Best Janette Poems
(I'm really sorry if I left your name off, but I tried to do
all the premium members I could imagine plus the
non-premiums with whom I regularly communicate.
If you are not here, I'm just not seeing you around!)
Adeleke and Amy, Andrew, Audrey, Barbara, Brian, Carol, Caroline, Carolyn,
Carrie,
Caryl, Catie, Cecil, Celene, Charles, Connie, Constance, Chris, Dane Ann,
Daniel, Danielle, Daver, David, Deb, Diamond, Doris, Dr. Ram, Highlander,
Elaine, Emily, Faleshia, Farah, Francine, Frank, Gareth, Gerard, Gert, Grace, Joyce,
H.G. Iolanda, Irma, James, Janette, Jared, Jerri, Jessica, Jimmy, Joe, John, john, Joseph,
Karen, Karla, Katherine, Kimberly, Kristen, Larry, Laura, Linda, Lynette, Mac, Margaret,
Marie, Matthew, Max, Michael, Mitch, Moonbee, Nathan, Nick, Nikko, Paula,
P.D., Phyllis, Ralph, Raul, Ravindra, Rhoda, Robb, Robert, Rueben, Samir, Sara
Sean, Sheol, Sharon, Stephanie, Tavarus, Tim, Tirzah, Travis, Virginia, and Wilma
are poets looking great
forward and
- backward -
and forward
great looking poets are
Wilma and Virginia, Travis, Tirzah, Tim, Tavarus, Stephanie, Sharon, Sheol, Sean,
Sara, Samir, Rueben, Robert, Robb, Rhoda, Ravindra, Raul, Ralph, Phyllis, P.D,
Paula, Nikko, Nick, Nathan, Moonbee, Mitch, Michael, Max, Matthew, Marie,
Margaret, Mac, Llynette, Linda, Laura, larry, Kristen, Kimberly, Katherine, Karla, Karen,
Joseph, john, John, Joe, Jimmy, Jessica, Jerri, Jared, Janette, James, Irma, Iolanda, H.G,
Joyce, Grace, Gert, Gerard, Gareth, Frank, Francine, Farah, Faleshia, Emily, Elaine,
Highlander, Dr. Ram, Doris, Diamond, Deb, David, Daver, Danielle, Daniel,
Dane Ann, Chris, Constance, Connie, Charles, Celene, Cecil, Catie, Caryl,
Carrie, Carolyn, Caroline, Carol, Brian, Barbara, Audrey, Andrew, Amy and
Adeleke
For The Palindrome Contest: Sponsored by Jared Pickett
There she stands, just three feet tall
Today of all days she looks so small,
Wearing new shoes and sparkling white socks
She goes to pick up her pink lunch box
Then we put on coats and head out of the door
It's hard to believe that she is now four,
As we walk down the road, she laughs and sings
Not knowing how it pulls my heart strings
Starting to run when she sees the gates
She calls "hurry mummy, don't want to be late!".
She enters the room with 'the very nice lady'
A big girl now, not my little baby,
I turn to leave tears burning my eyes
From her words "love you mummy" on saying our goodbyes,
Back through the gates with a long walk home
Long because now she's not here, I'm alone
For four years now we've spent each day together
I wish in my heart, it could be that way forever
But I recognise that is against all the rules
For today, is my daughters' first day at school.
copyright Janette Fisher 1989
This poem was written 23 years ago when my oldest daughter Elizabeth went to school
The Autumn air is memories,
hitching a ride on earthy scents.
It comes each year upon the breeze,
to tease, tantalize or torment.
Hitching a ride on earthy scents,
along with the tang of wood smoke,
to tease, tantalize or torment.
Brings a smile to this old cowpoke.
Along with the tang of wood smoke,
the wafting taste of hot pies in a tin.
Brings a smile to this old cowpoke,
when momma hollered to come in.
The wafting taste of hot pies in a tin.
I stand still and listen for the call,
when momma hollered to come in.
The easy joys of childhood recalled
I stand still and listen for the call.
It comes each year upon the breeze,
the easy joys of childhood recalled.
