Running Shoes 

I notice everything like your disapproval

of the shoes I choose to wear. They are comfortable

but I look terrible to you in my Nike

trainers and so to keep you happy I buy boots


that I don’t want and I don’t particularly like.

I get outside the shop, put them on. They’re too small.

I didn’t care about the shoes you were wearing.

All that mattered to me was spending time with you.


They are buried now somewhere in my wardrobe

because although they are very comfortable

and in very good condition I won’t wear them

anymore because you chose to criticise my


choice in shoes and I didn’t want to be a huge

embarrassment to you. It made me feel quite bad

but I don’t think it entered your mind. All you saw

were shoes you didn’t like not the person in them.


©Jacqui Slade


A long white stretching corridor

is where I find myself walking.

I’ve been here before semi-conscious.

Clamming in fear every time as

The presence surrounds me crushing.

I try to flee with lead legs and

silver beads fall from my head, as

motion slow I try to make it

to the door. Panic urging me

to escape the faceless ghosts as

curtains blow somewhere I need to

return to. Confounded my hand

on the handle I look back eyes

wide and open the door only

to not know, which way to go. Sobbing

staircases coiling to some place

escaping. Each stair I tread on

I feel it coming ever closer.

Desperately reaching the top to

find more doors to open in dread.

Certain I will evermore be

lost here searching for a way out.

Despondent and reckless I run

trying each door in futile hope.

Until guided by an angel

that I cannot see, I find my

way back to sanity through

a doorway that I shut firmly.

With sheets crumpled and matted hair

I dream now of much sweeter things.

©Jacqui Slade03


Sometimes life throws a

spanner in the works.

It’s always when you

think you have nailed it


that it wrenches at

your heart, prising it

open, cutting you with

its saw. Often it


will drive you nuts but

don’t bolt to go and

get hammered thinking

you’re in a state of


disrepair. Screw your


All you need is a

toolbox to fix you.


©Jacqui Slade

The First House

The doorway of existence

opens. New beginnings are

born. Life manifests itself

in the metamorphosis of


water into air. The key

unlocked the self. Foundations

were cemented in the stars.

The windows reflect your soul.


Each brick is constructed with

your ego. You are your own

architect of destiny.

Your true personality


will eternally reside

in this primary dwelling.

Don’t show the world ugliness.

Compose structural beauty.


©Jacqui Slade