Best Nannies Poems
I wish I’d had the courage to ask you
why you treated me so differently to my sibling
You gave her private education at Norland -
yet I did the same course but at the local technical college
You purchased a house for her -
yet I had to save up with my husband to buy our own
You paid for her driving lessons, bought her a car
whilst I had 5 casual jobs and paid for my own
You gave her money on tap
yet I’ve have had to work for everything we own
At the end of the day
you never treated me like I was your daughter.
Since you died …
Mum’s intimated you weren’t my father …
I wish I’d had the courage to ask before you died
NB Neither myself or mum have grieved in the five years since he died - as for my sister I have no idea, as she cut all contact with the family after she inherited part of dad's estate from me and mum.
Norland is a private college in Berkshire - it's where the Royal Nannies come from
awarded poem of the day 9/10/20
awarded trophy 9/29/20
Previously received n/a in courage Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cook
09/09/20
Nineteen nosey newts nudged nasty nautical nannies
Eighteen eager ermines excitedly edged everyone’s ego
Seventeen sacred slugs sat sideways searching seagulls
Sixteen slippery snails slid southwards sipping sangria
Fifteen flowery foxes fell forward fondling fuchsias
Fourteen frantic fleas froze fighting frightening fanatics
Twelve twiddling tigers told thirteen tasteless tales
Eleven elderly elephants embellished eighteen ebony earrings
Ten terrified tardy ticks tricked two thirsty Turkish tramps
Nine naughty nasal know-it-alls knew nothing nearing knowledge
Eight elastic earthworms echoed eighty edgy Egyptians
Seven solemn snakes slithered slowly sensing sunshine
Six sassy silk-moths sceptically squished spinach selfishly
Five funny fatties feared following fancy French fashion
Four fantastic faithful Finnish flies faked famous farcical facelifts
Three tenacious terriers thrilled twelve tipsy throbbing thespians
Two tireless Tanzanian tapirs tittle tattled tirelessly throughout Tuesday
One obedient oily octopus offered obnoxious orangutans oranges outrageously
On Being Eighty
Do not smile and pat me on the head
Because I’m eighty
Do not treat me as though I were a child
Because I’m eighty
Do not assume that I am
Not as bright as you
Or that my opinion doesn’t count
Because I’m eighty
Do not talk about me
As though I weren’t there
Because I’m eighty
Do not roll your eyes to heaven
When I complain and please...Please
Don’t call me dearie
Just because I’m eighty
I have lived through the Depression,
The birth of television
The invention of the microwave,
Modern air travel,
Space ships, Man on the moon,
WW2, Korea, Vietnam, the Gulf War and Iraq
While holding down numerous jobs
And raising a family.
All this without
Cell Phones, Ipods, Nannies,
Personal Trainers and Botox!
So please…my dear
Do not patronize me
Because I’m eighty
Indeed…celebrate with me
Just BECAUSE I’m eighty!
Copyright© 2008 Beatrice Boyle
(All rights reserved)
alcoholic actors age artificially
frustrated feminists fornicate fiendishly
clever cops cripple conspiracies
nervous nannies neglect nurseries
morbid ministers murder martyrs
jealous judges justify junkies
lazy lawyers liberate lunatics
paranoid pimps pacify prostitutes
emotional eccentrics execute evangelists
gullible gangsters glorify graveyards
horny hypocrites horrify humanists
impotent invalids inspire incest
scorned schizophrenics sabotage sanity
disgraced diplomats destroy democracy
tormented terrorists terminate treason
reformed revolutionaries regret redemption
Reliving Upside Down
by Odin Roark
The Jungle Gym geodesic glistened,
Afternoon showers dripped,
Languorous droplets fell,
Saturating sand below,
Just like then.
Bench of parents
Reflected memories old,
Stroller wheels struggling,
Obstinate sand as obstacle,
Giggles and screeches
From canopy covered pram,
Bumpy ride for my brother,
His laughter, sheer joy.
