Other Poems

If you like  my poems , here are some more for you to enjoy,  I send a  Monthly Poem I to readers on my list. Let me know if you’d like to be included  and have a free poem sent to you once a month



Leeks squeak, Sprouts pout, Peas wheeze
And Aubergines are queens
And lord it over Beans
And humbler things like Greens
And Artichokes – oh no, not jokes
But high minded folks
Who are the very echelon of veg societies
And keep as slaves  hand picked hardworking Filipino peas
Courgettes of course are kept as pets,  and oh – I could go on
But time runs out, I have to go . So –
Here is one more Veg –   what’s like an Onion but is not?
This is the end – and that’s Shallot!




I’ve taken up butter – hooray!
Today is a butterfull day
I’d given up smoking and laughing and joking
And felt that my life was all grey
But I’ve taken up butter – hooray!

To hell with giving it up
I’m about to start living it up
I’m taking up butter
Just call me a nutter
But I’m taking up butter today!


                                             DAY RETURN 

Mrs Chumley sets off early;
She’s going to have a day in town.
Pale rose lipstick, plus mascara
In a fetching shade of brown.

Lunch with Mandy – hair by Simon,
A quick trip to her gyney man.
Whizz round Harrods – look for bargains
That can be delivered in the van.

Lunch is fun, although expensive,
Mandy chats and gives her news.
Mrs.Chumley keeps her end up,
And has a little too much booze.

Simon snips, and cuts and gossips,
Says her ends are rather dry.
Mrs Chumley feels adventurous,
Thinks she’ll give some streaks a try.

Her gyney man is suave and charming,
Probes and feels with savoir faire.
He says there’s nothing too alarming,
Her bits and pieces are all there.

On to Harrods – not the same now,
Arabs don’t quite know what’s what.
But she buys some Estee Lauder
In a pricey looking pot.

Going home she feels like walking,
Takes a stroll to Waterloo,
Underneath the underpasses,
Thinks she’s found a quick way through.

Suddenly – another country,
A bleak estate she never knew.
Never knew of cardboard city
Under cosy Waterloo.

Russell and Bromley feet walk faster,
Heart beats quick neath cashmere coat,
Faces loom from darkened corners,
A lump comes to her Surrey throat.

Suddenly a face comes near her,
A woman’s face quite like her own.
Lovely eyes with death inside them,
No hopes of ever going home.

She stands transfixed, and sees herself there,
Living in that desperate place,
Where carrier bags are not for shopping;
Each is extra wardrobe space.

Two sisters stand and face each other,
Facing truths as yet unseen,
Each one seeing in the other
The knowledge of what might have been.

Mrs.Chumley turns and stumbles,
Blindly runs on well shod heels,
Knows she leaves the truth behind her,
Along with Sally Army meals.

At last she reaches civilisation;
Accessorize , Smiths and Travellers Fare.
Safe at last upon the station,
Smooths her newly coiffured hair.

Sitting on the five fifteen now,
Mrs.Chumley sees that face,
Smells the smells, and feels the pity,
Cardboard city – desperate place.

Thinks of what her day out’s shown her,
Things she didn’t want to learn.
Thanks her God she lives in Claygate,
And she’s got a day return

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