The Other Writers’ Group has got me thinking about Other writing. On a regular basis I write novels and blog posts and diary entries. But I used to branch out more.

I once wrote a children’s book. I started a second, and a third.

I once wrote terrible poetry and song lyrics without music.

A few days ago I wrote a poem – the first in a very long time. Thought I’d share…


Reminders of you

Aubergine, all creamy,
only firm for a moment, then
melting away like ice cream.
Cooked perfectly, they remind me of

Coriander (or cilantro),
how you abhor it.
An over-reaction, I think,
but, still, it reminds me
of you.

Salvador Dali, a poster
in Paris, (en route to the Dutch embassy)
for an exhibition you would adore.
I won’t go, but it reminds
me of you.

Macaroons (or macarons)
at every patisserie and
boulangerie, and chocolaterie.
They’re everywhere. And they
remind me of you.

You’d like it here.
I’d like you here. In a way
you are here.
Because all these
things remind me of you.