Some of my latest writing

14. Aug, 2017

This is a poem I wrote in the Summer and with the wet winter we are experiencing in New Zealand this year it seemed pertinent to type it here as we wait for longer days and clear sunny weather.


The Summer sun streams down

I am surrounded by the cicada's song

Incessant, hidden, sireptitious

They care not that their life is short.

They live for the moment

Basking in the sun

Singing their repitious sonata.

Some days my head is too full of their music.

It drowns out my thoughts as I sit in the shade.

Too soon the summer sun will be gone

And with it the cicade sounds.

Winter will take hold.

The sun will be but a pale shadow or her self

And I will sit in coat and cap

Longing for the warmth of Summer.

13. Feb, 2017

My daughter Kim has a special toy shop and outside is a large corrugated iron from designed by my husband.  We are working on capitalising on the Freddie the Frog theme and you can visit the website at

Freddie the Frog
Freddie the frog did't seem to fit in
He felt sort of sad and had lost his big grin.
His legs seemed too long
And his eyes were all wrong
He didn't feel handsome or sporty or smart
When he opened his mouth he croaked like a fart.
Poor Freddie wondered now what could he do
Could he go to the gym, or end up in a zoo.
So he packed up a bag and hopped down the road
An adventure at least or he would join with the toads.
He came to a shop called Smarty Pants
And thought he would rest in the shade with some ants.
The toys and the people welcomed him in
You're just what we want for our mascot "live-in"
So Freddie became a famous wee frog
His legs and his eyes left his new friends agog.
His image was put on their Facebook page
And a "Freddie the Frog Club" became quite a rage.
The lesson in this is clear to be seen
We each have our purpose, our strengths and our dreams.
We just need to find our own unique place
That makes us so special - like Freddie's big face.
Orange and green and long dangly toes
Were just what was wanted to cure Smarty Pants woes.
So make sure you visit our Freddie on line
Or stop by the shop - either one is just fine.
15. Dec, 2015

I am safe
I am home
The learned lofty leaves lift my spirit
As the trees murmur mixed up lullabies
And the names of foliage plants
Caress my creativity;
Hinting of exotic, far-off places.
Places I may have been,
Or places I have imagined
In my dream time
Ligularia, euphorbia, bromeliad, arisama
The terms trickle through my mind
Meandering on the border of botanical knowledge
But bounding into the unknown realms of my imagination.
Banksia, hosta, heukera, sisychrysium
These are like new friends, not quite known
Exotic in their bright spring foliage;
Comfortable in their response to my labours.
Clematis, azalea, petunia, geranium, rose
More common from their show-off blooms,
They clamour always for more space, more sun.
But it is the shade lovers, under the tree boughs, that call me in.
For them it is enough to show their luxuriant foliage.
There is a depth and a meaningfulness to their presence
A depth their flamboyant neighbours oft times lack.
They do not clamour for attention, space, or sun.
They just are.
And their being softens my sadness.
They rejoice with my peace
In their own abundant way.
Two sides of the balance bar.
One quiet, restful, unobtrusive –
But there;
The other, full of glamour and short-lived beauty.
How like the personalities of the world out there.
I am the caretaker of this world;
I get to choose between the two.
I am within my garden.
My garden is within me;
Physically, mentally, emotionally.
I am safe.
I am home.
I am at peace.

Carol Fagan
15. Dec, 2015

I sit beneath the tall birches
Listening to a thousand shivering leaves
Caressed by a flirtatious hand.
Seductive, Secretive, Suggestive
Speaking a sea-voice song
Twisting leaves in erotic turmoil.
Fixed only by a slender stem
Their ecstasy moulds them to their stand.
They whisper together of surreptitious sensations
Sounds that come in spasms
Like the sea to the shore
Or the high pitch of a lover’s climax.
And I sit here listening
Trying to interpret the secrets that they share

Carol Fagan