Long Tatty Poems
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It must be like any other Sad day in Lonelyville
So bad
The last of the 6 mangy Cats
Have shuffled past her open window
Some call her Ratty
Some call her Tatty
But to most she is known as Spinster Batty
She gets her kick's daily from throwing
Brick's and Barbs
At passing Cars
Because her family gave up visiting long ago
She has no friends and neighbors avoid her
But its hard to ignore her
Because she gets her kick's
Behind the anonymity of a computer screen
She exists solely as a troll online
Because she can't interact with human kind
For she revels in causing suffering
It makes her feel like she is a big deal
But here's the thing
Those she bates
Can still await at knock at there front door
Or a well timed telephone call
From a real person who wishes them well
While all she has
Is her Avatar as a Sleazy Troll
So scroll away
Dig away you poor lost soul
If it in anyway fills your gaping hole
Have you ever had a massage of any kind?
During the process,did you,your teeth, grind?
I always thought you get this tender,sweet, relaxing feeling;
Until I became a massage client who left squealing.
What was going on inside my brain,
Accepting one to mount that pressure where there was pain?
I'm not a fool, but I hate that often times, I act dense;
Closing my eyes, toughening, that you may think I'm meditating upon sense.
Once upon a time, I willingly used my hand and chose,from the variety,a tatty dress;
I took that rag home, put it on,glanced and smiled at my beauty all as a mess!
So, I was talking about a body massage,
A body manipulation that feels good only as a mirage.
Resenting what is truth on ground,I winced;
Upon my therapist drawing closer,I flinched.
A burning sensation of discomfort and pain,
Digging through my tissues to the thinnest vein,
It's a wriggle,wiggle motion, in solemn responce to the tingle;
Love is a beautiful thing,yet, I choose to remain single,
For disappointments await in all corners,
It's an all-around world,like the defence of snorters.
The doctor gave me rules, one; that I should get massage oil;
And now, to the men that enjoy smooth ladies doing it,I was yet to be a foil!
Two,she said warm water could do; this sounded more natural;
Healing by something made by the one,whose powers are supernatural!
The massage oil in my bag,a cool melody ringing in my heart,
Out of my home, I walked with good posture,perfect gait,all smart;
Ready to meet my doctor,to feel the soothing touch.
And the long felt back pain would be no more, for I the other day,I prayed about it in church.
What,I thought was the perfect therapeutic body massage,
A moment in a hell of torment I spent,like playing a visage!
A box of old shoes under the stair,
Discarded, unwanted, no matching pair.
No longer needed, pushed out of sight.
Resigned to this box, and a fast fading light.
Soft supple leather with creases to spare,
Polished and nourished with infinite care,
Deep, deepest red, black cherry hue,
Once, long ago, a fine ladies shoe.
Dirty old canvas all tatty and frayed,
Laces have gone with age they have strayed.
Way back in time in Olympics it shone,
The end of an era, the last race is run.
A crusty old boot with steel in the hide,
Remembers the days the land it would stride,
Helped build this country relished the role,
Undaunted, unbowed, grit in the sole.
A soft velvet slipper its partner long gone,
Lies quiet in the box while the world moves along,
Once in a while a pale silken glove,
Holds it so gently and strokes it with love.
Such a wearisome time in this box of rejects,
What happens now? What happens next?
Each knows the answer. No use debating.
It’s the end of the line, and Heaven is waiting.
Unkempt, bedraggled,
Pushing her life before her
In a tatty shopping trolley,
Covered in a dirty duvet.
She moves around the town,
Slowly,
Head down,
Hugging the walls and side alleys,
Trying to be inconspicuous.
One day with curious concern, I approach.
"Hello, how are you today?"
She stares at me with wild eyes.
"Do you need anything,
A drink, something to eat?"
She opens her mouth,
Exposing rotten, stumpy teeth,
And replies, "I need peace - piss off."
Perhaps I'll try another day.
Weeks later I see her,
Hunched on a park bench,
Faithful trolley by her side.
She studies something in her hand.
I ponder on her age.
What reduced her to this life?
Rummaging in bins for food.
Sleeping in the underground carpark.
Does she have any family?
How does she survive the bitter, winter nights?
I pluck up the courage and walk over.
