Long Fridges Poems
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Jack is learning so much at home, he’s bright and cheerful and never alone,
there’s always something good to do, like playing with bubbles or a trip to the zoo.
Experiments with water and soap, testing if objects sink or float,
painting and drawing are so much fun, there’s so much to do, we’ve just begun.
Last week we went to BCLM, and learned how coal was mined back then,
no shower for you, when you got home,
a tin bath it was, but you didn’t moan.
No electric for your light, no tv to watch at night,
no pre-pack food or take-aways,
no fridges, freezers or microwaves.
History, science and a life of nowt, all learned about in a fun day out,
to actually see, with their own eyes, helps children’s brains to realize.
Being told things read from a book, is not the same as having a look,
to experience things through seeing and doing,
teaches us more in this life we are living.
A picnic in the museum grounds, then jump on the bus to look around,
down stairs first, to take a peek, then upstairs, to choose a seat.
Into the town we went on the bus, a man stood waiting and waved at us,
cobbled streets and lumps and bumps, down the road, past the petrol pumps.
Then to the narrow-boat for a trip, through the tunnels, watch that drip!
The limestone is white and crystal like, then out of the dark and into the light.
Legging the boat, through the narrow gap, is hard work for 2 at the back,
but we get through and come out at last, Jack’s glad he didn’t live in the past.
The chain-maker is doing a demonstration, he has a chain, for a link to go on,
he makes the link as we watch a while, “you would start at age 6”, he tells Jack with a smile.
So much fun we’ve had today, laughing and learning along the way,
looking at things, we’d never see, while stuck in school, at least till 3.
Jack looks at me with a smile in his eyes “thank you nanny, it was a lovely surprise”
“I didn’t know we were going today, to that museum to learn and play”
” I love being taught at home by you and seeing all the things I can do,
like making cakes and playing chess and doing experiments that make a mess”
We get home and Jack sits on my knee, “I’ll get that book you bought for me”
he reads his book to me out loud, I tell him ” I love you, you make me so proud”
I go to the supermarket
to buy some mangoes.
I’ve had five coffees
And spent hours on detangling
computer wires.
Reciting a poem I remember
from fourth grade
I opened another three college
letters in the mail yesterday.
The mailman’s teeth were yellow.
We regret to inform you
We regret to inform you
We regret to inform you that
There are no mangoes in store
Says the employee,
Eyes grey and sunken. I notice
His neon blue shirt has
thinly stuck to the skin.
I wander and run my hand around
metal
cold the fridges are cold
I open the door and let the icy
sternness turn me numb.
Maybe my face will fall off.
Perhaps I can write about it in a
supplemental essay.
What is one difficulty you’ve
had to overcome.
Well you see one day they had no mangoes
So I slept overnight
on the kitchen tool isle.
I carried a packet of Pop Tarts with me
only to put it back as I left.
In the morning I prayed for a mango tree in
Hazy misty weather.
I notice a puff of greasy air.
There can grow no mangoes here
For it is all ashen and tarnished and empty.
Look, that street where I would once turn
with my dog to go to the park.
When I was five how lovely it had been.
I remember green and summer
and bees and boys.
Now, my hands have written themselves
away – inked blue.
I pull my scarf behind my neck
twirling it around myself once more. Note
Need to Call Aunt Celine for Christmas.
Taking a walk is good for the body.
Aimless walking can be a primary sign
of depression.
Daily activity helps to relieve
stress.
Try not to let it take your spark away.
That's what they always say.
Lights pierce my eyes and
I missed a friend’s party.
Called in sick
from the lights.
We have other fruit available if you’d like.
Kindly I turn down the
meaty strawberries.
Perhaps I could buy some gum
Or whiteout.
I think about how
the city seems as stiff as I do.
In the chilled morning, before I leave.
How nice would it have all been
If I simply had some mangoes.
A soda and these rice cakes will do.
Maybe I should grow my own –
There in the sun cracks –
thread between sky and portwater.
There may grow my mango tree.
Monday
It has come to my attention, that someone has been stealing from
the communal fridge. I notice that my own personal milk with my
name on the bottle is half empty, also three fingers of my KitKat
are missing. Please refrain, or action will be taken.
Tuesday
It has come to my attention, and I’m pleasantly surprised to see
my milk has been topped up, though, why two fingers of my
kitkat in a V sign just beggars belief. Just tasted my milk, you
dirty bastard. I will now be monitoring the fridge from my office.
You will be caught.
