Listen to the radio,
News of job-loss, doom, and gloom.
Look out of the window,
Gray skies, dark, rain,
Tired, Angry, Fractious people,
And for me? Nothing to look forward to but potato salad…
Can I Borrow It?
She said “I love your top, can I borrow it?”
And she took it, I never say it again.
She said “I want that lipstick, can I have it?”
She went home with it, I never saw it again.
She said “I want those earrings, can I take them?”
She took them and left, I never saw them again.
The last time I saw her she said, “I love your skin, can I have it?”
She took my skin and left, I never saw her again.
Fears Of The Dead
I’m curled in a fetal position,
I’ve been this way for years,
They came one night and killed me,
to help to cure their fears.
Now I’m in a museum,
Naked, Screaming but no one to hear,
I’m here, alone, cold and scared,
I’ll be here forever I fear.
(This poem was inspired by the bog bodies in the national history museum in Dublin).
The handbag contains:
An old bus ticket,
Pages from some old books,
A blue purse,
Two pieces of paper, one saying “Anger”, and the other “Hallway”,
A music notebook full of chords, songs, and lyrics,
Two pens, one gold, one black,
A rose quartz on a string,
A library card,
A gold-ish bracelet,
A Book, “Remember Me When I Am Gone Away” by Christina Rossetti,
A small cloth heart, red gingham with white thread,
and a stolen bourbon.