Tag Archives: prose

Stop pestering the fruit fairies!

No I will not stop picking cherries off the tree

They are so delicious, I want more you see

No I won’t share my cherries from the tree

If you want some, go and pick them yourself lazy

No I won’t let you have a tiny, tinsy bite

If you try again, I will fight!

No you can’t take the apples either

They are all mine, I picked them yesterday and for dinner I will dine

Yes you can take those peaches, take them clean away

Because I have a friend who will hate me if they stay

I am not a selfish fairy; I work hard for my food

I think if you keep trying to take, I think you rather rude!

I think you should work hard, for what you want my dear

Stop pestering others, it isn’t nice to hear

Now go on away my love, go and pick your own

Because I am getting tired of your needful groans!

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Filed under Poems S - U

Is this for Steven or someone else?

Thank you for your spells of isolation

Thank you for my limited social sphere

Because no one ever sat back and noticed

That to socialise wrought me bundles of fear

You done great service to my existence

You did great wonders to my life

You took away all the pain and suffering

That came with a very social life

I tried so hard once to be normal

I tried once to socialise a lot you see

I tried hard to be what folks called normal

Because they kept on nagging me

But when you came and cast your spell

You set my spirit free

Now no one wants to know me

I’m not a social bee

To me life is heaven living solitarily

 

And if you believe that, you’re a fool, no one can appreciate social isolation, nobody wants it, do they?

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Filed under Poems D - F, Poems G - I

My mind is a mess of ideas

I sit in nervous wonder at how my ideas remain

How I abuse them always and drive them all insane

I ignore them often, pushing them aside

Though they always remind me that they are always by my side

How I often think about the ones who have left me

How they were my best but they were forsaken by me

I wonder why then, that they do not rebel?

Why they do not turn around and make my life Hell

Like other authors say theirs do, I wonder why mine do not

I wonder if it is because my temper is so very, very hot

Maybe they don’t want to cross me

For I am as I am told – a force to be reckoned with

A formidable old soul

I don’t know what the answer is, but it is always clear

That those who leave me are very few

Those who stay are loved dear

But I keep getting new ones, constantly banging on my door

I get them so often, I am popular

It makes my head quite sore

I never know who to take and work on every day

It’s like a mother with too many children, each of them want to play

I can’t give my attention freely, some I will surely neglect

I wished my mind was more organised

Instead the mess in there makes me sweat

Oh so many stories and songs and poems and rants there too

I wouldn’t go into her brain says my husband, if I were you

But there I go again, thinking about this and that

I just wished I could get on with it

Whatever is next, in fact?

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Filed under About my work, Poems M - O

I won’t pray

I won’t pray to you, I don’t know who you are

Are you the truth or the fallen star?

I just can’t take a chance because you might be

The one who deceives and is after me

I won’t let you get me under your spell

I know you’ve done millions and done them so well

But I think I know, your terrible ways

I think I am safe, but even I could stray

One little slip up and I am surely yours

But I hope that God saves me and locks all my doors

I hope that he cares enough to be my knight

And someday soon, you will lose your fight

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Filed under Poems G - I

Music of the heart

Music of magic

Why do I play?

To send good luck, coming your way

I play my tune for your delight

I play for you morning, noon and night

I play for happiness

I play for love

I play for heavenly gifts above

I will play forever, the music of your life

If I stop, it might bring you strife

So I play on tirelessly my dear

I am your musician, even if you don’t hear

I play to give you everything you need

I will always do this, I shall never be freed

I am your life’s music

Your beating heart

We are bound together, never to part

If I stop, you will surely die

And on that day, I will sorely cry

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Filed under Poems M - O

Music of magic

I play my violin whilst looking out on the balcony at the moonlight above

I play a melody of war, thinking about my sweet love

In a battle he fights, far, far away

I hope I see him again someday

I play strong and hard, hard notes

I play for him, to give him strength I hope

A passion of music in the glistening night

I hope will give him the strength to fight

An act of witchcraft?

