22 March 2005
A thought
occured
to me
today,
as I waited
for the train
to take
me away
from home
and bed,
to work
and pay.
Leftover rain
drips down my neck.
My shoes, so loud.
Clip-clop, clip-clack.
I stop and stare.
I watch and wait.
While her brolly
silently urinates.
The thought occurs
and I compose
crap poetry (sorry Karen)
in my head.
Sat on the train,
I take out my pen
and wonder if
you'll know what I mean
when I say
I sat there gently steaming.
Pissed in the morning eh? It's a slippery slope.
That's not what you meant by "gently steaming" was it.... ;-)
Not so much, no :)
No apologies necessary!!
Oh freddled gruntbuggly
Thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchits on a lurgid bee.
Groop I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes
And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon,
See if I don't!
Apparently Pete is though...
"gently steaming" that is
Someone's been reading too much Lewis Carroll :-)
you would would never guess how i found this site. Answers later. Poems for now.
my happy house
-------------------
The time has come my latest thing
To show you where I live- this little tin
On a council estate British bin
With it’s siren sounds and flight path din.
And its kerbside kids with troubled grins
A 1950s suburban crate
Crazy paving, green garden gate
All crawling with weeds and in a state
Peeling paint all featherweight
Slipping tiles of sun baked slate.
As we step inside I hide some scrawl
Before you seize a moment and scan the walls
As I attend natures call
You take the chance and inspect it all….
Pictures and Polaroid’s upon its walls
Curious boxes, dim lit hall’s.
Memories that warm like cloak or shawl
Childhood dreams in a middle age sprawl.
It’s got pictures of me now and then
Mothers, sisters and outside men
1970s party hens
Curious make-up in seedy dens
It’s got faded shots of caravans
Forgotten holidays in nearby lands
Children sucking lollies in silver cross prams
Whilst daddy strikes an uncomfortable stand
With his velvet shirt’s and eyes of sand
There’s peeling paint revealing years before
Layer and layer upon the door
Cracked Minster glass - opaque no more
And polished brass reflects the flaws
Of fading carpets and chest’s of draws
Furniture’s laced with mites and mold
And insects burrow like manic moles
And the banister rails got twisted poles
And the dado rail is full of holes
And looking round I’m feeling old
Piles of clothes I forgot to fold
And stupid toys I wish id sold
And storybooks my parents told.
It’s my house of happy years
My happy house of teenage tears
But I miss the mother who bent my ear
Can you see my angst, can you see my fear?
She passed away and left me here.
Crompton April 2003
What does the poem mean?
Fuck you Bitch
tttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt
tttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt
tttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt
tttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt
tttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt
... the online home and (not very) alter(ed)-ego of Ann McMeekin, a recently freelance Web Accessibility Consultant.
... passionate about many things, most of which will turn up on this site at some time or other.
... contactable via email.
Design and content copyright 2000-2007 pixeldiva, except where noted.
Copyright of comments remains with the individual author.
All rights reserved.
Left comments