I notice white lines down her weathered cheeks,
Revealingly tear tracks,
Unveiling her sadness.
I sit on the bench beside her.
"Hello, can I help you?"
"Go away, leave me alone." She croaks
I press on, "Can I buy you a hot drink
And something to eat before I go?"
She shrugs, wafting her unpleasant odour.
"What would you like?"
She shrugs again, not raising her head.
I go to a nearby refreshment shed
Purchase a sugared tea and bacon roll.
She doesn't look up as I place them on the bench beside her.
Then she utters, "You can piss off now."
I go to leave and glance at a dog-eared photo she is holding,
A smiling couple, holding a young child.
Could she possibly be,
The pretty, young woman in the picture?
Maybe it's a son or daughter?
"Who's your photograph of?" I ask.
Clutching the picture to her breast,
She wildly looks at me,
Then shouts,
"I said, PISS OFF!"
I retreat.
Peering back over my shoulder
I see her,
Drinking tea and eating her roll,
Head down.
Perhaps I'll try again another day.
Form:
The teacher got up on the stage and welcomed one and all
We're putting on a dog show and we'll hold it in the hall
We're laying on some fizzy drinks and lots of lovely eats
And the winner of the dog show gets a great big bag of sweets
Now Spud was struggling to survive on breakfast, lunch and dinner
He had to nab that bag of sweets, he had to be the winner
But one small detail blocked his plan to satiate his greed
His own dog was a tatty mutt of some unknown breed
Someone told him Franky's dog was la-de-da variety
Like the ones that film stars have in la-de-da society
If Spud was gonna win those sweets to stay his rumbling gut
He'd have to borrow Franky's dog, he'd have to nab that mutt
And on the day the show was held and each kid brought their pet
Spud was not too bothered that he had no dog as yet
He looked around to find his victim, Franky, by the door
A vicious looking Doberman behind him paced the floor
Spud snuck up on Franky and he growled into his ear
I'll have your dog, I'll need its leash, so hand it over here
I'm bound to win because your dog is quite an awesome sight
But one thing that I need to know is does your posh dog bite?
Franky said, I wouldn't bring a mad dog to the show
And yet you ask if my dog bites, my dog is trained, so, no
Spud grabbed the leash and tried to clip it on the studded collar
The dog chomped down on Spud's right arm, which really made him holler
Spud's arm was torn and tattered, it was quite a gruesome sight
And Spud cried out you must have lied, you said your dog don't bite
So Franky stroked a wrinkly dog, which looked more like a frog
Then eyed the snarling Doberman...
That is not my dog!
Last Halloween was scary
with evil brewing strong
when Peggy planned a party
and things went off all wrong
In tatty robe, her hair awry
she slaved all day with care
her neighborhood to satisfy
with an elegant affair
Fine treats she baked and broiled
and decorated in detail
until her appetite was spoiled
and strength had almost failed
The house she'd scrubbed and polished
to a frighteningly bright sheen
every speck of dust demolished
she worked like a machine!
But, oh- the guests arrived too early
before she was quite dressed
and between her looks, and manner surly
were somewhat less than impressed
And to make things even worse
they quipped in her living room
their clever lines, so well-rehearsed
“Oh Peg, we LOVE your costume!”
They waited half a second, while
still within earshot
and sniped with vicious smiles
about all her house was not
How her home was far too small
to host this gathering
with depressing rooms and narrow hall
too shabby for anything!
The kids came in rolled their eyes
at tacky Halloween kitsch
and consoled themselves by cracking-wise
about it all with Mitch
Now Mitch was Peggy's husband
and should've known her mind
but he said things offhand
that came off as unkind
Then Nan came in with Merrilee
a chef of snobby taste
who (nose turned up), quite warily
declared the food “a waste”
Then as the midnight beckoned
Peg raged against the room
(a “woman scorned”, I reckon...)
the party met their doom!