I do not know

But it has worked before, this I know

He told me once of how he heard

My violin music, but his friends said its absurd

So I play for him, when he is away

So I can see him again someday

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Filed under Poems M - O

Frost bitten rose

 

The winter is cold now

There’s a bite in the air

A snowstorm, it invites me

To walk alone without a care

Into the white cascades

Death is a dream to me

I invite it

I embrace it all the time

Now it calls me

I go to it

You may find me near the springtime

Like a frost bitten rose

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Filed under Poems D - F

Birthday poem for Nanny Howe

I miss you now you are gone

I miss your funny ways

Such as waking up at six O’clock to carboot it all the day

I miss your dusty, ashy house; I miss how you used to swear

I miss everything about you gran, I wished you was still there

I know a lot of people would call you crass and uncouth

But if you weren’t there every day, I would have had a worst youth

You showed me what normal should be like

You bought me down to Earth

You taught me nothing domestically

But you always had a warm hearth

Literally, like in the summer, we are all baking hot

And you will still put the fire on, killing us lot

I miss how you used to guzzle tea and mispronounce your words

I miss how you used to talk about the fights you had with birds

I miss all of your gypsy superstitions and your weird little ways

I miss you so much gran, I think I will always

Happy Birthday Nanny Howe

This poem was for you, you silly cow ❤

For those who don’t know my gran, she really wouldn’t have been offended by the last line, it was more or less something everyone said to her and she was so confident in herself she literally rolled her eyes and ignored us.

If anyone wants to know what she was like, I am telling you now, the likeness of personality between her and Catherine Tate’s Nan is amazing!  It is almost like Catherine Tate knew my Nan herself!

But my gran physically looked very different, very exotic to some.  She had dark olive skin, thick black tight curly hair like an Italian style, she always said we had Romany gypsy in us, Italian, Chinese, Hindu and black, but no one ever believed her.  I was told to ignore her, but I never did, I always felt she was the most honest person I ever knew.  As it turned out, two years ago I discovered she was right about certain things genetically.  I found it wasn’t a Chinese man who was supposed to be her great grandfather, it was a Vietnamese man, I found out on GenesReunited.com he adopted the surname of his English wife to fit in to Victorian Britain.  I also found out that her great great grandmother from 1840 was born in Boston USA and was mixed race, her mother’s former owner was so kind about her situation he had her educated to become a teacher but something happened by the time she was twenty three which meant she needed to go to Gibraltar, I don’t know what, but there she met a sailor who was British, married him and went to live in Kensington London.

So my gran was right to attack my mum all those years about racism, she was right in saying “we’re not all white you know”.

I was never sure of the gypsy claims though, but I do know that she took me to Portobello Rd Market once and introduced me to Old Gypsy Lee who lived under a bridge and he recognised her as kin.  I do know that Nan was raised on a farm in Enfield and that gypsies in the olden days often worked for farms, so it could be true, the family do have a big love for horse brasses.

Haven’t found the Hindu bit yet, but there was something in her history which showed in the 18th century that there was a Spanish lady who apparently was thought to be of Muslim origins, which makes me wonder about another claim gran had – the one about us being Egyptian somewhere down the line too.

I never forget the time that I was arguing with my mum about grans claims; mum was adamant we have an all-white and all British history that goes back before time, so I asked her to explain grans colouring and mum was quite offensive with her reply.  She said that she got her colouring for not being hygienic and washing enough, gran was there at the time and slapped her one, it was classic.

I got a slap too and was chased to my bedroom and threatened with all sorts of things by mum when I blurted out that she deserved that as it was a disgusting thing to say.

