Who’s Who at the Zoo

There’s a queue, I thought there may be,

Families, lots of kids,

And here am I alone,

I must seem strange,

Although I suppose I could be meeting someone here.

 

It’s crowded, not ideal,

But it’s so long since I’ve been here,

It’s something I’ve been meaning to do for ages,

And it is my birthday treat,

 

It’s hotter than I thought,

Should have worn a hat,

But then there’s hat hair, can’t stand that,

And for some reason I can’t take photos with a hat on,

The shadow puts me off,

And I intend to go snap happy.

 

It’s far too peopley,

Ironic, as that’s why I’m here alone,

Just can’t deal with anyone at the moment,

They’ve disappointed me too much,

So I look at the wild animals,

And try to capture their essence,

And realise they are far better behaved,

Than the ones on my side of the barriers.

Advertisements

AlteRing

I look at the ring I am so familiar with,

That I saw thousands of times,

On her left hand,

Worn for years, decades,

In place of the wedding ring,

No longer binding.

I place it on my finger,

As I have done before,

When she was in hospital, dying,

And it became too loose,

But now in her absence,

It looks so strange, so foreign,

I have to look twice.

I know it has not altered,

So I must have.

Much Loved

Someone actually said it –

Well, wrote it –

‘You are much loved,’

 

And the only image that sprang to mind was Goldie Hawn in Death Becomes Her,

With her middle shot out by Bruce Willis,

And a song lyric from Kate Bush’s Lilly kept going around in her head:

‘It feels like life has blown a great big hole in me,’

 

And that’s exactly how she felt,

Because being loved,

Isn’t the same as feeling loved.

 

She used to think that perhaps she wasn’t capable of feeling loved,

But now she knew it was just that she wasn’t being made to feel loved,

Because saying you love,

Isn’t the same as showing you love,

And it was rarely said, let alone shown.

 

The hole grew bigger and bigger.

The Milky’s Cart (poetry/pantoum)

She rode on the back of the milky’s cart,

In her green pyjamas and Donald duck slippers,

The horse knew which way to go,

Around the town and back again.

 

In her green pyjamas and Donald duck slippers,

How did the horse know where to go?

Around the town and back again.

To nan and pop’s back gate.

 

How did the horse know where to go?

It had walked the route so many times,

To nan and pop’s back gate,

She thought the horse so clever.

 

It had walked the route so many times,

The horse knew which way to go,

She thought the horse so clever,

She rode on the back of the milky’s cart.

Fraud (poem/poetry)

Shhhhh! don’t tell, but I’m a fraud,

It makes me cringe when some applaud,

And praise me for what I have done,

Are they telling the truth, or just having fun?

‘Oh, poor love, she gave it a try,

So we’ll humour her with a lie.’

 

I look at things that others do,

And lament, ‘I’m not as good as you,’

But still, some see fit to commend,

As though I am on par with them,

It only serves to confuse,

Perhaps it’s all part of their ruse?

 

Imposter Syndrome is far too grand,

For the likes of who I am,

But an imposter is how I feel,

Just a pretender, nothing real,

Don’t use the writer/artist label,

For me ‘cause all I do is dabble.

 

With educated intellectuals,

My poor mind seems ineffectual,

Enlightened ones in all their wisdom,

I look like a cheap imitation,

Surely someone will discover,

The truth about me and tear me asunder.

 

Fake, Phoney, Charlatan, Sham,

Names I too well understand,

I’m just playing at being clever,

I wonder if I will ever,

Believe the compliments that some give me,

Or forever be burdened by this insecurity?