Fathers,
Mothers,
Sitters and nannies,
Attentive to children’s every move.
So many eyes saw me
Atop the dome’s iron lattice,
Hanging by my legs,
Seeing the world upside down,
Shouting, “Look at me, Grandpa!”
He didn’t notice this day,
His sudden slumped body,
Dropped the half eaten sandwich
To the ground.
Part of me wanted not to upright my view,
That safety of abstract vision so foreign then,
So understandable now,
So strangely comforting then,
So painful now.
I now straddle atop the bars,
Thinking thirty-three years haven’t made it easier,
Save the bench now replaced
The sand succeeded by concrete,
The tenders and watchers now often of different purpose,
Staring at me not knowing
I’m anything but a nut case.
Some of us just discover
Life’s remembrances
Sometimes prophesy what is to come.
Some, like me, will realize
Their whole adult life is programmed upside down,
Its sophisticated induction lures escapees
Into free-for all playground-workplaces
Where capture so often comes by way of
Pills,
Powder,
Liquid
Needles.
I smile.
Swing down to the ground,
Throw an embrace to Grandpa’s bench,
Look up and shout…
“Reliving upside down moments of love is okay.
Really…
It’s okay.”
When wealth is determined by the number of guns one owns.
When a wedding party is a family barbeque, and the wife needn't change last
names.
When only the very richest owns a bathroom.
Where soap has yet to be discovered.
Where squirrel brains is a main course.
Where your doctor wears a plaid shirt.
Where teeth are rarer than diamonds.
Where coon-skin caps are fashionable.
Where the one room school is underused.
Where the smartest people study comic books.
Where your dad is also your uncle.
Where a woman shaving her legs is a waste of razors.
Where the closest thing to a car is a mule named Sarah.
Where night-crawler worms are considered a snack food.
Where people still wonder who will win the Civil War.
Where television is the technology of the future.
Where everyone knows the earth is flat.
Where the moon is still thought to be made of cheese.
Where medicine is dispensed from a wagon.
Where that medicine is always Dr. Dermatosis's Magic Elixir.
Where the postman makes a yearly visit, and wonders why.
Where Tom's Tidbits is considered scholarly literature.
Where English muffins are considered foreign food.
Where English muffins are described as having "Crooks and Nannies".
Where no one knows what a "nanny" is, anyway.
Where Spike Jones is the romantic crooner.
The Real Housewives
Sorry
Reality T.V Housewives
What's that all about
Happy Wife
Happy life
Jesus Christ
Thank God for Nannies
And Cleaner's
And Make up Artist's
Imagine any of these
Without the 3 R's to fall back upon
Rich's
Rrendering
Rhinoplastey
And a cheating Husband
All of the diamonds and all the plastic surgeons
Can't polish a turd
Even if it's covered in gold
Mutton dressed as lamb
Doesn't make a housewife
Real housewives are loved not built
Are Mother's
Not Reality Consumerist martyrs
Dressed in overpriced garters
With fake teeth
Fake smile's
Fake Boobs
And even faker marriages
With bleached and trimmed undercarriages
Slam
Sham
Film flam
Acting like there **** don't stink
Because they are so full of botox
They can't even blink
Can only be watched with the aid of a stiff drink
The mind boggles
How low can we go
Watch the show
Driving in the city,
I'm used to many things -
Crazy cabbies, honking horns,
Pigeons spreading wings.
In attentive texters,
Speedy messengers on bikes,
Nannies pushing strollers filled
With bored or wailing tykes.
Buses not in service,
Doormen whistles blowing,
Drivers who have no idea
Which way they should be going.
But one thing I have never seen
Until my current trip
Is tumbleweed go tumbling by -
It really made me flip.
Like a bunch of dancing hay clumps,
All this tumbleweed bounced by.
As it somersaulted on
You couldn't miss it if you'd try.
