The tree in my backyard has been watching me since I was three.
As time passed, its gaze has never set me free.
In the light, it gives a shadow;
in the dark, it hides the light.
This tree makes my life just not right.
Like the other night, it knocked on my window, gave me a fright.
This damn tree is trying to take my life;
I know it looks at me like a killer with a knife.
So with an axe, I hacked it to the ground,
And joyfully, wildly, I danced around.
Bothering a tired old woman is not smart
We can easily conjure up a belch or fart
At a certain age, we can bring a truly foul smell
By the time we finish with you, you are in hell
she came in mad and mad she stayed
an old grouchy woman who had never played
what had happened to make her so sour and mean?
No one seemed to know, but this was not keen
we tiptoed around her snotty looks
Tried to ignore her, even the cooks
Who is she? We asked anyone who would listen.
Don’t know, but she is not needed in the kitchen.
Rooted into oblivion
Set feet first in dirt
Lumpy cavities crashing upward
Gnarly outer layer
Barnacles breaking out
Lost in the years of growth
Final storm tips the top
Brushing through cracking limb
Tipping with lost balance
Exposing twisted lines
Broken from the earth
Woman or tree
Still beautiful to me
He got on the bus,
Immediately they stare,
He pays,
The driver increases the fare,
He can't complain,
He doesn't want to walk in the rain
The bus is full,
Except for one seat,
Next to an elderly white woman,
She puts her bag on the seat,
The black boy sighs in defeat
At the next stop,
A white man comes on,
The woman removes her bag,
Like she didn’t just commit an act of racism
She smirks at him,
Knowingly,
He internalises this,
She smiles victoriously
For him it is only the beginning
She was here the other day
She’s still here with her wooden cart, devoid of paint
She believed posies and periwinkle could feed her children
For a while, it was good
Not until the leaves fell off by the street
The cart was too heavy to push
And the newspaper used to wrap a bouquet had soaked
The lines on her face grew visible
And her hair lost its vibrant ebony hue
Her back against the ruined
Where big crabbed letters run across the dilapidated walls
The passersby in the city had become unfamiliar
Her head down,
Her arid eyes watching the parched petal
Of her sunflower
Till late evening, the flowers sit cold
Summer came, a young lad pushed the same cart
With the same sight of decorative flowers
And I never saw her again
There was an old woman who lived in a shoe
She had so many children, she didn't know what to do
So, she tied up some children with her shoelaces
Even the boy who wore his leg braces
She put them all down, in the cellar with no light
And chopped off the head of one child every night
The mean old woman was cold and bereft
She killed them all till there was one child left
It was the boy with the braces; he watched all the kids die
But for some scary mannered reason- the boy didn't cry
He found the unlucky old woman; tucked in her bed
Then he beat her with his shoe; made sure she was dead
When he knew she was dead, 'He -sat with a smile-
And shouted out loud!!
"I'm Satan, It's Been Me... all this while"
A wise old woman
My grandma once said
What you do in life
Will always come back
To you, if you
Do good, good will
Come into your life
And if you do bad
Bad will come
Into your life, to haunt you
So, when not if
Your life starts to crumble
Don’t ask why because
You already know
It's no wonder that old dame knew not what to do,
If she thought she could raise kids alone in a shoe.
She proved after the second
She was overly fecund,
Maybe Mother Goose reckoned she'd have child support, too.
There was an old woman who lived in a shoe
With so many children and not enough food
And cats and rats plus she was cuckoo
She lost her marbles, her kids, her pets, house too
Note: Nursery rhyme old woman who lives in a shoe
amble
waddle
search
she strains at her walker
prowling the home's halls
shoe on one foot
bare on the other
in an other worldly time
her soft footed tracks
are marred with circumstance
"where is my shoe?" she wails
a quagmire to be free of
wanting to emerge
sure footed from this hobbit hole
I find her soft black loafer
near her bed
slip it on to her bare foot
like a snap of Cinderella
her discomfort subsides
a "thank you" chipped from rounded shoulders
sometimes a stranger can right hapless motion
when full sight is no longer stitched to an independent will
sometimes things are not exactly in the right place
not fitted with precision
when we can't see what lies ahead
like the end of something hanging over us
the old woman lives alone
she has pains in every bone
with no family, no friend
she struggles waiting for the end
one day a stray cat came to her door
and she told it to "get away" with a roar
but the old cat kept coming back and back
so, she began to soften and gave it a snack
soon, she expect and wanted the cat
stroking his dirty fur as she sat
it purred and rubbed against her
then, she brought him in stroking his fur
she fed him, gave him water, and gave him a bath
and that gesture of love opened up a new path
the old lady is not alone anymore
for her love for this sweet old cat does pour and pour
is it fairy dust ?
must be ... for disgust turned into their loving trust
Nestled
in her old chair-
world outside her window
and indoor plants, a sign of life-
she knits.
Fingers
work their magic-
grant her moments' purpose;
then reminiscing years gone by-
tears flow.
Slowly,
she wraps her needles
and the unfinished scarf.
Putting them aside, she whispers,
“what for...”
Against gray walls, soft light reflects
Her memories, her endless quest
For contentment, not so complex
Her gentle soul always felt blessed
She recalls all the times of hope
Against gray walls, soft light reflects
Faith is with her so she can cope
Joys come, beyond what she expects
Love is the thing she still respects
She thinks of the pleasure she’s known
Against gray walls, soft light reflects
Living gladly in her brownstone
Thoughts of her past ever haunt her
This old house thrives with her effects
Her soul recalls love she’ll prefer
Against gray walls, soft light reflects
Water falls on a silent river
Makes the water shake and shiver
Soon will come the wet, yet warm rain
I see her as an old woman
Walking with her walking cane
Baking for her Grandchildren
With a happy-warm face
I see her as an old woman
Who isn't worried counting her days
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