The Autumn air is memories
For the contest; Seasons of Mist and Mellow fruitfulness
Sponsored by Janette Fisher
Through the trees, they saw a light
As a haze o’er the village ahead
And weary from walking many miles
Two travellers thought they may find a bed
As they made their way to the village
A mist descended, cold and damp
Hindering the traveller’s on their quest
Shrouding the light from both window and lamp
Cloaked in the mist, the village was still
With no sign of life to be seen
As the traveller’s made their way to an inn
Ahead in the distance, a clock struck thirteen
As the last chime rang, from beyond the grave
Ghosts of the dead filled the streets
The travellers were frozen, unable to move
Fear and dread chilling their bones, head to feet
The traveller’s looked for a haven
But no matter how hard they tried
There was nowhere, for them to run to
With all routes of possible escape denied
Surrounded by the walking dead
And powerless in their plight
They were quickly consumed by spectres,
Who carried their souls off into the night
Satiated, the dead, returned to their graves
The clock once again struck thirteen
And two piles of dust, were all that remained
On the spot where the traveller’s had been.
Janette Fisher
Autumn, you are best in the time that I was born,
In the beginning, when children scurry to school.
Not in the end, when trees of leaves have been shorn
By winds or flurries of snow when days are too cool.
I love you in the time of Indian summer’s glow
When days are still bright, and they linger into night,
And trees along mountains are putting on a show,
Even to Halloween when we revel in fright.
Quickly how you pass into winter’s fierce grasp.
You fall, and only recollections can I clasp.
For Janette Fisher's
the Season of Mist and Mellow Fruitfulness Poetry Contest
The kids are in bed - there are dishes to do
Some washing, ironing, paperwork too
Children, office, housework, sometimes I think life’s hard
But it isn’t really, not when it’s compared
To my mums, who rose up early and who was never late
Lighting the coal fire, sitting in the grate
She then cooked breakfast on a range,
Haven’t things for me, now changed?
Over the range for hours mum would slave
Cooking meals, whereas I have a microwave
And a vacuum, to clean this house of mine
Mum used to beat rugs on her washing line,
I have gas central heating, to keep the house warm
For my waking up to electric alarm
Then straight into the bathroom to have a shower
With instant hot water, mum had to wait hours
For the water to boil in her dolly tub
With its mangle, her weeks washing to scrub
A washing machine, daily, washes my clothes
What I’d do without it, heavens knows
And only a larder and pantry had mum,
No fridges or freezers, with meals ready done;
Between rudding steps and the range black leading,
She always had time for games and for reading,
My children don’t bother to go out to play
They stay in their rooms, on computers all day,
I guess each generation, has its ‘hard times’
I suppose at the moment, I feel this is mine
But, on reflection, of the life my mum had
I consider myself lucky; my ‘hard time’ is not so bad.
© Janette Fisher – June 1995
I wrote this poem about 15 years ago when I was a bank manager and my girls were about 12 and 10
“I think the lemonade was poisoned, Sir,
he’s been murdered!” Watkins said
“I can see no other reasoning
for why the victim is lying here, dead.”
“Let’s not jump to hasty conclusions,”
Detective Inspector Bones, replied
“There’s protocol we have to follow
before we establish how he died.”
“So get on with it, my young Watkins
you know what you have to do.”
Watkins nodded, then put on his gloves
And went off, in search of a clue
The Inspector, a man revered by his peers
For his keen, analytical mind
Bent down, to examine the body
To see what evidence he could find
There were no obvious signs of trauma
No lumps, or bumps on the head
No bullet hole, knife wound, marks on the neck,
Nothing to say why the man was dead
“You can take him now,” the Inspector called
To the men, suited up, from the lab,
“Perhaps we’ll learn more from the Coroner,
once he gets him on his slab.”
Watkins returned, “I can’t find anything, Sir,
it seems our victim was here all alone
there’s no sign to say he had a visitor,
or intruder within his home.”
“Everything’s locked from the inside,”
He continued, a frown on his face
“If someone was here, they’ve been clever,
getting out without leaving a trace.”
The Inspector picked up the lemonade glass
Its smell gave him a vital clue,
“You’re right Watkins, the man was murdered
and I say the murderer, was YOU!”
