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Best Poems Written by Jenny Linsel

Below are the all-time best Jenny Linsel poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Jenny Linsel Poem

I'M Disabled, Not Stupid

Some people can be so ignorant
I know they're not to blame
They see me in my wheelchair
And say “Aw, isn't it a shame”?

I say “Hello, I’m fine”
And you don't know what to do
Just because I am disabled
Don't assume my brain is too

Whenever you get stressed
You can walk along the beach
With no facilities for the disabled
To me it’s out of reach

I'd like to go on holidays
But I stay at home instead
Because no matter where I go
I need a hoist to go to bed

My bowel and my bladder
Are affected by my medication
It angers me when disabled toilets
Have poor sanitation

On the bus, the driver puts down a ramp
And I can hear you whinge
When your shopping trolley is in my way
And sometimes my wheels impinge

I wait at zebra crossings 
And I know my green cross code
But the timing on the lights means
I don't have time to cross the road

My legs may no longer work
But my brain power is perfect
So next time you see me in the town
Please have some respect

If you'd like to know how I am
Don't be afraid to ask
My disability isn't catching
And it isn't a difficult task

I'll tell you how I am
And I’ll ask how you are too 
Overlook my disability
It isn’t hard to do

Details | Jenny Linsel Poem

The Reflection In the Mirror

I look into the mirror
And who is that I see?
Someone I don't recognise
Is looking back at me

The lines upon the forehead
That are called ‘worry lines'
Are caused by getting stressed
Far too many times

A line next to the right eyebrow
It’s the liver that's to blame
Due to excess alcohol
Or so the doctors claim

The line next to the left eyebrow
Is connected to the spleen
So much for thinking the body
Is like a finely-tuned machine

At the corner of both eyes
Are very deep crow’s feet
These are connected to all organs
As they admit defeat

We used to call them ‘smile lines'
But not much smiling has been done
When you have ill-health
Life is not much fun

Black bags under the eyes
Are signalling poor circulation
Or maybe just a lack of sleep
Nightmares without an explanation

The pancreas could be at fault
If there are ‘laughter lines'
But they could just be caused 
By laughing numerous times

Lines above the upper lip
They could be caused by smoking
But they also indicate spleen trouble
Those lines are thought-provoking

Lines upon the neck
Otherwise known as a ‘double-chin’
Can be caused by too much gluten
Putting a thyroid in the spin

In the mirrors reflection
There are so many lines to see
Then I realise the person in the mirror
Yes, it’s me!

Details | Jenny Linsel Poem

Bullies

Bullies

Bullies shouldn't prosper, Bullies shouldn't win,
Do they realise the pain they cause as they stand and grin?
Picking on the weak ones, some half of their size,
If a victim stood up to them, they'd get a big surprise,

You have a fear of going to school or fear of going to work,
Victims lives are being ruined while the perpetrators smirk
You sneak out of the school and the lonely streets you roam
You pray to God that they don't follow you home

You lay in your bedroom both day and night
Tears streaming and in pain, no-one cares about your plight
You endure being held down, feeling blows dealt to your head
But no-one cares to intervene, so they stand and watch instead

Bruised and battered and terrified after each attack
Then later on in life the scars are still present on your back
PTSD and night terrors soon become the norm
The very rare restful night is the calm before the storm

Bullying can continue later on in life
A helpless victim at the mercy 
Of a husband or a wife
Bullies think they are invincible 
When to a victim they attach
But bide your time and one day
They will meet their match

