⛄️Christmas haiku 🎄

Thought that I would get into the Christmas spirit and share a haiku that I wrote last Christmas with you.

Reindeer pulling sleigh
A flash of red in the sky
Santa’s on his way


If that didn’t get you feeling Christmassy I don’t know what will!

Now I’m literally off to get some Christmas spirit, a glass of Baileys I think should do the trick.

Merry Christmas everyone!!!!



The scream is silent, yet deafening.
It is pointed like a star,
Yet it emits no light.
It sticks to the throat
Like thick treacle.
Choking me.
The need to release it
Weighs heavy.
Pushing me into the earth.
How I long to be like the wolf.
Howling at the moon.
To be rid of this noise within me.
That beats at my lungs.
Black as night, cold as snow.
Yet still it lives.
Deep in my stomach.
Feeding from the scraps I throw to it.
Like a pot bellied pig.

© Victoria Tucker 2014

Caress – poem

The soft breeze,
Caresses me,
Like a lover.
His kisses,
Whisper on my skin;
Sending shivers,
Down my spine.

The hairs on my body,
Stand to attention.
My warm skin tingles.
With his embrace,
He gives me a welcome reprieve,
From the beating sun.

No sooner has my lover
Brushed over me;
Leaving traces
Of his beautiful kisses.
He leaves me again.
And the warm sun
Enfolds me once more.

☀️Summer haikus☀️

Complete happiness
The warmth of the sun on skin
Natures green beauty


Children are playing
Laughter rings out through the air
Ice creams melting fast


Toes sink into sand
Winter chill long forgotten
Waves crashing on shore


©2014 Victoria Tucker

Torment (a poem about living with OCD)

As you may have guessed by the title of this post I have OCD. I have written a poem to explain to those who luckily don’t suffer from this, how it feels to live with OCD.
My form of OCD is to check things. I check doors, plug sockets etc about a million times before I’m satisfied that it is safe to leave them. I have managed to learn how to control these behaviours over the years, but I still have some days when the urge to check everything numerous times raises it’s ugly head.

My mind is conspiring against me
It is a daily battle
One I must face alone

My mind she taunts me
Making me doubt myself
I am trapped by her

She questions my every move
Until she drives me to the brink of madness
Like a petulant child

I call to my inner wise woman
In a bid to calm her tantrums
At times she prevails

The child is hushed now
But I know this is only a lull
Before the impending storm that threatens to rage
©2014 Victoria Tucker

No one should ever be embarrassed or ashamed about having OCD. It comes from a deep rooted need to protect and care about others and is born out of a fear that something you may neglect to do may cause someone harm. For me it is the fear of leaving something on like the iron and the potential it has to cause a fire and ruin my family’s lives. For others it is the need to clean out of a fear of germs. Just know that you are not alone and that some of the nicest, caring people you will ever meet are OCD sufferers xx

A Ghostie Poem- by me and my daughter

Now I am well aware that ghosts don’t really sit around eating toasted sandwiches waiting for the postman, but hey we’ll just call it poetic license. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed making it up.

I saw a ghostie
Eating a toastie
While watching the postie
Delivering mail

I said “what you doing?”
I’ve got the kettle brewing
The ghost rubbed his eyes
And he started to wail

Now I ain’t lying
The ghostie started crying
I said “what’s wrong?”
And he told me this tale

“I’ve been sitting waiting
Wishing and praying
That I could find a friend
Who would send me some mail”

The ghostie he looked sad
And I started feeling bad
Then an idea that I had
Started to form

I wrote him a letter
To make him feel better
I popped it in the mailbox
The very next morn

Next day when the ghostie
Was waiting for the postie
A smile across my face
Had started to spread

The ghostie apparition
Was busy in the kitchen
Cutting up cheese
And buttering bread

Along came the postie
The ghostie dropped his toastie
For down the garden path
He started to descend

Walked right up to the door
A letter dropped onto the floor
And the ghost was sad no more
As now he had a friend

©2014 V.Tucker & C.Tucker