by Helen P. Stephens | 24 Jul, 2020 | Poems |
Who am I To criticise? I’m nobody But I’m me I’m as guilty As the next man Of everything I accuse Or else How do I know So much About my accusation?
by Helen P. Stephens | 24 Jul, 2020 | Poems |
If I was someone else I’d sit back and enjoy the ride I’d smile all the time and daydream every minute I wouldn’t question everything Or find fault with every move I’d display my affections And let him display his. But I cannot show him my...
by Helen P. Stephens | 24 Jul, 2020 | Poems |
Twas in the next carriage I saw him that night, On the first row in, third seat from the right. I was far at the back, but he noticed me there, As he glanced every second, shy by my stare. The train rumbled by, past stop after stop, My lover he watched, as we came to...
by Helen P. Stephens | 18 Jul, 2020 | Blog |
It was Nelson Mandela Day on 18th July and my Mossley Hill Labour colleagues had arranged a litter pick at Otterspool Prom, as part of Mandela67 – an initiative that asks people to volunteer 67 minutes of their time to the community. It felt like the right time...
by Helen P. Stephens | 17 Jul, 2020 | Blog |
It’s been a month since I finished the first draft of my second novel. I felt strangely bereft when I’d finished. For two months I’d thought about very little other than my two main characters. I’d imagined conversations between them. I’d fallen asleep, planning...