Details | Jenny Linsel Poem

The Passing of Edward

Martha was rudely awaken on Monday morning
With the phone call we all dread
“Mrs Palmer we regret to inform you
That your husband Edward is dead”
She thought that it was tactless
The way she had been told
Couldn’t they have said ‘passed away'?
Instead of being so bold
She dressed in her Sunday best
It took her ages to get ready
But she wanted to make an effort
For her dear, departed Eddie
When she arrived at the hospital
She was taken to the ward
Attached to the bed on a bulldog clip
Was Edward Palmer’s medical record
Edward was lying in the bed
He just looked like he was asleep
Martha took his hand in hers
And she began to weep
The patients in adjoining beds
Said staff had had to disinfect
Because Edward had taken short
Had they no respect?
Martha sat at the bedside and said
“My husband has passed away”
The patients resumed watching TV
And didn’t know what to say
A nurse arrived and said
“It’s a shame that you weren’t here
When he was asking for you
It’s a pity you don't live near
Don’t worry though cos I was here
He didn’t die alone
Whenever we tried to phone you
All we got was an engaged tone”
Martha suddenly remembered
The umpteenth pointless phone calls
To the lazy ‘cowboy builders'
Meant to be pointing her garden walls
Every time she phoned them
It wasn’t any use
Sometimes her complaints would be met
By an endless torrent of abuse
The nurse jolted Martha from her daydream
By tapping her on the shoulder
She glanced down at Edward
And noticed he suddenly looked years older
Martha said “I’ll be lost without him”
And the nurse gave her a wry smile
Then said “Some people will be coming for Edward
In just a little while
He’ll have to be moved
Because we really need the bed”
Martha recalled the other day
A pillow still bearing the shape of a deceased patients head
Martha said “I feel so lost
I don’t know what to do”
The nurse put her hand on Martha’s shoulder and said
“The receptionist has something for you”
Martha kissed Edward's forehead
And said “My darling I must go
I just hope you knew 
How much I loved you so”
She wanted to remember Edward
When he was full of life
Now she was a widow
No longer someone's wife
She waited in reception
Listening to the constant chatter
She wondered how long she'd be waiting
Though now time didn’t matter
The receptionist slid the glass aside
And placed a plastic bag in Martha’s hand
She could see it contained Edward's spectacles and dentures
And in one corner his gold wedding band
Martha returned to an empty house
And received not a single phone call
Of condolence or sympathy
Just one from the builders about pointing the wall

Details | Jenny Linsel Poem

Only In My Dreams

Only In My Dreams

Often times I've seen you
A nameless face in the crowd
Wandering in my dreams
Then you shout my name out loud

Have we met and I`ve forgotten?
Do we have a past?
When I dream of you I'll ask
And then I'll know at last

In my dreams sometimes I hold you
Then you suddenly disappear
I wake up with just a memory
And I wish you were still near

There are nights I think I hear your voice
Laughing in the hall
Then I'm awoken by a sudden noise
And realise you`re not there at all

I wish that you were real
And not only in my dreams
You're a figure in my subconscience
Where everything's not as it seems

Details | Jenny Linsel Poem

My Grandmother's Hands

My Grandmother's Hands

My Grandmother's hands told many tales
Of scrubbing steps and broken nails
Hand-washing clothes in enamel sink
Red football socks turned white towels pink

When not baking cakes at the old gas stove
Rag-rugs with old scraps of material she wove
Pantry shelves filled with powdered egg
Homemade rice pudding sprinkled with nutmeg

Sea-coal burning on an open coal fire
Bread on a toasting fork burning like a pyre
Grandma plumping up pillows from beneath granda’s head
Applying ointment to sores caused by being confined to bed

Hours spent at auctions bidding with her hand
Buying an incomplete bed wasn't what she planned
Back home in time for tea, crumpets and homemade strawberry jam,
I can still recall the smell of it, bubbling in the pan

Switching tv channels with a flick of her wrist
That’s how we did it back then, when remotes did not exist
Working hard all of her life, meeting everyone's demands
Every line and wrinkle told a story
On my Grandmother's hands

Details | Jenny Linsel Poem

Why Is It So Hard To Be Happy

Why is it so hard to be happy
But so easy to be sad?
When I see how people treat each other
Sometimes it makes me so mad

It costs nothing to be civil
To make life easier for one another
Repaying years of love and care
To your father and your mother

Everywhere I go each day
People are in such a hurry
Trying to make ends meet
Shortage of money causing them worry

Whenever I am out and about
I can always find the time
To hold a door open for someone
They look at me like I’ve committed a crime

I was brought up with good manners
And sometimes people don't understand
Why when I’m introduced to someone
I always shake their hand

They look at me incredulous
As if taken by surprise
Then I shake them by the hand again
While we’re saying our goodbyes

When someone is taking up a seat
With their shopping bag on the bus
I sit in another seat
Because I can’t be bothered to make a fuss

I feel sorry for young mothers
With their pushchairs and shopping in hand
Their space taken up by a shopping trolley
So they have to stand

The pushchair blocks the aisle
And the driver he plays war
He shakes his head in disbelief
Can’t people read what that space is for?