It looked comical yet scary,
Almost alien to me,
Not at all like on the westerns
That I once watched on TV.
For a city gal, I'll tell you
This was special, that is true,
But I hope I never see it
Roll down Second Avenue!
Children of Xenophobia
Children eating bullets and firecrackers
Beggars of smile and laughter
Silent corpses sleeping away fertile dreams
Povo* chanting new nude wretched slogans
Overstayed exiles eating beetroot and African potato
Abortions and condoms batteries charging the lives of nannies and maids
Children of barefoot afternoons and uncondomized nights
Sweat chiselling the rock of your endurance
The heart of Soweto, Harare, Darfur, Bamako still beating like drums
Violence fumigating peace from this earth.
Kinder der Xenophobie
Kinder, die Kugeln und Feuerwerkskörper essen
Bettler von Lächeln und Lachen
Stille Körper die fruchtbare Träume wegschlafen
Povo* die neue nackte elende Slogans singen
Zu lang wegbleibende Exilierte die Rote Beete essen und Afrikanische Kartoffeln
Abtreibungen & Kondome Batterien die die Leben von Kinder- und Dienstmädchen aufladen
Kinder barfüßiger Nachmittage und kondomloser Nächte
Schweiß der den Fels deiner Ausdauer meißelt
Das Herz von Soweto, Harare, Darfur, Bamako schlägt noch wie Trommeln
Gewalt die Frieden wegräuchert von dieser Erde.
Translator's note:
* “the povo (the 'people' - referring to the low-income majority)” – This definition was offered in 1994. Cf. “[...] it has been frequently asserted that the access of the povo (the 'people'. - referring to the low-income majority) to the University of Zimbabwe has improved .” (Paul Bennell and Mkhululi Ncube, “A University for the Povo? The Socio-Economic Background of African University Students in Zimbabwe Since Independence”, in: Journal of Southern African Studies, Vol. 20, No. 4, Dec. 1994, pp. 587-601. – A skeptical asssessment of povo is offered by an apologist of the West who asserts that “the Povo masses are not attuned to the western format of democracy.” (Charles W. Duke, Zimbabwe: The Land That Weeps. Yeadon, Leeds, West Yorkshire : Best Books Online/ Mediaworld PR Ltd., 2003, p.83.)
Babysitting bloody goats,
Babysitting bloody goats,
Baaaa baaaa twinkletoes has notes,
Trying to get some bloody sleep,
Sounds like a rabid rancid sheep,
a lonesome goat, you know it,
wheres that bloody clive a sitting,
climbing screen doors, its not quiting,
Sue heard one on the ole tin roof,
twinkle toes tap tap 2 do it?
Blaurgggggght says the nanny goat,
Crazy bludger's tunes out of note,
Drops poor ole Johnson in it?
Ferret dog emasculated,
Banged and thumped and castigated,
Head butted by 2 nannies sure,
Doesn’t want it any more,
Sidestepping Ferret voted!
Waiting for ole Clive to come,
With the red van goats do hum,
Head butting ole screen door,
Blaurgh where are you clive, whaffor?
Goat chops for tweededum,
Cant eat your mates they hum,
Be quiet my moral core,
They won….Don Johnson
https://www.facebook.com/don.johnson.
79219/posts/10203114820445074?comment_
id=10203114886406723&offset=0&total_comments=7
This Quatrain King is taking a break for a bit
Rhyming has been my thing since day one
Sometimes I talk in riddles I'm told by wifey poo
But you'll be happy to know
This old geezer is multitalented
I'm able to talk and chew gum at the same time
Can even spit nickels while singing Moon River
Okay enough about this talented old soul
I'd like to hear what extraordinary talents you guys have
Let's keep it clean though
Little kiddies or sensitive old nannies
May have stumbled across P-Soup
While searching for a recipe for French Canadian Pea Soup
Raunchy is permitted BUT
Only when describing the love habits
Of the Northern Hairy-Nosed Wombats of Australia
Their nose is very important in their survival
Since this creature has very poor eyesight
And needs its nose to smell food and OTHER THINGS in the dark
I have long since had that ability
Now aren't you glad you tuned in
So let me know what weird and scary talents you guys have
And I'll write a poem about it
May even get published in the quarterly edition of “Poetry Weekly”
Ta-Ta!
