Poems not poetry

My Hands

Baby hands, slippery with dribble, Fascinating. Next, with fingers chubby and sticky, Practising with a teaspoon, Diving into a Squat Tiggywinkle dish. New year’s Eve,

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Wonder bra

When I was a teen, so absorbent, My friend and I would share our coins, To buy a magazine.   We’d huddle on a bench

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I Cooked it up

(copyright Sue Nicholls. Just ask and link back if you want to use it) I’ve lost the urge for cooking, I think I’m round the

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