If I am out shopping
And I’m standing in a queue
If someone has only two items
I know just what to do

I let them get served ahead of me
Because I’m in no hurry
The queue behind me tuts
But I’m not one to worry

Manners cost you nothing
It isn’t hard to be polite
But sadly many in this day and age
Don’t know wrong from right

The elderly feel insecure
Even in their own home
Many of them are housebound
Afraid to go out alone

Teenagers hanging around on street corners
Always saying that they’re bored
Making nuisances of themselves 
Often community service their reward

What has happened to family values?
When people looked out for one another
Siblings always fighting for attention
In the shadow of a sister or a brother

I feel sorry for today’s generation
Good manners not being taught
I hope that by writing this poem 
I have given you food for thought

Details | Jenny Linsel Poem

Grandma's Pets

Grandma's Pets

My granda went away to sea
For many months on end
He'd travel on a fishing boat
With his brother and a friend

He used to write home regularly
And tell some quite tall tales
About being in a far-away place
When he was actually in Wales

Once they actually went to Africa
He wrote he was bringing Gran a pet
When he came home with a small cage
He'd brought her a marmoset

He opened up the cage
And up the curtains it did run
The curtains tore, granda laughed,
Grandma didn't think it fun

She said it had to go 
So to the pet shop Granda went
He returned without the Monkey
And to ‘Coventry’ he was sent

Granda apologised and said 
that he would compensate
Next day he bought Gran Tip,a cat
Bimbo, the budgie, feared its fate

He'd run up and down his ladder
And his cuttlefish he would gnaw
He took one look at Tip and thought
'I've not seen you before'

One day he pecked his bell so hard 
The clapper fell out onto the floor
No matter how much he pecked it
That bell would ring no more

Bimbo, I’d known since a little girl
He lived to a good age
I still remember that fateful day
I found him lifeless in his cage

Tip lived till he was seven
Many kittens he would father
Mrs Thomas would bang on the door
And get in a right lather

“Your Tip's been paying visits
To my precious tabby Pip.
If you don't keep him in
I'll see to it he has ‘the snip'”

After Tip came Ruff the dog
A cairn terrier with his papers
We would laugh so many times
At his little doggie capers

There were two unbuttered teacakes 
Sitting on a plate
Mum went to fetch the butter
She came back to an empty plate

Ruff was looking sheepish
Crumbs all around his chin
The cute expression on his furry face
I could swear it was a grin

We lost Ruff when he was eight
Poison in his canned dog food
If that had happened now
The manufacturer we'd have sued

Grandma put her foot down
And told Granda “No more pets”
She missed them all 
Well most of them
But not the marmoset

Details | Jenny Linsel Poem

The Good Old Days

The Good Old Days

Take me back to the good old days
When we were grateful for what we had
Now people have much more than they need
And society has gone bad

Greed is the keyword and money their God
Everyone out for themselves
I remember a time when we thought we were rich
If we had food on our shelves

People have to keep up with the Joneses'
Bigger house, bigger car, better job
But trying to keep up with the Joneses’
Just makes people think they're a snob

They look down their nose at ones poorer than them
Think they're better than everyone else
Just because they've got private health care plans
And the poor have got National Health

I don't know what our ancestors would think 
If they were alive today
They'd probably think we'd all be better off
Living life like the good old days

Details | Jenny Linsel Poem

Half Term Blues

Half-term holidays are here again
Two weeks of not going to school
Uniforms are in the washing machine
Even though the kids think they're uncool

After two days they'll be fighting
And I bet this will strike a chord
In a week you will be hearing
Those three little words “Mum, I’m bored”

Holiday companies charge more
Than they do during term-time
But you can't take them away then
You'll get fined because it’s a crime

None of the kids will read a book
They're on the console playing games
They won't take turns on the controller
So they call each other names

Board games they got for Christmas
Have never left the box
They have no patience to do jigsaws
And they're too old for building blocks

I turn off the TV and say 
“We’re going to the park”
By the time they get their coats on
It’s going to be dark

Eventually we’re on our way
And the park gates are in sight
A youth who’s loitering near a tree
Asks me if I’ve got a light

I tell him I don't smoke
And he gives me a dirty look
Then he mumbles a reply
That sounds like gobbledygook

When we get into the park
There's no apparatus free
It’s all occupied by youths
And two are carving on a tree

My youngest starts to cry
He wants to go upon the swing
The occupant waves his fist
Wearing a knuckle-duster ring

Another youth produces a flick-knife
Designed to look like a comb
So I usher the kids towards the park gates
And tell them it’s time we went home

Back at the house it’s time for tea
And no-one says a word
My eldest child takes my hand in his
And says “Mum, were you scared?”

I tell him that those at the park
All probably thought they were cool
They'd probably roamed the streets
Instead of going to school

He smiles at me and says “you’re right,
Now what game can we play?”
My heart sinks and I realise 
They're bored after one day
I dread to think how bored they'll be
When it’s a six week holiday