Hampered decades withered wasted
Filtered faint supposed adult phases
Thumb stuck under parental watch
Otherwise valid options squashed
Tip toe inhibit, always present parents
Lame version of living, aged thirty seven
Stagnated, restricted mentality of boy
Stranger to poinant beckon, own voice
Girlfriend experience has to be paid for
Without privacy, mature desires unable
To explore collected life's excitement
Warranted ability boxed and frightened
Nightly dinner served, bed Mum tidies
Long spanning dependance, care relying
On compassion, viewed incompetence
Spun by insulting cyclic denial's dance
Worked fifteen years for family business
Residing rent free, secure job benefits
Have a five bedroom house in next suburb
Sits always untenanted to avoid trouble
Your foresight surely conjurs panic
Soon elderly parents may not manage
Destined to remain home, become their carer
Tiny limit of terrified world takes you nowhere
She is a bread winner,
who takes care of her family,
is it any wonder,
she still has her sanity,
she takes any new job
like a duck to water,
she is more than likely
your wife, Mom or daughter,
working full time 40 hours
plus each and every week,
afterwards doing the chores,
the house, tidies up and keeps,
goes grocery shopping
to keep the cupboards full,
pays the bills on time,
worries about the emptying till,
will not borrow from
Paul to pay her Peter,
is stubborn in that regard,
as she steps up or down
her monetary ladder,
at times feels like atlas,
carrying all the weight,
you can tell by looking at her
she has got a lot on her plate,
thats why she looks forward
so much to the weekends,
like going on a retreat,
she gets a much needed
vacation,
unfortunately her weekends
abruptly come to an end,
and by the time she spins around,
has to start all over again.
OLGA IVANOVA
Each day when I get to the office for a coffee fix,
A minor underling, an immigrant office-cleaner,
Olga Ivanova, greets me. She’s been at work since six
And off her floor you could eat your dinner.
Her bus takes an hour after a rain-soaked queue,
Leaving three small kids - abandoned by spouse -
In a cheap rented apartment near the zoo,
Where she looks after his sick mum too - that louse.
Tidies the reception area of the whole department;
Specially keeps office-copy of the daily paper for me;
Always says good evening, smiles acknowledgement
And hands it to me as I leave at five - oh - three.
The dishes pile up stained with the day to day of life
Her hands are chapped and dry withered from washing them
Dishes of food, dishes of mundanity
relentless dishes calling to be cleaned
Dishes prepared with love dishes for the family
dishes smashed in anger, broken in frustration
the dishes are her forte, she knows the dishes well
her hands are red and inflamed
sore from scrubbing at the remnants of her life
how many dishes has she washed anyway
how many hours of her life has she lost
Unseen she scurries and tidies
washing and drying, washing and dryng
swallowing her rage and her long lost dreams
The dishes are her forte, she knows the dishes well
the dirt, the leftovers, the many requests of her
washing and drying, washing and drying
but nobody cares to notice
I’ve got a great invention
I use it all the time
It does the things that I should do
It always works just fine
It cleans my room it tidies up
And puts my stuff away
Does chores I don’t have time to do
So I can go and play
I never have to worry
If I run a little late
I find my meals are cooked for me
And ready on a plate
It doesn’t need much maintenance
To make it sweetly hum
Just a little oiling,
With the words “I love you mum”
© John W Fenn 14-02-2009
Peering out my bedroom window,
alarm clock's beeping time away.
although the hour's ticking on
time has stopped; forever gone...
a burning torch has lit the sky
field mice toil through cedar pine
a parrot tidies up her nest
hatchlings clamor at her breast.
In my mind, I've drifted off
to places where "old" time can't go.
I daydream here and stay a spell
however long, I could not tell...
enshrouded in a cloud of dust,
streetlamps warm sand flies.
rain clouds slip behind the moon.
tree frogs croak in tune.
I can't remember where I went
or how long I'd been gone.
but here, I'll linger knowing I'm
just fond of wasting time...
As I lie in this box all dirty and scuffed
I remember the time I was shiny and fluffed
Alone and forgotten I doubt that is true
For I was once savored in red white and blue
Although it may seem it was a long time ago
I once flew through the air in many a show
I was waved at through crowds as I proudly appeared
So high I did blow and to many was feared
There's no need to worry I'll be back once again
I dislike this box and I do miss the wind
Why must I wait until the fourth of July
For I am grand it's my duty to fly
Until then I will stay my memories in bloom
Maybe the maid will free me when she tidies the room
It's true that she likes me she flew me last spring
Some sort of occasion a Memorial thing
This can't be my destiny for I stand for the truth
I'm not just a toy what's wrong with our youth
I hear them play music of hate and it hurts
I am used to large stadiums and enormous concerts
How I long for the trumpet a victorious sound
Still I'm here when you're ready not lost nor found
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