At crucial moments of my life
you will find me ironing.
A trick learnt from my mother.
She always smoothed things out.
made peace between warring parties.
Now, the only creases left are around her eyes.
We meet in town, for coffee
and some sort of a cake.
She says she's taking sugar in tea again,
and perhaps I should.
I don't look well. Much too pale.
I manoeuvre the talk onto politics.
The Gulf, the Catholic viewpoint,
the new outlook on water births, legalising pot.
Undeflected, she overrides me with
a brief statement on
meringue and eggs you couldn't get in the war the
back we go to my own queer pallor.
I wish I'd put more blusher on.
She toys with me like a footballer, playing me back and forth.
Or as if we're in a trench and she can constantly order me
over the top.
The confrontation is endless.
I wish I could learn this trick from her.
I wish I knew how the war could be won.
I wish I could eat meringue that fast.
I will my cheeks to glow with health as
she leads me across the No-Mans - Land of
combinations and corsetry of
hosiery appliances, and multi size inner souls.
Everything the colour of a rich tea biscuit.
Playfully she tweaks at a string vest as we pass.
'Call that a changing room, I wouldn't send a dog in there.'
Like a russet bomb, her handbag is ticking.
It is bright scarlet, goes with nothing that she wears.
Patiently, she shows me something that doubles as
an omelette scoop and a thing for killing wasps.
'If you're going to wear green for Gods sake, do it on a Wednesday',
and leaves it at that.
We narrowly miss a rail of pinnies.
Slowly make our way to the bus sop.
Even this much walking is too much now.
I promise to eat more, but to smoke
and go out less.
She waits for the bus, handbag clutched stoically.
Inside it I can glimpse
two tins of rice pudding
and a bottle of Lourdes water - in case of emergency.
She climbs onto the bus. Hands me a separate package.
It's the third tin of rice pudding.
Even as the bus rounds the corner
I can still see the handbag, gathered to her,
its words of wisdom
like a million suns rays, glinting, fabulous.
Eradicating all conflict, going over the top.
The fatal flaw of Nora Dring
Was splashing all her dosh on bling.
She counted carats, never calories,
Selecting suitors for their salaries.
Hence she was squired about by Joe
(Apostate prostate, but loads of dough),
And when she couldn't stand him any longer,
Poetry - Bikers Homage 2010 By Jan McGeachie
In contrast to quiet serenity
Each time a funeral cortege
Passes from RAF Lyneham
This Mothers Day
Heard engines roar and
Saw the largest ever band
Poetry - Blackest of Hearts By Laurenceaux.
I slew you;
yout life it withdrew.
I own you,
to intone and eschew
all that you do.
I trapped your mind
in a picture I drew
Poetry Swings and Stones By Christy Hall
And if I could go back, if you'd take me I'd go,
back to the parks and fields of our youth.
I can still smell the sickly aroma of rubber-bits
heating up in the afternoon sun,
the recently cut grass, the cheap aftershave
and girlish scents, splashed to impress each other Read more...
Poetry - Save Us By Simon Icke
Save the planet from pollution.
Does anyone have the solution?
Save your soul and find redemption,
Lord deliver us from temptation.
Save our world from the bomb,
Who else has the atom?
Poetry - The Bird That Sings Until The Sun Goes Down By Jim Higo
Unperturbed by traffic nearby, unmoved by lightening in the sky,
No tear filled eye, or fearful frown,
For the bird that sings until the sun goes down.
A soothing song as children wept, vivacious verse as salmon leapt,
No need for sceptre, or jewelled crown Read more...
Poetry - Tshirts, Trainers and Jeans By Dayne Coyne
It's the start of the holidays
We're looking great in our teens
All heading off to the disco place
T-shirts, trainers and jeans
Oh well, Oh well
Tonight's the night that I might discover
Just what all of it means
Poetry - If I By Mark Walmsley
If I where a fish
I could swim away
If I where a dog
By the fire I'd lay
If I where a ship
Into horizons I'd sail
If I where a letter
Poetry - Paranoia By Terry Ireland
Haydn Aidan and Monica Reith
Made a pact to share false teeth
It saved arguing whose was whose
They did the same with pants and shoes
One lived by night and one by day
They made the change in a passageway Read more...
Poetry - Nature and War By David Delaney
Soft morning sun shines through moist droplets clear
now radiating coloured prisms bright.
The almost silent brook is trickling near
as Autumn leaves float to the ground so light.
While pristine beauty now is all abound,
though some short years ago this was not so.
There were no flowers growing from the ground Read more...
Poetry - Still Life By Terry Ireland
Two women at a table
As though divided by a wall;
Although one of them is speaking
There's no communication at all.
She speaks of the thirty years
Of her late son's passed life;
The other thinks of just five years
As first his lover and then his wife.