#36 egg on my

my eggs
they are

my wishes

i could eat
them all
day long

but my colleagues
they pong

it’s truly
a loss

to have
an anti-eggy

i have
to eat them
in the loo

they ban me
while I chew


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Filed under Food, Humour, Work

#35 to the crap nurse

the soft pad-pad
of your sensible shoes
(so reassuring at first)
as you stride quiet with purpose
to puncture veins,
cutting skin and
dripping in the least
refreshing water;
you are very tired
and I am very ill
and we wish we could be parted
(and mostly we are),
but sometimes you must
care for me
and it seems to hurt us both

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Filed under Anxiety, Body, Failure, Sad, Tense

Update on hiatus

All of you who read here regularly (and thank you for doing so) will have noticed that there isn’t a poem posted every day. This is because I usually write my poems at work where wordpress.com is blocked by my firewall (it’s somehow made it into the porn category). I tend to upload them in threes and fours when I get the chance.

This week however my husband was rushed into hospital. Thankfully all is now well, but in the middle of surgery and work issues and post-surgical care, the poems took a back seat. Normal service will resume shortly. I will try to fill in the poems I missed over the next few days, but I’m not gonna beat myself up about it, as I’m pretty tired.

Peace out, y’all.

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Filed under Uncategorized

#34 to the church

I would rather have five minutes
with your broken heart on view
than a lifetime of politeness
with your plastered smile askew

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Filed under Anxiety, Body, Death, Failure, Friendship, God, Prayer, Sad, Truth

#33 perspective

i am a radio,
my frequency is gaunt;
please tune me
to abundance,
and drown out
the voice of want

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Filed under Hopeful, Truth

#32 my anger is a carriage

my anger is a carriage
that transports all the pain;
it stumbles over cobblestones
and crashes through the rain.
but what’s the destination?
where does anger go?
perhaps it should retire
to the classic carriage show.

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Filed under Hopeful

#31 to my husband (II)

you said my skin
was like fresh fruit;
glad to be your salad

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Filed under Body, Eros, Joy