Thursday, 28 July 2011

Our Mother Toughs it out with He whose Name I will not Speak

(A tribute to my Mother-in-Law)

I speak of death in hushed and measured tones,
creeping round the subject,
as if by saying it out loud
I might attract attention,
alert death to my presence
and I sort of think that,
though I’m no spring chicken,
I’m not quite ready yet
for death to know of my existence.

She, Our Mother, being older,
speaks more boldly, 
reading out obituaries loudly,
magnifying glass in hand,
defiantly discussing funeral plans.
A direct challenge:
Come on then,
Come and get me, Death,
you think you’re hard enough.

Saturday, 2 July 2011

Heather and the Bug or Going from Verse to Worse

A get well soon message for Heather Wastie.........

Get off! get off! stop gripping me,
 You awful bug just let me be.
I’ve got a lot of work to do;
Can’t even speak because of you.

But Heather I just want to know
How to make my poems flow
I can think of all the rhymes
but can’t make them scan at all at any times.

So that’s why you been hanging round
Stopping me from feeling sound
I’m telling you this has to stop
I won’t give you a free work-shop.

I’m not sure that you made that scan
I don’t think this is going to plan
Perhaps instead of making mine right
I’ve on your poems put a blight

Oh no! My poetry’s gone to pot
because of this terrible bug wot I’ve got
My scansion’s gone all over the place
And my rhyming isn’t any good either

Well this is pointless isn’t it
You can’t teach me if you’re not fit
I need to do what’s best for me.......

I’ll try infecting Emma P