Wednesday
It has come to my attention, the camera monitoring the fridge
is now monitoring the ladies toilet. This is intolerable, you are
usurping my authority. Heads will roll. I will now be moving the
fridge into my office until further notice.
Thursday
It has come to my attention, my office has been penetrated,
the fridge is missing, and I find a ransom note on my desk.
I don’t know who you people think you're dealing with, but
let me leave you in no doubt, I will find out who you are, and
you will be dismissed.
Friday
It has come to my attention, a delivery of fifty fridges is
cluttering up the whole building, management is going
ballistic. I concede to your demands, please get rid of
them. Let us get back to you taking my milk and my biscuits,
my job, my life. Just leave me alone.
Thankyou.
In our neighborhood during the second world war
At the side of each house were a porch and a door.
And, believe it or not, it was always unlocked
When a tradesman or stranger or visitor knocked.
Around dawn men arrived who at doorsteps would lay
All the baked goods and milk patrons needed that day.
And the women would once a week purchased their meat
From the truck of a butcher who stopped on our street.
Before fridges, remembered by we who are old
Was the ice box in kitchens that kept the food cold.
Using tongs, blocks of ice were delivered by men
Who before they had melted would come back again.
Also, door-to-door salesmen would try to persuade
All the wives that their products were best ever made.
And our neighbor would daily come by for a spell
To a recipe share or with gossip to tell.
In the middle of autumn, the coal truck returned
To replenish the piles that the furnace had burned.
Down long chutes made of metal would tumble and roar
Tons of coal that filled bins on our bare cellar floor.
Roving hobos quite often would rap on the door.
Without jobs or a home, they for food would implore.
The depression still lingered, so mothers would feel
Sympathetic and always provided a meal.
And to parents'displeasure, the screen doors would bang
As kids hurried from houses to be with the gang.
We would gather on lots that were vacant to play
Or would wander the countryside nearly all day.
When it rained, on a porch that was covered we'd meet
To with checkers or Clue or Parcheesi compete.
We swapped marbles, pitched pennies, played poker for fun,
And our comic books read till return of the sun.
At the back door we'd weekly the paper boy pay,
And the mail was delivered then two times a day.
If it weren't for the doctor who'd come when we call,
We would never had needed a front door at all.
Hello folks, I am your loyal fork - but had to laugh
At a comment below' hard to find a loyal one nowadays',
Fish knives are smelly,
Many centuries ago, designed for the sharp edge,
To be away from your face,
So that your nose did not have to brace
Itself, and your mouth was prepared to swallow,
This unsavory taste,
And therefore there was no waste,
No fridges or coolers in those days,
Had to eat what was served, spices and herbs
helped in many ways!
The soup spoon, seems somewhat tubby,
And looks a little, as did mummy,
But ouch, she wouldn’t like that,
She was only just a little bit fat!
But you, the steak knife, who do most of the work,
As you cut through rump, sirloin, pork or fillet,
Your duties like a military man, you never do shirk,
You master all foods proudly, we, the rest of
The cutlery in the drawer salute you,
Deserving of your Officer’s rank,
And we always rally to your defense, and flank
Each side of the dinner plate,
In every continent, country or state.
But who is the flirty one in the cutlery drawer
Why, the dessert spoon of course,
Used puuuurfectly seductively,
To scoop up deserts,
I, says the dessert spoon, make men drool,
As I lift my self erotically, to my mistress’s mouth,
Leaving some ice cream on me, which
She licks with her tongue, I assist her mischievous
Acts of eating with me,
As I enjoy the electric sensual romantic mood,
I’m no bodies fool!
Hey what about me, said the butter knife, as I slip
And slide through butter, and spread this indulgence
With lots of calories and love on your bread,
And of course dear little tea spoon,
Who stirs sugar and milk in your coffee or tea,
Don’t forget me!
So this dilemma as to who is the most
Important in the cutlery drawer,
Is easily solved
All eating utensils are equally involved.
