Long Janette Poems
Long Janette Poems. Below are the most popular long Janette by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Janette poems by poem length and keyword.
Amy Green, Poet Destroyer and Skitty S.K.A.T. Pooh.
Just a few of the Great Women I've made love to here at the soup.
Carolyn Devonshire and Sara Kendrick too
and Andrea Dietrich, you fire cracker you.
A Rambling Poet, Constance too
and Lena "Lolita" Townsend just to name a few.
There's also Linda "Sweetheart" Marie
and the ever so sweet Audrey Carey.
Colleen Bono, how great are you?
Carol Brown & Loopylu Loopylu,
Charmaine Chircop, Dane Ann Smith-Johnson and Doris Culverhouse too.
What a passionate love affair I have had with all of you.
Carrie Richards, Simone Segal, Deborah Guzzi,
Bathsheba Bathsheba, Ashley Rapanut, Brittany Larson and Faleshia Murphy.
Susan Palli, Jessica Arteaga, Diane Christian, Caroline Cecile Paczynski,
Ann Rich, Mercedes Jordan, Kimberly Hilliker and Catie Lindsey.
Audrey Rollins, Joanna Smith, Patricia Adams, Karen O'Leary,
Janette Fisher, Madeleine McLaughlin, Nicole Sharon Brown and Carey Sakolowski.
Amanda Governale, Nicole King, Rhoda Galgiani, Laura McKenzie,
Bernadette Ignaciuk, Amanda Governale, Izzy Gumbo and Judy Riley.
Sue Mason, Pamela Griffiths, Karen Dominick, Donna Golden, Iolanda Scripca & Royal Royally.
I've even made love to that vile Sylvia, aka Stephanie.
Am I forgetting anybody? I don't really know.
Oh yes, one more comes to mind. Nikko Palmario
So many Great women to make love to here at the soup
and so many many more that theKidster must get to.
I've had a sweet romanticism reading all your poetic words.
Some of the most beautiful verses I've ever read or heard.
BILLYTheKidster wants to thank all of you
for this passionate cerebral love affair with all of you.
There's more Great Woman here at the soup
that theKidster can't wait to make love also too.
This Soup Laundry List Will Just Have
...To Be Continued.
PS: Adeleke Adeite, since this contest is sponsored by you
I guess it wouldn't hurt to say that I've made love to you too
here @ the soup, and enjoyed it too.
(Hey, there isn't anything wrong with Poetic Male Affection, even Poetic Genderless Affection)
I better stop sucking up. I suck at it.
“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
(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
Mattie was a gentle soul, weak in body yet in spirit bold,
touching lives profoundly with his words of inspiration.
A mature mind, though a child, with a poet's heart of gold,
living life fully as a gift from God and celebration.
Despite an incurable disease, he had a zest for life,
sharing love and peace through poetry, speech and lyric.
While publically speaking, he demonstrated his courage through strife,
and chose to live with love and laughter; he was sick but not in spirit.
This pint-sized hero was brilliant, thoughtful and eloquent.,
He believed every person can make a difference in some way.
A seven-time, bestselling author, his words of peace were resonant,
His motto was think, speak, and live gently, his philosophy to play and pray.
He lived his short life in a wheelchair with a ventilator,
in and out of hospitals, unable to run and play like other children.
Yet he chose to be a participator in life not a spectator.
His "heart song" shined brightly on the outside from within.
He left this world to be with God before he turned fourteen-years-old.
I often wonder what my bright, young hero might have achieved.
If he had lived a few more years, what wisdom would he have told?
Mattie shared God's love on earth, and in mankind...he believed.
April 10, 2012
for Holding Out for a Hero Contest (Janette Fisher)
*Mattie Stepanek, July 17, 1990 - June 22, 2004
visit www.mattieonline.com for more information about
Mattie's inspirational life and poetry
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
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!!!!
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
How can one pick just one moment in time?
When each second, each minute, each hour
Brings moments of remembrance
Raining forth, like April showers
From the celestial beauty of sunrise
Until its glorious setting at night,
There’s a wealth of treasured ‘happenings’
To bring wonder and delight
The melodic chorus of birds at dawn
Heralding a brand new day,
Waking beside the one you love
Whose kiss, so sweet, can melt your heart away
Hugs and kisses, from your children
A smile from an infant, newly born
The beauty of a delicate flower
As it unfurls, to greet the sun at morn
The response from a perfect stranger
When you smile, and say ‘hello’
A small act of courtesy brightening
Their day, as they are rushing to and fro
A ‘thank-you’ for a deed of kindness
Or when you’ve gone that extra mile,
Can fill your soul with gladness
And make your day worthwhile
A rainbow shining after it rains,
A bird of prey flying high,
Butterflies flitting, from flower to flower
The moon and stars in a clear night sky
A phone call, from a relation far away
A letter, from a friend in the post
The first cup of tea in the morning,
Along with hot, buttered toast
Talks over wine, or coffee with ‘the girls’
Precious time spent with family,
Moments which seem so miniscule
But all them, ‘unforgettable’ to me.
© Janette Fisher 07.04.11
Sometimes things just happen in life we can't quite explain.
The loss of a loved one can cut like a knife causing unbearable pain.
I know you've felt you were at the end of your rope, but kept on.
And you nearly gave up hope, preferring to be all alone.
I look at your pretty picture and smile because you're a beautiful soul.
Your daughters make life worthwhile because they pulled you from that dark hole!
It's hard for me to comprehend, but I often think of you.
Hearts don't break, but bend and I'll be there regardless what you're going through.
To show you I love and care, I reach toward the sky and pull you down a star;
And your burdens I will bare no matter how intense they are!
I know you're a little suspicious and shy because I'm just an inmate
I'm a passionate guy and your love, friendship, and correspondence I'd appreciate!
I'm entitled to mistakes and I'm not perfect, never claimed to be;
And there will never be no heartache in the friendship discovered in me!
So my friend give me a chance, and I'll show you something new.
I'll even teach you to dance, and whatever else you would like to do!
Let me bring this to a close, and let you think about what I said.
I send a gentle kiss to your nose and one to your forehead!
*To a beautiful woman and friend...Janette