An ode to Boo

Bittersweet…is my Boo

That night.
Before this, her socks were laid out.
Folded, and set upon the pile of an unworn future.

I was waiting for the sun to rise and flout
Her new dawn.
In the pitt of my belly, a caressing stab of nausea.

She rose, from her bed, her heavenly smile
and full-fat cheeks bright…
With Excitement.
She finally joins the great fight.

Her new round shoes sit; leather polished, clean and tight,
Stare up at us, waiting, taunting my heart in their new smite.

Sweet are the plaits that adorn her face,
The pack that clings to her back.

And this race,
That we’re in.
To enter the system,
Of which there is no escape…

In my mind,
And in truth.

The road that we all travel begins over again.

And today it is my own that will walk it.

Not me.

Anymore.

Bittersweet is this moment that scratches my heart,

And leaves me behind to heal.

Hip Hop Boo


Boo – I love you so much.

Boo, apparently, is a hip hop term of endearment, it can also mean girlfriend or boyfriend to a rapper or a street kid…

For me my Boo is my smallest muffin – my Boo.

Dead Moles called Barbar

“We called him Barbar”, they said as they ran in.

Barbar was a very tiny still mole, long snouty nose and very much dead. Fortunately no gaping holes, maggots or innards – just whole mole.

Boo put him in a toy car and pushed him around, “he’s sleeping mummy”. We transferred Barbar back to his natural habitat and washed our hands.

I admire the innocence and curiousity of small children, their natural loving and nurturing sense and their sense of sweet justice, for Boo: ‘he’s just sleeping’. For Fealte: ‘has he gone to heaven mummy?’

My girl has her Boo


My girl has her Boo.

The heavens sent her. Her soul star.
And she carried her.
And brought her this far.
Soft as velvet. Sweet as honey.
Together they touch and delight –
In their new love fondue.
My girl has her Boo.
With each flutter and kiss
she whispers to her –
Of peace, and of bliss.
Perfumed flowers abound –
in their bubble surround.
And calm serenity, gently floats them, all, anew.
My girl and her Boo.
Their journey began long before.
A parcel of heartache left at each door.
This inseverable shimmer of dark, but, light-
spilt into their core.
And streaking right through them-
Hold tight.
My girl has her Boo.