This is a classic story to share.
About the best grandmother ever
She was the person who truly cared.
Back when I was still a little girl
When nays are not that old
She buys me a wooden slipper.
Together we tend her garden
She's a good storyteller.
We are never bored with her.
She got our back when we needed her.
Every problem we have, she's always there.
She always carries her magic purse.
Inside there are lots of stored memories.
Bobbies pins, gums, receipts and more
Old notes, mirrors, even photos galore
Reading glasses and lipstick all in there.
Our grandmother has a magic wand
That makes us smell delicious air.
Cooking us our favorite meals to share
For every summer all her grandchildren
Will come to her house to gather
Our dinner is always full of laughter.
Everywhere she goes, I'm with her.
All the things that we do together
It is a memory that we'll always remember.
We all grew up with her love and care.
Sharing with every piece of her
The love she gave us is so rare.
In our hearts she stays with us through prayer.
She escaped with her life, but barely.
He had been determined to take her light.
Her self-confidence had been eroded to a tiny piddle.
The first thing he had done was eliminate her family
And her friends, her bobbies, anything she loved.
She wondered now what had happened to her cat
He had belittled her, made fun of her choices, put her down
It had been a real struggle getting up from her crawling position
Church was something he allowed her to “try”
As long as she did not include him
He thought it was harmless, figured it would be a good way to control her
His father had used Bible verses to control his mother.
She had found other things in that church.
She loved singing, others built her back up
With their help she had made her escape
She was now living in a pink shabby chic trailer
Out in the woods, next to people who protected her
From the likes of him
The trouble is, she might do it again.
She had a knack for finding abusive sociopaths.
He had been her third one.
rainbow of flowers
multitude of flags flutter
the sepals-accept
v-formation geese
the royal air force power
crown jewels fly high
crows in ebony
great britain’s bobbies whistle
corralling the crowds
reign of umbrellas
tutelary governing
until kingdom come
inherited solemn pledge
the sovereign’s soul on the ledge
My computer's my friend
more so than my pen
With lightning-fast fingers
thoughts needn't linger
I can change my mind
with the tap of a key
No need to erase or cross-out
and that's fine with me
Some long for the days
of paper and pen
Bobbies on bicycles
the chimes of Big Ben
So let them long ~
I'll type my song
to silky-smooth speed
not written but keyed
A man was thought to be Jack the Ripper
who cried I'm just a hard-working stripper
The bobbies said Show us the proof
When he flashed his tiny tool
he was cuffed before fixing his zipper
I have a weird sense of humor but just appear luny
In reality, I have a degree in everything including bobbies
Their primary function
To feed their young'uns
And to stop the young laddies from touchy feelies
She's Off To Merry England
Where the blue bell wood goes wild
Where all the lad and lass speak a funny style!
Where cheerio means nothing but, "Hey how ya do?"
And bobbies are the real police watchin over you
Wave your hand, blow your nose, stand around awhile
The Palace Guards are stiff and never known to smile.
Good old Merry England! It's fun for all to see
Climb aboard, take a plane, grab a trip with me!
Globally, miners jubilantly jump for joy
Smiles on the faces of every girl and boy
The grins of a newly opened Xmas toy
Thatcher’s dead.
Trade unionists bounce along the street
Music blaring and the tapping of feet
From nurses to Bobbies still on the beat
Thatcher’s dead.
Street parties announced in the nation
Satan who brought economic inflation
Is deceased, now’s the time for elation
Thatcher’s dead.
Its times like this I’m sad I’m an atheist
And can only shout and wave my fist
And then go to the pub and get pissed
Thatcher’s dead.
What I would not write is much
On the sullied cloak of the clergies.
My inkwell keeps running dry
Each time my quill feather
Is dangled in their direction.
A warning not to belittle
Or mock the modern day Pharisees
Because surely there are
A few good men in their lot.
Yet you should feel this in the heart.
