I started writing poetry in primary school, unfortunately, I didn't have the foresight to save it and neither did my parents. As a teenager, I started to give a few pieces of writing to other people and some of these have survived the years. 

By the time I was a young mum in the nineties, I had learnt my lesson and many of my poems are scattered throughout a massive box of journals. Over the last few years, I have started to collate my journals and the poetry and short stories within them. 

This book is an ongoing collection of the poetry I have found so far. I hope you enjoy it, even if it is just to giggle and say, "My god, that was awful".

Written when my first child was 18 months old. I was far away from home, she was living with my parents and I missed her so very much.

My song is full of beauty

As small as it may be,

And its words are touched with kindness

And a frail gentility.

The tune is sweet and simple

And the verses they are few

But my song is slowly growing

Old verses change to new.

Someday my song will end

And the notes will fade away

But people will remember it

My song will always play.

For my song is in their heart

My song they've grown to love

My little girl is my sweet song

My tiny, gentle dove.

© Annie Whitehead 28th July 1988

I found myself at a local christian youth support centre. The support they offered was just what I needed at the time and my Catholic upbringing inspired this poem. 

“No Exit”, it said and I started to cry. “I’ve got to leave now!” I said with a sigh.

“Go to another door, try, try again. Eventually you’ll find it” he said with a grin.

So, I walked to another door, not too far away and again, “No Exit” was all they could say.

No Exit, No Exit was all I could hear, my heart was near breaking, my eyes full of tears.

Then behind me a voice said, “Come here my small child. Come and sit by me, we’ll talk for a while.”

“You want to leave this place now; you want the pain to end? I’ll show you how to do it, if you’ll let me be your friend.”

“No!” I said, “I can’t trust you! I can’t trust anyone! Every friend I ever loved has lied to me then gone.”

And then I saw a tear, forming in his eye. He looked at me with so much love and said, “I never lie. Will you walk with me and hold my hand; I’ll take you through the door. It’s easy, really, wait and see, I’ve been through there before.”

Slowly I turned and took his hand, my hopes began to rise. We walked and walked, while hurt and pain, sank slowly far behind.

And then ahead, I saw a door, a door so full of peace. I sang out loud and walked on through into this happy place.

“Who are you?” I said as I turned to my friend, “I love you, but I don’t know why. Please tell me; please tell me, I just have to know.”

And again, he started to cry.

“I’ve watched you grow up over all of these years.

I’ve seen you laugh and cry. I’ve seen the hurt and pain you hold.

I’ve heard your every sigh.

Stay with me and be close by, learn to be happy again.

Talk to me, laugh with me, show me you care.

Please be my closest friend.

Because I am your love, your peace and your strength,

I am your holding hand.

I am your God and you are my child

And this is your promised land.

Copyright ©1989 Annie Whitehead