We choose to count the autumn stars Instead of counting sheep, And as the autumn leaves drift down, We softly fall asleep. all that’s left of them now is a puddle.

Go away, Mum, I am reading! This is a kids’ poem. This is not a grown-ups’ poem. This is called my poem.   Shush now, Mum, I am reading aloud! Please don’t talk when I’m reading. This is not your talking poem. This is called my reading poem.   This is not your book. This…

Mum wouldn’t buy me those plesiosaur pants, ‘Won’t get them, darling, not even a chance, don’t need them, what’s more they cost quite a lot- big boy like you’ and such mummy-rot, so we fingered some books in the shop until she was tired and ready to drop.   Next time, Dad took me, it…

I can smell spring’s colours, taste sunshine on the air. Hope tingles my fingertips, tulips POP! I see new beginnings everywhere.

a cup full of sunshine a waggy tail waiting slippers the smell of bacon a warm cuddle milky tea with Mum weather-checking cat-feeding buttery toast sharing a yawn finding my socks just five more minutes in bed.

If I were a spider I could spin webs like a superpower. I could catch things in my sticky trap, I could hide in tiny secret places. If I were a spider I could watch the world go by and no-one would know I was there.

That winter of snow there was nowhere to go, so grandad was left on his own, he stood and he froze from his carroty nose to his toes- and he felt all alone.   But on one moonlit night grandad woke to the sight of a snowchild, they had a cold cuddle, which so melted…