I believed gran more than mum because I have found evidence of these things a lot since leaving home.  I found out that gran was right about great grandpa Ernie being born and raised in a workhouse and he ran away aged thirteen and stole food from allotments to survive until someone employed him as an assistant gardener.  I found his workhouse papers on Genes Reunited; mum reckoned this never happened because she would have known about it as she was close to her grandpa Ernie; but mum fails to understand that before the 70s a lot of people didn’t like to dwell on a bad past because life was tough enough to go around wallowing in self-pity and many people liked to be private, so they never did talk about things, not even to family it was almost seen as a taboo to be nostalgically gloomy and my mum likens herself to being an avid historian – yeah right.

God I miss my gran.  I miss staying with her overnight, watching wrestling, horror movies and the shopping channel, whilst munching on fish and chips as she couldn’t cook to save her life, I reckon its why she visited us every day, because we fed her.  She wasn’t at all domestic, not the type to keep house, granddad did all that when he was alive, me and a couple of cousins tried to keep on top of it for her when she was alive, it was why I spent a lot of time with her.  Mum allowed that because it would keep me out of her hair and secondly it was to keep an eye on my dippy gran, as gran would do stupid stuff and that was normal even before her dementia.  She was in every way a bimbo and she knew it and she relished in it, because a bimbo can’t help it see, it works out good for her in a lot of things – to play ignorant that is.

It was a miracle my gran was alive at all, born in the early 30s with a heart condition and having a heart operation every 18 months her whole life and being on warfarin since she was in her mid-twenties, one of the first she claimed to get that medicine, coincidentally as gran was accident prone she was also haemophiliac which was scary as she was given a snappy jack Russell called Star.

You are probably wondering why I keep skipping from gran to Nan a lot when talking about her, it is common even when she was around, everyone called her Nan but I always alternated.  Her name was Doris-Dorina but everyone called her Dolly, which suited her bimbo nature.

I love you gran and wished you were still here.  But blimey gran, you’d be 88 now if you were. 

She died too young by today’s standards.  She died in 2006.  She was absolutely fine before she got ill; she got ill because of a car accident.  She had a car crash which caused her to have a head injury, like a fool she didn’t bother to go to the doctors and the crash was so mild that neither parties car was damaged and so she and the other party decided to not mention it to anyone and gran went home, she suffered migraines for a while and started to do silly things over a six week period – eventually we took her to the doctor as she was showing signs of dementia and a quick forming one too – turned out we were right and it the dementia was so fierce that within six months gran couldn’t talk anymore and would only stare into nothingness and needed to be forced fed.  Within a year of silence, gran died of a heart attack whilst at hospital waiting for a place to go into councils old peoples home.  She was living in a hospital for over a year waiting for some other old biddy to die so she could have a new home being cared for properly.

Apparently it can happen even to young people, a head injury in a certain way and within months you can become vegetative.

My gran hadn’t even retired when the accident happened, she was a cabby.

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Filed under Family and friends, Poems A - C

Flying Vampire

I spread my wings and fly into the night

I soar past the moon and in my delight I dive

I dive, long and low, down, down towards the street

Brushing past strangers, I hear their hearts beat

I fly on up and up again

I wish this night will never end

I fly on until I reach a place

That brings the worst in me

For I hunger for fresh warm blood

It’s the only thing that sustains me

I reach out in the dead of night

I grab a person for a bite

I drink their blood and they can see

That I am nothing more than me

A vampire that lives dark and true

A vampire and killer through and through

Let’s hope someday I won’t kill you

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Filed under Poems V - Z

The solitary vampire

I look young but I am centuries old

I look meek but I am very bold

I look sweet but I am made to kill

I look precious, yet I will kill you still

No matter how you beg and plead

No matter how much you love me

I need fresh blood and I will drink you now

I will kill you to death, which is my solemn vow

I won’t make you like little old me

Just because you worship me

I will kill you to get you out of the way

I will not have another near me; it’s always been this way

You sought a vampire, well you got me

If you had common sense you would run and flee

But I see that you don’t, so I will do what I do

I will drain the life right from you

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Filed under Poems S - U