“While I was here, examining the body
it gave you the opportune time,
to go around the house without hindrance
and remove all trace of your crime.”
“But you can’t put one over on this old dog,
I’ve seen it all in my day,”
He turned to the uniforms, by the door
“This is our killer boys – take him away!”
© Janette Fisher 06.04.10
This was written as a homework assignment for my writing group from last night - we were
given 'I think the lemonade was poisoned' and this is what I came up with.
The way the nurse looked at me, told me
That something wasn’t quite right
It’s why I‘d gone to the surgery that day
I’d been feeling nauseous all night,
The nurse called the doctor, who came to say
“We’re going to start you off, right away.”
They told me I had pre-eclampsia
A condition both dangerous and rare
But not to worry, that my baby and I,
Would receive the best of care
They put me to bed, and told me to rest
Then every five minutes, took a blood pressure test
The doc gave me a valium injection
To bring my blood pressure down,
Ten minutes later he came back again
The smile on his face, replaced by a frown
“I’m sorry Janette - your blood pressure’s too high
If we don’t operate right this minute – you’ll die!”
They gave me the anaesthetic,
As they wheeled me down corridors grey
And as we approached the theatre doors,
I could feel myself drifting away
The last thing I remember, before slumber serene
Was the theatre staff, standing there, all dressed in green
When I eventually came round, when I finally awoke
Hooked to monitors, drugged, feeling sore
I received such a shock, I shot up in bed
Pulling all the drips down to the floor,
The doctors and nurses then came rushing in
To find out, what caused the alarm bells to ring
They told me I’d been in a coma
For two weeks, I’d been out of this world
That the op had gone well, and I now
Was the mum, of a beautiful, baby girl
She was doing quite well, though still a bit weak,
I was totally too dumbfounded to speak!
Two weeks of my life are now missing,
Absent time, I shall never recall
But if not for those doctors and nurses
I would never have been here at all,
For my life, and that of my daughter they saved
And for that I’ll be grateful, to the end of my days.
© Janette Fisher – April 1983
This poem was written after the birth of my first daughter who is now 27
Most people who meet her, consider her charming
But she has ghoulish traits, they’d find quite alarming
With her gleaming blonde tresses and sparkling blue eyes
Her cherubic features are just a disguise
For although she emits a celestial aura,
Angelic pastimes, quite simply, abhor her
Where other girls play with their ‘Barbie’ dolls
She has mystic wars with her hideous Trolls
Her peers, read Enid Blyton in Bed
She takes Stephen King, with his tales of the dead
And, when it comes to the movies she’s seen
A Nightmare on Elm Street, Hallow’een,
Poltergiest, Psycho, The Thing, The Blob too
These are just to name but a few
There’s nothing she likes more than a good ‘chiller’
With ghosts, ghouls and monsters, or psychotic killers
She watches the Grand Prix, to watch the cars crash
She loves to see the players fouled at a soccer match,
Ice skaters, she wills to fall flat on their faces
And athletes, when running, to trip on their laces
Yet, despite her having such a sick and perverse mind
She’s loving and caring, gentle, sensitive, kind
Unselfish and thoughtful, advanced for her ten years
Who on watching Disney films, has been known to shed a tear
Although she won’t admit to it, it’s only herself, she fools
And I wouldn’t change one inch of her, my ‘angelic’ little ghoul.
© Janette Fisher – April 1995
This poem was written 15 years ago when my youngest was 10 - she hasn't changed a bit!!!!