Because therein lies your eternity
I care less of the
Of the fierce looking bobbies
And dogs guarding their calvacades
And mansions here on earth.
I care less of the fetish manipulation
They have over the hungry pew.
And the load of labels
They hang on their necks
To deceive the credulous flock.
Yet it hurts me deeply
To see the false dogmas
Pouring down from the pulpit these days.
Stranger and farther from the truth
They keep getting nowadays.
And by their fruits ye shall know them.
Lamp posts lit stand straight and tall-
Silent sentinels of the street.
Yet bobbies patrol just the same
Walking the midnight beat.
There she stands beneath a light-
He wants some friendship for awhile.
She looks him over once again,
He disarms her with his smile.
Bobby walking down the street
Hasn’t heard a single sound,
But back behind a picket fence
Her blood seeps into the ground.
Tis a hallowed place...
This cobbled maze of alleyways
Which bond these rat infested streets
Yet, gas lamps lit, stand betwixt the corners
And lone Bobbies patrol beneath their feet
London,
A littering city of homeless ashes
Falls shameful underneath the moon’s pathetic light
The darkness is the seductress... soon to be accomplice
As the hooligans, once again reanimate in mist of twilight
Scruff tooth kings of domains, self proclaimed
The dagger and a pocket flask, two most closely guarded friends
And in the dank corner pitch kingdom, we anticipate
From a realm dubbed “The London Dead End”
Lush stumblers...
Streetwalkers or simply naïve
Entry here, our law says you must pay the toll
Or pay the piper before you leave
I partake of liquid courage
And then I set my blade
To foot falls around corners this way come…
Among this lonely blackened place...
This maze…
Of streets and alleyways…
Paved over each eve with lost shadows
Never again... to witness a morning sun
Tis a hollowed place
This maze of hidden alleyways
Which in blackness bonds
To these rat infested cobble streets
Where the gas lit lamps betwixt the corners stand
With the lone Bobbies, statues upon their beat
London, a smoldering city of ashes
Falls, tranquil within the first of lunar light
But, looming darkness transforms
Becomes the she, of accomplice
As we, the brutes are once again
Reanimating in the midst of twilight
Kings on our own
With daggers and a flask of scotches
Domains amid the sacred ruin
And greed with gain
We are home among our friends
And in the dank corner pitch kingdom, we anticipate
From a realm dubbed “The Dead End”
Lush stumblers, streetwalkers or the naïve
To enter here, our law says you must pay the toll
Or pay the piper before you leave
Then, spirits bestow a courage
As my bony fingers raise with the blade
Unresistant to the temptation of foot fall innocence
That soon comes unto this way
Tis a lonely hollowed place
This maze…
Of streets and alleyways…
been to London to see the queen
Scotland yard has nothing on me
posed with Bobbies, felt some rain
loved the castles, wanted to stay
been to Scotland, drove on the left side
saw a yak grazing in the countryside
found I'm related to the house of Bruce
heard bagpipes and hung out at St. Andrews
been to Paris for twenty-four hours
saw the Louvre and the Eiffel tower
slept at the Hilton then flew home
gonna stay longer next time I go
been to most of the capital cities
the U.S. of A. sure is pretty
sampled the culture in New York City
didn't need a passport for any of these
been to Canada loved it eh?
some speak French but most speak English
went to the Gardens at the Empress Hotel
didn't have tea but it sure was swell
been to the beach down in old Mexico
when I'm there I don't want to come home
the sand, the sun, the sea and tide
the place I go to get my mind right
"Only other poets read your poems"
Said my father, to my great appall
So I plastered a poem in spray paint
To the side of the town's harbor wall
Then the bobbies saw my piece of artwork
And they dragged me away to a cell
Then they threatened to brand me a vandal
And they called up my parents as well
When my father showed up, he was yelling
"What in blazing God's name did you do?"
I replied "You were wrong 'bout my poems
The policemen have all read them too!"
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