___
A Halloween poem to make up for my deceptively titled 'The Living Dead' poem... which has nothing to do with the holiday!
abandoned beautiful child wandering like a lost leaf
all she can do is quiver as rain splinters fall like a river
her name was Clara and she has scary thoughts chimera
she has "tattered, tangled, tatty" hair with eyes aching
she is "hungry, hunched, hurt" a fragment in a chasm abysm
"dangerous, dark, daunting" doorways she seeks as a sleeping place
frail, gaunt, helpless her spirit is disconnected and broken_
in the morn' dead on the cement . . . ending her torment
_________________________
September 12, 2022
Poetry/Verse/FRAGMENT
Copyright Protected, ID 09-1486-757-12
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, 'The A's Have It '
sponsor, Joseph May, Judged 10/02/2022
Fourth Place
[According to Mr Google, what we Brits call a vest is
what Americans call an undershirt]
The completely cuckoo cuckoo
Had got too big for his nest
And so he made a hammock
From a tatty old string vest
But when he hung it up he slipped
His feet went through the mesh
He flapped until his skin rubbed raw
And he was featherless
So looking like a chicken
Or an oven ready duck
He shouted I need stuffing
Flapped his wings and went cluck, cluck
Pulled faces acting bonkers
Happy as a pig in muck
Then made a swimming motion
Going quack, quack like a duck
He thought he’d keep on clucking
Until all his feathers grew
And then just like a turkey
He went gobble gobble too
But when the farmer raised his gun
And said my lunch is you
The completely cuckoo cuckoo yelled
CUCKOO! CUCKOO! CUCKOO!
WHEELCHAIR BOUND
Dots appeared and disappeared
a single sunray flashed onto
wheelspokes, canvas seat
comfortably frayed
bought secondhand
her unexercised legs flabby
window bars rusted, panes cracked
nobody cared
there she sat thinking about
cooking porridge with cinnamon
tricky to wheel in
two meter wide kitchen
lighting gas stove sitting no easy feat
this was charnel ground
no cash oozing pockets or
colour disappearing into op-art
no bra-strap laughter
or fruit bowl decorations
no one visited
thought wheelchair bound infectious
what if they too had to
sit for a narrow cold shower
or pop-a-wheely to see
a bird swallow a caterpillar ?
here trees were being chopped
their screaming pain slicing her nerves
cockroaches, ego-deaths
not knowing about this phase
of unpalatable life
she wheeled to a sunny patch
her relegated cement square
stared at Sun questioningly
He smiled at her pain
saying it was not in vain
she grimaced, then smiled in return
remembering cinema days
mall ice-cream, walks on beaches
vague memories round and round
with wheel tires, like neglected hamsters
nobody wanted to hoist wheelchair into air
then car booth, all too much trouble
had too much to do
shattered human perceptions falling
to be buried
chair had tatty armrests for lifting body
she could not buttocks rise up
to call street boy for corner shop loaf
hunger had to wait
till neighbour knocked
Buddha said all bodies merge
with charnel ground
sooner or later heads, arms, ears
are broken down
images across a sieve screen
Plato saw this too as shadows
still they feared coming near
locked into an eye flap timeline which said
what if I too ?
when wheels become legs
and humans less, sight clears
what was once flotsam and jetsam
floats away into goodbye bays
enjoyment of senses merely a persistent
layer of life
wheelchair bound is part of Plan
so sound, a mechanism for peeling
two wheels become friends
grinding ignorance, flattens what serves not
unfolding a Mode of Goodness
every spoked circle has a
tacit teaching agenda
No experience in virtue vain
He sits there on the pavement
Under an unforgiving sky
As rain pours down he pleads for help
But the people just pass by
His little dog lies at his feet
There's a tin cup by his side
He's wrapped in a torn dirty blanket
But still he is denied
By him stands a notice
Made from a tatty torn card
Saying “homeless please will you help me”
Life on the streets is hard
In his cup there's two pounds fifty
Not even enough for a meal
He will feed his dog before he feeds himself
But he'll never resort to steal
He once had money he once had a job
Until they let him go
He once had a house and a wife and kids
Now he's out in the rain and snow
Will no one take pity on this poor man?
Will nobody stop to talk?
If they did they may see the man he once was
But they just turn their heads and walk
So if you see a beggar there on the street
Please don't walk on by
Give him your time and something to eat
Or there on the street he may die
Just remember he could be you
If your life took a turn for the worse
So show some compassion show some love
Open your heart and your purse
I hope these lines have brought home to you
The pain of a homeless life
Just think when you're home in your nice warm house
Of him and his struggle for life