She talks of family planning with spiders

Gives advice to dogs on the subject of manners

Compliments flowers on their beauty

Discusses pesticides with bumblebees

Speaks of romance with butterflies

Lectures cats on their toilet habits, and

Mostly, she just tells off the wasps

Wasps are the Hells Angels of her garden


When hot, she undresses

When cold she wears layer upon layer

Rarely is she colour co-ordinated

She looks best naked

This one is of the earth

She has shown me many things from nature

That being held a hostage of

Concrete and tarmac had denied me


She takes in waifs and strays

Gives a ray of hope to

The unfortunate with kind words

When the mood takes her she

May prey upon the weaknesses of

Pretentious humanity

In days of yore, in drink

She sometimes destroyed such beings


She is blessed with great

Cutting wit and

Cries giant crystal ball tears when laughing

She laughs a lot

She does not ride that

Savage downhill slalom of

Melancholy that is my want

Although if left alone too long

She climbs the walls of tedium

Her smile can illuminate a cathedral

Her frown may slam shut its gothic doors and

Herald the crepuscular certainty of nightfall


A brave one

She has the small scars of

Childhood recklessness about her limbs

Accident prone

She bruises her body with regularity

Yet never her heart

To her there is no calamity in her clumsiness

The breakage of manmade objects

Matters not a jot

She says such things are replaceable anyway


Those mortals who cause the pain born of malice

She would lock away forever

She calls small children and the very old, ‘My angel’

Infants would follow her to the ends of the earth

Sometimes she has the mouth of a navvy

Other times the eloquence of a bard


She conceived our child in

The Polynesian suite of a French chateau

As is her way, a certain ‘savoir-faire’

When giving birth she sweltered in

The body heat of her own endeavour

Nearly a day in labour, and

Oblivious to the comings and goings of others

She insisted the midwife undress her

Enthrallingly naked, she bore her son

Natural instinct is second nature to

Those of the earth

Those impish daughters of Eve

Fate wed us

Eternity binds us

My Celtic lady is out of step with the rest

Captivatingly mad, yet

With no comprehension that this is so


She has emboldened me

I think I am her rock.


Once posted as an open love letter to the missus; now adapted into the poem it maybe always should have been.


  1. How absolutely lovely, Mike. Your lady sounds great – and what a truly touching and loving poem. Caused a lump in my throat reading it, I can tell you.

  2. Not having met you or Shirley in person this may sound a bit weird, but when I picture myself getting old with someone, the two of you come to mind as what that might look like (though I have some great aunts and uncles who also serve as a lovely inspiration in this respect)…this poem is simply the best way one could describe ‘beauty’ as far as I can think of. It should make it to the Oxford Dictionary, listed under ‘beauty’…

    1. She’s a lovely old boot as I often tell her. For her part she will remind me that I am nearly a decade her senior and match her insults around that fact – the thing is we’ve never let ourselves ‘grow old’ and remain 100% certain that the aging process is one where it is better to do it disgracefully than the boring alternative!

    1. Cheers – she is unique and cut of cloth tailored to a different pattern. Must say one wouldn’t have wanted to meet with her yesterday morning when we discovered our hotel room had been broken into and her IPad stolen though!

  3. I am in awe!! This is one of the most beautiful pieces of writing I have ever read.. I could go on all day .. Bravo for an amazing piece!

  4. Phenomenal. Reading it I wasn’t sure which of you is the most firtunate to find the other – finishing it I know it’s a perfect tie.

    – Esme Cloud sending some bright sunlight to Mike and Shirl his girl x

    1. My thanks, Ms Esme. I really must try to get Shirl blogging once more. She has a blog but very rarely posts. If I recall, being unfamilar with the ways of blogging she never got around to replying to comments because she had no concept that people commented. She is far cleverer than I am. I’ll see what I can do.

      1. Good plan Stan, some people have comments turned off, but I must admit that puts me off returning to a blog because I like the feedback part both ways (misses), however when it comes to remembering to answer my comments/moving in slow motion consistently – I am awful. The worstest, though I get there eventually, so I get how that happens. I vote for more Shirl too.

        – Esme sticking posters up saying so all over the troposphere

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.