( ) ( )
)( )(
Fate’s Decision
when fate decides to bring you love,
your heart will fly as lovely as a dove
seems as if your soul had reached a throne of gold
underneath the rainbow of great happiness unfold
when two hearts cling together as one
making sacred vow for a very strong bond
for better or worst, ‘til death do us part,
in sickness and in health, the loveliest thing from mouth to heart
as colorful butterflies spread their wings
crowning you both with joy and bountiful blessings
applause will be on air wishing you both hope and success
as two hearts build a family hoping to live in a home of bliss
but when fate decides to bring you love
it’ s not always like a fairy tale now
just like a tall wedding cake that loses its shape
when love is not nourished and nurtured by two people who share
Written: Sept. 12,2012
Eleventh Place
Contest: When Fate Decides (Wedding Poem)
Contest Judged: 9/30/2012
Poet Sponsor: Janette Fisher
Note: I tried to make a Wedding Cake Poem
No! Amanda - don’t do that
You put clothes on dollies, not on the cat
Yes, I know that you’re playing, but Simba does not
And he really doesn’t belong in that cot
No! Amanda - I’ve told you before
Put your food in your mouth, not on the floor
Yes, I know it’s spaghetti, but look at the mess
There’s less on the plate than there is down your dress
No! Amanda - don’t you dare
Climb up in those wellies, onto the chair
Yes, I know that it’s bouncy, and that it feels good
But I don’t need the furniture covered in mud
No! Amanda – don’t take him out
A goldfish likes to keep swimming about
Yes, I know that you’re looking, but just please use your eyes
If you hold him much longer, he’s going to die
No! Amanda – don’t get out of bed
Pull up your covers, and cuddle in Ted
Yes I know that you’re tired, but you’ll soon be asleep
Then I can finally sit down and find some relief!
© Janette Fisher – May 1988
I wrote this poem when Amanda was 3 years old, she's now 24
"Autumn Splendor Serenade"
Autumn drapes green trees with golden leaves array
Lacing meadows in halos of wonder
Sidewalks scintillate in colored carpeting display
Crisp chilly air infiltrates in splendor.
Burnishing pastels fascinate in exquisite imagery
Cascading leaves decend in confetti decor'
Swaying branches bask beneath amber tapestry
As Earth embraces view of Autumn's sweet rapport'.
Soft Seasonal canvas mesmerizes charmed coverlet of land
A masterpiece creation breathes, painted by God's Almighty Hand.
*For Janette Fisher's Contest..
They say I’m too protective, not letting my daughters out of sight
Or letting them play out with friends, when it gets dark at night
Am I too protective? If I’m honest, then they’re right
I just like to feel secure in knowing they’re safe
You read it every day in papers, or hear it on the news
That some poor child has been taken, murdered or abused
My life would have no meaning, if my girls I were to lose
So I’ll do my very best to keep them safe
I’ve seen pictures of shattered families - I’ve shared their grief and pain
Knowing that their children they will never see again
Their lives broken, by some ‘monster’ that a court will judge insane,
Parents who probably thought their children were safe
I don’t want to be one of those parents, and have pity showered on me
I don’t want my girls to be prisoners - I want them to play free
It’s a sad social reflection, when you know this cannot be
When you fear, that innocent children will never be safe
So for now I’ll keep protecting them, the only way I know
Keeping them here beside me but as the years pass, and they grow
There’s going to come a time when I will have to let them go,
Then I’ll just have to hope and pray that they’ll stay safe.
© Janette Fisher - April 1995
This poem was written about 20 years ago
when my girls were about 7 & 5 following
a news item about a young girl aged 16
who had been snatched off a busy high street
Mom, what a hero
Never ever a zero
When I was a child
She cared for us kids and smiled
She’s just my superhero
Russell Sivey
Entrant into Janette Fisher's "Holding out for a Hero" contest
4/13/2012
..... .........
There he hanged in suspended agony with screams pelting
recluse eyes terrified in the glow of afternoon melting…
pockmarked face, ears filled with stain, bones clanking.
how can i soothe his pain borne from abandonment sighing
no name, birth date, parents---thrown in orphanage dying
Warm milk with nudging couldn’t slay nightmares moaning
games on the porch were not part of his toddler’s beginning
yet, tenderness and steeled patience came unknowing
kites after kites, my nephews claimed him as brethren belonging
slowly… he met my smile with his warm gaze lightly riding
Cheeks now more pink than clouds, he painted with hands winging
laughter in bubbly froth loosened grip of past remembering
how we cupped the moon at night, his ribs swelled with arms widening
i entered his healing waters, watched him steadily growing…
He was my hero; loving a stranger taught me to be life-giving.
--------------------------------------
*To E.J.… one who became my foster child for a year.
Janette Fisher's Hero Contest
by nette onclaud