Poems From Years Ago
The poems in this section are from my past - i have tried to date them but it's pretty hard. - I hope you like them.
This poem originates from my husband, then boyfriend, betting me I couldnt write a poem on ANY title he chose - I won!
I’m Basting a turkey with my Tears
Sink full of dishes
Windows to clean
A bigger pile of ironing
Has never been seen
Yet even when these things are done
There’s no relaxing, no time for fun
Silver to polish, bills to be paid
Dinner must be cooked and the tale must be laid.
In the kitchen
Only me
Suffocating my fears
Boredom as far
As the eye can see
I’m basting a turkey with my tears.
But in my heart
I’m far away
Looking for
A brighter day
Reclining on a double bed
Indian massage to my head
Champagne cocktail in each hand
Mine is the world not only the land
Surrounded by warmth and cushioned in love
But even these dreams are not enough.
Cleaning the floor
On my hands and knees
Trying to ignore his jeers
Peeling potatoes
And shelling peas
I’m basting a turkey with my tears.
The turkey now will never be dry
There’s a river of tears I need to cry
No knight at arms on snow-white stead
Who knows my every want and need
Just day by day its all the same
No glamour or glitter or moment of flame
No chance of love as old age nears
I’m basting a turkey with my tears
Just basting a turkey with my tears.
Clichés
‘Love will come when you least expect it’
What he hell does that mean?
Am I to encounter my destiny unprepared, unscented – undone?
While putting out the milk bottles in my night dress?
Can’t ‘love’ call before hand to check that the timeing is right?
And how will I recognise it?
Will it bear a badge of huge proportions, proclaiming
‘I AM LOVE’
I think I’d run away!
And if love is a feeling, and I get it
What if the one I get it for doesn’t get it for me?
Love could come when some least expect it
But just in case – I’ll prepare
Comb my hair
And NEVER EVER go out in my night dress!
And the Greatest of These
Love hurts, I can’t deny
It gave me heartache and made me cry
It took the joy out of my life
It sucked out my will to become a wife
It made me envious when I saw a knife.
Locked in the bedroom, key on the outside
Nowhere to run to and nowhere to hide
Listening for the creak of the door
Wondering what I am staying for
Knowing in my heart that I want more
No kissing or hugging, no contact at all
He doesn’t come home, not even a call
It doesn’t take a lot of detection
To notice the tangible lack of affection
I needed to leave for my own protection.
So I left but my life was as low as can be
He sucked the self worth out of me
Time was needed to mend my heart
Broken, although I new we must part
Strength to stand and make a fresh start.
I know that I’ll find love in life
I’m convinced that one day I’ll become a wife
So, I picked myself up and prepared to move on
Back in the race where I rightly belong
Which only goes to prove
What doesn’t kill us makes us strong.
Lust
I wanted you
I really wanted you
And you walked away
With nothing to say
No even ‘goodbye’
Or ‘see you around’
Your mouth made no sound.
You turned me on tonight
Like no one before
But you walked out of the door
Before I could invite you home.
I’m aching now
Deep within
Is lust a sin?
Forgive me.
I close my eyes and see you
In my mind I feel you
Touching, kissing
And I want you
I really want you.
Do I call you up
And tell you exactly what you do to me?
Or do I wait
And hope
I can’t cope without the thought of you
With me, around me, in me.
I can’t believe how much you turned me on, tuned me in
Then dropped me out.
Maybe next time,
If there is one.
Maybe more.
Still the same ferocious longing.
Until I see you again
I think of the love we’ll make -
And I ache.
To my critics who said….
‘Your poems are too explicit
where’s the mystery and suspense?
Don’t spell it all out
Don’t make it too clear.
By the way, your form is too tight,
Too rigid and strict.
Don’t be bound by rhyme
Or a hostage to meter’
So, this is for you, my critics.
‘I shall write as I please
and rhyme if I choose,
I’ll write about nonsense like boyfriends and booze,
I’ll stick to my meter
My rhythm and rhyme
Because after all, what I’m writing is
MINE!
I’ll finish this rant on a personal note
Tell me – what was the last poem that You wrote?’
A Teacher’s Prayer.
Our Father
Who helps with planning
Prozac be my mate.
Our classes come
I quite like some
On Wednesdays but NEVER on Fridays!
Give me today my daily tablets
And forgive me my sarcasm
As I forgive those who throw pens at my head!
Lead me not into the stock cupboard
Where the secret stash of caffeine is stored
But, deliver me from coursework.
For thine are the children
Their fighting, and swearing
I’m greyer, and more wrinkly
PLEASE HELP!!!!
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