Category Archives: Poetry

Silent solace

‘Silence difficult to create’ was a statement or question I came across a few months back, for the life of me I cannot remember where, but having lived totally alone for seventeen years with neither kith nor kin within 125 miles, I am an expert on silence:

Silence in joy and silence of sorrow
Silence to help through the cares of tomorrow.
Silence in pain and in frustration
Silence in coping with a new limitation.

Silence as I watch each new day dawn
Silence of long evenings when the blinds are drawn.
Silence when tucked up all cosy and warm
Silence before a violent winter storm.

Silence for when someone refuses to listen
Silence when engrossed in a project or mission.
Silence of persistence to learn something new
Silence when struggling with a rusty old screw.

Silence of a day when the phone has not rung
Silence of satisfaction when the beads are strung.
Silence returning home from a day of fun
Silence sipping coffee just made for one.

Silence of aging ears needing turned up sound
Silence when you find yourself lying on the ground.
Silence when the washer stops before the work is done.
Silence as you wait for workmen to come.

Silence of my world with a first fall of snow
Silence as I mix a new batch of dough.
Silence of expectation at each new destination
Silence watching a child in deep concentration.

Silence of special hugs when loved ones arrive,
hoping they don’t say “We are leaving by five”!
Silence, long silence when the foot-falls fade.
Silence of thanks for the love they conveyed.

My First kiss

It was gentle as a butterflies fluttering wing,
My heart felt like bursting I wanted to sing.

First on my forehead, then on my nose,
I wished it kept going right down to my toes.

Scattering soft kisses like petals on my face
Warm and gentle, so full of grace.

Slowly and gently your lips brushed with mine
A sensuous treat to make my eyes shine.

Tender and memorable warming my heart
Delicious sweet desire, a wonderful start.

Our travelling romantic Delores, from Life on a Limb, found the perfect way to delve into the secret past lives of LBC members by asking us to write about: My First Kiss. I hope you notice that I have finally managed to list the members over there in the side bar, so if you fancy a few more kisses, skip along with me and see how many we can collect. Maybe with all this excitement it is just as well some are late on the starting blocks – my heart might go into shock otherwise.

Just remember:

A kiss blown is a kiss wasted…the only real kind of kiss is a kiss tasted!

Just Because…..

When I’m an old lady

When I’m an old lady, I’ll live with each kid,
And bring so much happiness…just as they did.
I want to pay back all the joy they’ve provided.
Returning each deed! Oh, they’ll be so excited!
(When I’m an old lady and live with my kids)

I’ll write on the wall with reds, whites and blues,
And I’ll bounce on the furniture…wearing my shoes.
I’ll drink from the carton and then leave it out.
I’ll stuff all the toilets and oh, how they’ll shout!
(When I’m an old lady and live with my kids)

When they’re on the phone and just out of reach,
I’ll get into things like sugar and bleach.
Oh, they’ll snap their fingers and then shake their head,
(When I’m an old lady and live with my kids)

When they cook dinner and call me to eat,
I’ll not eat my green beans or salad or meat,
I’ll gag on my okra, spill milk on the table,
And when they get angry…I’ll run…if I’m able!
(When I’m an old lady and live with my kids)

I’ll sit close to the TV, through the channels I’ll click,
I’ll cross both eyes just to see if they stick.
I’ll take off my socks and throw one away,
And play in the mud ’til the end of the day!
(When I’m an old lady and live with my kids)

And later in bed, I’ll lay back and sigh,
I’ll thank God in prayer and then close my eyes.
My kids will look down with a smile slowly creeping,
And say with a groan, “She’s so sweet when she’s sleeping!”
~ Joanne Bailey Baxter

You would almost feel sorry for Elly. Now wouldn’t you? 😛

Lucas and Rufus

Lucas and Rufus were twins
That is where our story begins,
They lived in the dark
At the side of the park,
Waiting for Spring to begin.

Their feet were cosy and covered
Four inches of soil had them cloistered,
As the wind howled overhead
And rain fell on the bed
No hurry for Spring to begin.

One day the sun shone for an hour
The roots pushed with great effort and power,
One by one, Lucas and Rufus appeared
“Rhubarb rhubarb” they cheered,
“It looks like we’re heading for Spring”!

Lucas and Rufus worked fast
Nothing they did was third class
Their leaves did expand
Twice the size of a hand
And their stalks were stretching for Spring.

Lucas and Rufus blushed red
More stalks were filling the bed
Time to make tart
For the house keeper’s sweetheart
Rhubarb is best in the Spring.

Lucas and Rufus were twins
Now scrubbed and cubed
In a tart they were stewed
Lucas knew the Spring had sprung
and Rufus knew Spring had begun!

The In Just Spring Contest gave me the inspiration for this little effort.

I didn’t think it was quite right as a children’s poem, it might turn the little’uns off eating rhubarb, so did not enter the tight deadline.

Did you miss me?

Heavy breathing
Pushing heaving,
Climbing to great heights.

Sheet shaking
Not bed making
Coffee caking first.

Selecting music
Who’ll help choose it?
Me. I’ll get it right!

Pole dancing
Upward glancing
Have to get this right.

Gently brushing
Sometimes blushing,
This angle sure is tight.

Near the end now
Looking grand now
Not much else to do

Clear the mess –
The sheets and brushes
Pole & roller too.

Vacuum, room
Curtains hang
Then furniture back in place.

Three days of  painting,
And not gyrating
Who do you think I am?



Irish rain has many guises
there are times it can surprise us,
from cloudless cornflower skies
to gently touch the lids of eyes.

Soft and silently soaking our souls,
it hangs in the air with no great goals
to reach the earth beneath our feet,
yet dampness everywhere we meet.

Long and straight without cessation
it lasts for days to our frustration
turning fields to mini lakes
rivers rising cause consternation.

Icy winds and freezing rain
bring dagger shards of pelting grain
to cut and slice our red raw faces
no time for glitz and glam, bring on the boots and braces.

In the dark and dull December,
from gun mettle skies so heavy and low
weighty raindrops plop in puddles
and make us wish for feather-weight snow.

This home made attempt at poetry is my offering for the topic Rains chosen this week by Ramana for the Loose Bloggers Consortium. Now I suggest you pitter pat along to see what he and the other active members have to share on the subject this week: Anu, Delirious, Maxi, Maria/Gaelikaa, Maria SilverFox, OCD writer, Padmum, Paul, Ramana, Rohit Shackman speaks, The Old Fossil, Will Knott.


In the morning hushed and white
The sterile room was still and silent
Bar the sound of those machines
Humming pumping clicking screaming.

People running
Checking feeling
Talking, shouting
Clamping shocking


In the morning hushed and white
The sterile room was still and silent
Not a sound from those machines
No need for humming pumping clicking screaming.

Silence of eternal sleep.

On the move

Monday lunching with ladies and mystery tours

Tuesday a sweatshop and a house of four paws
Incessant rain with leaden skies
It felt like November on the first of May
So sewing and chatting we passed our day

The rain is over but not gone far
A day for travelling by bus or car
A day for the pictures, but not for watching
Talking about them and maybe the making.

I might come home with stories to tell
I’ll be retracing the past on the streets of my city
Wish you were here, but you can’t, it’s a pity.

Be good to yourselves while I’m away
I will pop my head in before the end of the day.