Dear Santa
I’m writing early this year
Especially after the debacle of last year
You delivered the sexy underwear and the two-day hotel break to my wife
What the hell were you thinking
Does my wife look like she can get into a size ten
You useless fat bastard
Two days I had to suffer the wife parading herself
It was psychological torture
Swear to god, if I could’ve got my hands on you
Still swithering on suing your fat ass
This year I’m going to lay it on the line
Deliver it to the wrong address
Your Ho ho ho, will be, Oh oh oh
Do I make myself clear
Now listen up
Face pack and support tights
They go to the wife
Basque and French knickers, hotel included
To the lover
Don’t make me go back to that hotel with the wife
Or, I swear, you’ll be wearing those reindeers
Do you need a reminder
Have you got it now
Oh, and merry Christmas.
ANGELS WITH GREEN FACES
Saturday evening, big night everywhere,
Six teenage girls, hormones to spare,
gather in the bedroom to prepare.
Mirror, hairdryer, tongs for curling,
giggles and squeals, music blaring,
make-up, perfume, clothes for sharing.
“Mum” came the call, upstairs I trot,
enter the bedroom after a knock,
step back in horror, what a shock,
six green faces covered in face pack,
half-dressed, excited, hair tied back,
trying not to let the green mask crack.
Red lipstick, have you got some there?
and black tights, can we borrow a pair?
Please could you blow-dry Sarah’s hair?
I smile, comply with all their requests,
observe the whole going-out process,
masks removed, now dress to impress.
Duties done, I return downstairs,
shortly after, a sound in our ears,
clumping of heels, in fact six pairs,
enter for usual inspection format.
Is this skirt too short? Do I look fat?
Is this jacket okay with that?
Of course, we never dared to state
other than that they looked great.
Teenage egos are easy to break.
Front door slams, we sigh and smile,
peace descends for a precious while,
bottle opened, wine poured, chill.
Ruth Mawdsley
Nov 2019
A face pack guaranteed to make Miffy’s face look year’s younger.
She had never had enough suiters to add up to a husband, so she bought it.
She packed it on one Saturday night, and avoided church on Sunday.
For the face pack refused to come off.
For weeks she refused to go anywhere, thinking it would fade.
Nothing took it off, even the sun did not fade it. It was azure blue.
She started going to the market, and to other places, little by little.
She wore a large headscarf, and diverted her head but the kids saw her.
“Hey Mom! There is that Blue Lady!” they would yell.
People renamed her Blue Lady and she became popular.
People liked her better than they had ever liked her before.
She was nicer now, kinder, more empathetic.
She understood people with trauma a lot better now.
She was not as quick to judge.
A wonderful man decided to date her.
The night before their wedding her face pack fell off.
Fate in her best moment.
It's Halloween, that spooky time of year,
when scary monsters prowl the streets all night.
The costumes sometimes give us such a fright -
our heads with trepidation fill with fear,
but light the candles then they disappear.
Young children's faces shining with delight,
lit up by pumpkin lantern's glowing light;
with bags of candy kids run off and cheer.
Some teenage children take it all too far
and play their tricks when they don't get a treat.
I find smashed eggs upon my house and car,
then I use language I should not repeat!
Next year I'll have my front door just ajar
and wear a white face pack and old bed sheet.
10~23~15
Italian Sonnet - abbaabba cdcdcd
Contest: Mad as a Hornet
Sponsor: John Lawless
Entered into Halloween Contest
Sponsored by Nayda Ivette Negron
I hear the doorbell ring and I rush to answer it
The heavy wooden door creaks and squeaks and groans
My face is a ghostly white, you can only just see my eyes and mouth
The children scream loudly and drop their bags of sweets in fright
Terrified they flee down the path not pausing to look back
I grab their sweets and quickly slam the door
I dash to the bathroom
Twenty minutes is up and its time to wash off my face pack
Hee hee hee it works every year
5th October 2014
Darling in water falls
Down gradient of hill, rapid fall
Darling inwater falls overwhelmed by jet of water to throw mould soil
Soil rubbed as face pack
It is like a drama among fables
What the charms to feel one’s oat
Have to watch her petticoat
cute darling in wetty dress
Makes me refresh
A glass of lemon water too offers to lip’s thirsty
Her body, her mind, her stomach is in hungry
It could be rapid falls can meet up
But the shadow behind hill can not make up.
Saroj khan[sakha]
Trudging up a slate strewn track,
storm clouds gather.” Let’s turn back.”
As expected son slips over,
knee is cut, face like thunder.
“We should have turned left by the wall,
but, as usual you know it all.”
Two hours later find the path,
grimy rings around the bath.
Muddy boots line the hall,
grubby hand prints on the wall.
Sipping on some Pinot Gris,
his lordship states, “That was a breeze.”
“Tomorrow I want to reach that rock,
the escarpment at the top”.
Puts down her tea with Bergamot
“Do what you like, do what you want”.
Plasters on a mud face pack,
rolls her eyes and turns her back.
GRAY - For: Color My World - Nette Onclaud
by Patricia Lucas-Clarke
Yeah, so
I looked in the looking glass,
not much there to
write home about
except the cardiac veins,
they stand out,
and, of course, the
Caligula face pack.
In the blanket
battlefield,
crumpled sheets askew,
the dishwasher blonde
spreads like pale blood
on the pillow.
I could use a shave,
but what the hell;
she wallows in cheap paste,
resplendent diamante;
so fetch down that Capodimonte
statuette of the
Virgin Mary, Luigi,
I feel an occasional
prayer
coming on.
Yeah, so,
beat retreat, uncork
the breakfast bourbon;
in the gut swills
and gets to murdering pain;
jams a little juice
to get me on the road
again...