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Poetry |
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Hangin' Around
By Jane Foster
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In gangs we trawled the wet streets, alive with possibilities,
The smell of fresh rain and freedom in our noses.
How come they always say that we didn't have much,
When so much open space was ours?
I often ask myself now
If the posh kids were really that lucky,
Those who would never have to measure their lives
With the yardstick of poverty,
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But who were forced on Friday nights
To sit in some fusty front room
Practising Beethoven sonatas,
While we were outside, laughing at dirty jokes.
I see them now, these kids of the street,
Always in the same place : somewhere between
The smell of a distant takeaway
And the promise of a lovebite.
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Copyright ©2003 Jane Foster August 2003
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The You and Me Poem.
By Jane Foster
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You. Me.
A club one night.
The dancing's great.
The music's shite.
You. Me.
A taxi.
Jump in the back.
The ride's for free.
You. Me.
A conversation.
At three in the morning
An exploration.
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You, me
Need some sleep.
Jobs to go to.
Pets to keep.
You. Me.
On holiday.
Shangri-La.
Shaz 'n' Tray.
You. Me.
Drinking Fosters.
G-string waiters
(Manuel ; Costas ).
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You. Me.
The year 03.
Much post-modern
Irony.
you me
in lower case
fashionably
(watch this space..)
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We both melt down
Eventually
Like sugar slipping
Into tea...
You. Me.
You; me.
You ! Me !
You........me.
Copyright ©2003 Jane Foster 2003
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Poetry - Me and Jimbob, Lonesome Wail, and
Always that way By The Lazyswede
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Me & Jimbob out with the hound dog walking through them woods
Didn't see no sign of turkey all the time
Just a possum and a skunk
Then we heard a rustling in the pine trees
Thought our luck had changed
To our surprise before our eyes
A grizzly a running came ..
Read more...
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Poetry - AND IT SHALL COME TO PASS.. By Ken Hartford
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If I admit responsibility
For the life that comes my way,
Then I feel I own my body,
But that is just to say
I take my responsibility
For giving it some care
And that might apply to everyone
And to everything everywhere.
Read more...
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Poetry - Spirit of Woody Guthrie
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By Patrick Henry
These voices rising to a tremulous high C.,
Sad as a song created by old Woody G.,
Who long searched the home of the brave for the land of the free,
But found it's only left deep inside you and me.
Read more...
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Poetry - "I'm Doing Life", by Shelly D.
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I don't do happy,
I don't do laughter,
I'm not easy going or relaxed,
I'm not careful or carefree,
I don't go with the flow I'm not laid back,
I'm doing life.
Read more...
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Poetry - The Egotist By Cilla
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Tell me I'm great
Tell me I'm good
If you were a real friend
I'm sure that you would.
And why not be friends?
You're so good for me
But only when you tell
What I want to see ..
Read more...
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Poetry - Equal Amongst Giants (Edinburgh Literature Festival) and Night Driving in American Werewolf Country.
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by Oz Hardwick
I paid my money, listened attentively,
clapped politely, filed out slowly,
stood (vaguely embarrassed), waited in line
with book at the ready to meet The Author.
I asked him to sign my favourite chapter,
Read more...
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