in complaining,
This baby is staying,
And I was feeling much calmer.

Month six it became more exciting!
I looked at the bright side, stopped fighting.
Though emotions ran high,
I would no longer cry
At the thought of a life without sleeping.

Month seven and my girl is moving,
Constantly wriggling and growing.
I can picture her face,
As she moves in my space –
She’s a thing I can see myself loving.

Month eight and I’m writing a rhyme
About the run up to month nine!
From terror and tears,
All the sadness and fears,
To now, waiting ’til she’s all mine.

Feedback is a gift, so please let me know what you think!

Writing 201: Poetry Day 1

Your love, like rivers
Moving fast toward the sea,
Slips through my fingers.

The challenge today was to write a Haiku, subject ‘water’, to include a simile. We could have gone off piste with this, however I want to use the experience to see if I can write to order as prescribed. Above is my offering.

Got a bit of a haiku bug, so thought I’d add new ones as they pop into my head. Scan day tomorrow to learn my possible labour fate 😱

I am drowning here;
So scared about tomorrow.
Lost in waves of fear.