© Jack Ellison 2014
In the fantasizing brains of all Nigerian Fulanis,
Including their kindergarten still urinating on nannies;
All the entries and exits within country’s Aso Rock
To keep obeying their adjustable, Fulani clock!
Presently, the unstoppable aspiration of the Purest Hausa teens
Recklessly announcing the same to their napkins:
The Achilles Heel of the Brazilian Football Team,
Easily her ruinous tears commanding,
When she should a loser’s smile beam,
This, thorough Good Breeding demanding.
By the United States beautifully masked,
In her playing of Uncle Tom, enormously tasked;
Her millions of Dollars readily releasing
A loved President, the next election, losing!
To nearly every deprived tribe
Something to fight with the fattest bribe
Or surrender with a loaded gun
Making sure it doesn’t away run!
I’ve tried to The Mentality justify,
Baring a Bible verse that does it fortify…
Or so to me it had seemed
Or, probably, I has deemed…
‘The Elder shall serve The younger’…
And God must’ve, the service years, made longer!
My bench provides a perfect view
Of people on parade.
I love to watch each passing person
Artfully displayed.
Some taxi yellow hi-top sneakers,
Jeans with ripped-up knees,
Tie-dye sweatshirts, neon caps
And college-boasting tees…
A toddler on a scooter
With a helmet rosy pink,
A couple on a nearby bench
With wine in cups to clink…
The dog folk pulling leashes
And the bikers blasting rap,
The nannies wheeling babies
Holding toys or in a nap.
A New York stew of humans
Makes the afternoon so nice,
The flavors so appealing
With variety the spice.
A sweet baby girl born into society with beautiful parents, wealth and fame,
nannies, toys, a plethora of games.
When she was two, she was taken to the fair, placed on a unicorn, her momma was there. The carousel turned slowly, unicorn up and down, cameras flashing,she was not afraid, her picture to be placed on the society page.
Five years old she went to the fair, her nanny was with her, parents not there. Mother was in Paris, daddy in Japan, business trips as usual, her parents told her that they would be home soon, and they were sure she would understand. The carousel turned faster, the unicorn up and down, she laughed, she was happy, the unicorn would never let her down.
The years passed by, she drove to the fair, a brand new car from her parents who could not be there. The carousel turned faster, the unicorn went up and down, people who watched her were only a blur as she spun around.
One last time she went to the fair, a grown woman now, time to put childhood behind,
she wanted to ride the unicorn one last time.
Faster and faster the carousel turned, the unicorn going up and down. Oh how she wished that away they could fly, to a magical kingdom somewhere in the sky.
The sky turned black, people ran for their cars, the thunder roared, lightning struck all around.
A brilliant yellow light, a flash from the sky, the lights from the fair turned dark one by one, the people were stunned by the sight that they saw, the carousel was still turning
but going so slow.
The unicorn was missing, pulled from his pole, it's rider was gone, never to be seen anymore.
I remember that garden.
Same benches, same fountain
Slowly I step in
Same faces, same air.
Babies play
Bawling happy
Nannies and mothers…
Fading away…
Benches, fountain
Babies and noises
All fade away
Leaving me alone.
A gate surrounds me
It has no ending
I walk disoriented
Looking for a sunbeam.
Only shadows around me
Ghosts of my past
Not a movement
Not a sound
I sit ashore
Keeping my head
For no letting my thoughts fly
For no letting my memories go
I fall asleep
And the benches, the fountain,
The babies, mummies, nannies,
All return.
I keep sleeping,
I can see the light
I can feel the life
I can live in my dreams.