NaPoWriMo Finishes


30th April 2015 arrives and marks the end of NaPoWriMo (National Poetry Writing Month) unfortunately I didn’t finish the 30 poems in 30 days, I managed 15. Not a lot you might think but for me the purpose of NaPoWriMo was to start writing again. So I can claim some success. I also intend finishing the other 15 poems and have set a deadline of the end May, 2015. I am so pleased my muse has returned and I am writing again.

For me, life without writing is a half life. I felt like I had been robbed of my creativity. The reason I couldn’t write was because I was suffering from Depression. I have suffered with it from when I was a teenager. Recently I attended 7 counselling sessions where I was able to examine in detail what was going wrong in my life.I also gained insight into making some new coping strategies. I feel so much better now. Are you suffering from depression? Ask your GP to refer you for counselling also refered to as ‘talking therapy’.

©Carolina de la Cruz – The Vixen of Verse – 2015

Family Love


Familial Love is not what it seems,

Portrayed daily; the perfect family on TV.

It haunts our minds, our night-time dreams.

Familial love is not what it seems.

Away from prying eyes it falls apart at the seams.

Not one member sees my tears, listens to my plea

Familial love is not what it seems.

Portrayed daily; the perfect family on TV.

©Carolina de la Cruz – The  Vixen of Verse – 2015

I made a mistake in my Triolet!

Writer at Work!

Writer at Work!

After all the triolets I have written and all the ones I have produced in my many workshops I can hardly believe I could make such a glaring mistake.

What was the mistake? I repeated line 1 /rhyme a in line 3 instead of line 4! Is it fixable? Yes, of course with a little playing around and a bit of re-writing I have fixed it.

I am such a champion of the triolet which was originally a 13th centuary French poetic form. I think it is incredible that it is still alive and well in the 21st centuary.poetic form,

The Triolet Form
It has 8 lines, with an a/b rhyme scheme and 3 lines repeated.

1. A/a
2 B/b
3 a
4. A/a
5. a
6. b
7. A/a
8 B/b



13 of 30

Your skin is warm, smells of aftershave
Hugo Boss or Jean-Paul Gaultier, confused by smell
Your mouth searches out mine and we kiss.
Softly gentle at first but then, more insistant
With probing tongues we taste each other’s taste.
You taste of Pepperoni pizza and potato wedges.
As do I although perhaps you can taste Ben and Jerry’s.
Either way you don’t seem to mind what I taste of.
Your strong fingers gently part the lips of my vagina,
I panic; will it become wet or will I need lube?

Have I got any in my ‘special’ drawer?
Oh! What on Earth am I doing? What is happening?
Hell, I can’t say stop now can I?
Suddenly I realise you have stopped.
“It’s OK,” you whisper, holding out your glistening
Wet fingers. I tentalively take a slow lick.
I smile, he smiles, returns to what he was doing.
It’s going to be fine, I just know it is.
Come on Hugo or Jean-Paul or whatever your name is,
Let’s do this!

©Carolina de la Cruz – The Vixen of Verse – 2015.

Flight of Fear

Black mirrors, black magic, black ice
Fog in a black night sky,
Propellers whirring above us.
Outside what seemed like cotton wool
Whitish-grey, sightless, soundless,
Blacking out stars and a sliver of moon.
Flying only by instruments, trust in our pilot.
Trust in his talent and professionalism.
At last! The order to return to our base camp.
The helicopter banks steeply into a turn,
We only see ground when we land upon it.
Hearts in mouths, hands on Berets,
We run towards the darkened buildings of camp.

Huddled together in the Sargeant’s mess
We drink tea laced with Irish whisky,
To calm our shattered nerves.
There is talk of overnight accommodation
If the night’s fog does not lift.
We are lucky, another hour
And the night sky was clear.
We clambered aboard the Chinook
The load-master helping us on, one by one.
Strapped in , the flight only took twenty minutes.
Then hovering just above the ground of our home base,
We made the jump; more graceful than our male colleagues!
Then we ran doubled over into the cover of buildings;
Just as we’d been trained-home again-safe and sound!

©Carolina de la Cruz – The Vixen of Verse – 2015

Note: This poem was written from personal experience during my time in HM forces from 1978 – 1982.



Sadness seeps grey, mist filled
Onto each page, tear-stained, ink quilled
Until all the sad words I know or have learned
Are transferred from heart to paper. Almost spurned
By tears that cannot be cried. Instead they well up in my eyes,
Painfully unshed,cursed by ill-will and lies.
So I allow my cat to curl up, comfortably on my lap.
His melodic purr as I stroke him, breaches an engulfing gap

Between a reason to live and the taboo of suicide.
Depression’s companion, he’s out on the edge; likes to hide,
But you know he’s there present, in your here and now!
A sort of grim reaper, following the rusty old plough.
But as long as I can identify a reason to live.
He has to walk on by and my mind like a sieve;
Has to stop the water from dripping through.
Me? Use the suicide word, did I? I really did!
Sieving dripping water will I ever be rid of Depression?

©Carolina de la Cruz – The Vixen of Verse – 2015


Note: I found this picture on Pinterest but do not know the cópyright. If you do please let me know and I will attribute it. Thank you.

Herd of Elephants

A family of elephants © Peter Knights

A family of elephants
© Peter Knights

Beautiful, individual, hand-made pieces of furniture,
Made from fair-trade timber from the Indian continent.
The wood, known as sheesham comes from the Dalbergia Sisoo tree.
The knots and whorls create unique patterns on all the surfaces.
I am happy to know my pieces of furniture are so unique.
They fill my home with warmth, stir the air of creativity,

That has lain so still, so quiet, for so long.
My writer’s desk beckons, a wall unit full of books.
My favourite hideaway cupboard with elephants on the doors.
They are gold coloured inlaid into the darkest green.
Like the forest from where they originally came.
They stand two by two, trunks facing my little herd of sixteen!

©Carolina de la Cruz – The Vixen of Verse – 2015.

Memories for the Heart



Springtime daffodils grow and bloom,
While tulips with their cacophony of beautiful colours
Sway in the gentlest of April breezes.
It was my birthday the day you died last year.
I miss you Loll you were such a special friend.
I loved our journeys into writing and poetry,
The way you stirred the creativity within us.
Now I am taking it all up again.

Making for myself a new life,
You would be so proud of me!
Your Caro writing again, performing again – The Vixen of Verse.
Flying the flag for all us older women.c
My lovely Loll, stay with me,walk the way with me
Live on in my heart and all those memories.

©Carolina de la Cruz – The Vixen of Verse -2015

Dedicated to the memory of a very dear friend, LORRAINE CHARLESWORTH.