I was here when television wasn’t…
Movies in color were still a new thing
Cars were mostly black
I was here when jet planes weren’t…
Telephones were bulky and hung from the wall
Most every town had a railroad track
I was here when satellites and smartphones didn’t exist
Cars were smoky and clunky
And streetcars were the best way to ride
I was here when school buses were still in the future
When calculators and computers were Science fiction
And kids actually played outside
I was here before electric cars were ho-hum
Before TVs became huge and slim
And fridges were actually cooled with ice
I was around before there were Adidas or Nikes
Before slim legged jeans and Bikini bathing suits
Gotta admit… those last two are nice
I was old enough to be able to read the “whites only” signs
Before there was such a thing as “Equal Rights”
And blacks always got the short end of the stick
I was around when fried chicken was always home cooked
And Tater Tots were not thought up yet
Fast food still in the future takeout definitely not quick
I was here before Supermarkets were…
Here when we feared being bombed at night
I was here when clocks tocked and ticked
I lived when milk was delivered
And the only kind had cream on top
When coal smoke clouded the air
I was around when curse words were reserved for pool halls
Radios and pianos were the sounds that filled our ears
And orange and purple were not for hair
I was around before constant change became the norm
When things were repaired instead of thrown away
And plastic instead of paper took hold
I used to pine for the good ol’ days
Now I wish I could change with the times
But I’m just too damned
…old!!...
309 words
I look at the old testament
and the laws were harsh
an eye for and eye
and a tooth for a tooth
Yet what were they trying
to achieve
peace, punishment and revenge
in an effort to stop the crime
The old testament
was about laws
to keep the peace
the new testament
Is about attitudes
to keep the peace
If you don't do the crime
you don't need the laws
a friend of mine told me a story
about a man that got married
they decided to have roast chicken
taking out the chicken
His wife cut off the legs and wings
asking why, she said "that's, what you do,
my mother cut of the legs and wings
and I cut off he legs and wings"
catching up with the Mother he asked
"why do you cut of the legs and wings
when you cook a roast"
she replied "that's what you do,
that's what my mother did,
and that's what I do"
the grand mother was still around
catching up with her he asked
"why do you cut off the legs and wings
when you cook a roast chicken"
she said "I had a small oven
I needed to cut off the wings and legs
to cook the roast"
when the bible was written
they never had prisons
the laws were harsh to keep the peace
they never had fridges
food like pork would go off
to prevent getting poisoned
perhaps the laws were needed
but life has changed
we not longer need the same laws
we need to change with the times
we need to grow and learn
To build a greater path with love
to create attitudes not laws
to create love
not war
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
Go in peace
our tommy is empty
our pocket is empty
our food storage are so empty
our fridges is cooling empty
our salaries last too empty
our hopes are running empty
yet at the end of every
church mass the priest
always ask us to
go in peace
go in peace
our economy is leaving us to nothing
our resources is been controlled to nothing
our society is hiding us nothing
our schools are close for nothing
our hospitals are old for nothing
our old are forgotten for nothing
our salaries are good for nothing
yet every church service
the big church auditorium
is filled with confuse people
whose lifes are left for nothing
and still at the end of the church
the priest always tell us to
go in peace
go in peace
yes I wish we could
I wish other side the church door
our life could be a peace full one
I wish our world was peace full
I wish our right was given peacefully
I wish our life was dealt with peacefully
I wish just outside that church door
we could find that very peace
the priest always send us to
at every mass end
go in peace
yes I will
when that very change
that very Cry's
that very hopeless
that very serious important needs
that very suffering
that took us to the church
is eliminated and chase
away from our lands
our communities
our life
then tell the priest
I said that will be the
very appointed time to
go in peace
At midnight, deep beneath D.C.'s pride,
A tunnel breathed secrets the daylight hides.
Pennsylvania Avenue—so clean, so grand—
But under its bones lies a cursed land.
Dark suits walk halls soaked in red,
A velvet silence where the truth lies dead.
The walls pulse with symbols from ages old,
Carved by hands both cruel and cold.
Fridges hum like funeral songs,
Storing innocence stolen wrong.
A sip from goblets—ritual grace—
Drinking what once had a name, a face.
Chants rise low, in voices torn,
As one calls out to the south, forlorn:
“Oh Lucifer, bless this sacred feast,
Let hunger grow, and hope decrease.”
A screen glows bright with human pain—
War, rape, hunger—all for gain.
To them, each scream a golden prize,
Each tear a ladder toward the skies.
They laugh where others starve and die,
Feeding greed with every lie.
Their power grows from broken lives,
While justice sleeps, and truth survives.
But not all is lost in the dark and deep,
For even shadows cannot keep
The whispered hope of one brave child,
A single spark—gentle, wild.
That whisper stirs, that ember cries,
And ghosts of justice start to rise.
The stars above no longer rest—
A reckoning moves from east to west.
So when the winds begin to scream,
And nightmares flood the halls of dreams—
They’ll ask who knew, who dared believe,
What horrors bloomed beneath the feast.