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Pollyana Darrell Poem
It squeaked as it slowly rolled out the door
Trundled out the rusty gate
Over the sunken wooden bridge
and onto the sandy sidewalk.
The daily trudge had begun.
Nestled and nurtured within were the lives of her family
And children
Babies! Indeed!
Within were no laughing, lounging, cute or chubby faces
Certainly no cozy, comfy blankie washed in Downey detergent nor dried with Bounce sheets
No, nothing of the sort.
Yet, her babies lay there-in.
It ambled down the dusty, dry, brick-filled street
Towards the rendevouz
amid stares
and glares
and thoughtful wondering glances.
This was no gleeful walk of fame for
Truly sometimes it felt like a walk of shame
But continue it must
On this journey for there is purpose and an end game.
Men, women and children congregate at the corner
Craning their necks
They eagerly await a glimpse of the perambulator
Children suddenly gleefully clap and dance as they espy its approach
Anxious to see the babies!
Squeak, squeakity, squeak
Jerk, jerkity, jerk
It rumbles and rocks and staggers
Slowly, purposefully, it comes to a graceful, grateful halt
Tired
And worn
And thankful
At its favourite spot.
Through the years and seasons
The tattered spotless hood had protected and
Shaded her precious treasures
The huge discoloured, spoked wheels
Had rolled hundred of miles, hundred of times –
not for pleasures.
Hood removed; babies revealed.
Clamour arises -a congregation in worship
Bills in hand; coins jingling-
Everyone desiring to give and get their share.
Some fried; some baked
Some sweet; some savoury
Some crunchy; some soft
All so very edible and tasty!
These are her babies-
The wares she plied everyday from the perambulator!
T’was because of these babies, she fed her babies
T’was because of these babies, she took care of her babies
These babies brought help
These babies brought hope
These babies brought healing
Without the perambulator
There’d be no daily rendevouz for these babies.
The perambulator brought her
fame-a name-“pram lady”;
peace of mind;
friends of various kinds.
For all this and more she is thankful
And it all began when she brought home
THE PERAMBULATOR.
©2020/02/20
Copyright © Pollyana Darrell | Year Posted 2020
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Pollyana Darrell Poem
Unmasked ©Pollyana Darrell 2020/06/01
Spiked fuzzy tennis ball
From where did you crawl?
Who told you to call?
Your presence brought brawl
Nothing could stop you at all-
Not even a wall!
Microscopic invader-
Jeopardizing our safety
Insisting on physical distancing
We put up resistance to your existence
Your persistence over run our self-subsistence.
Stealth bomber-
Invisible and deadly
We did not recognize you readily
While speedily and steadily you attacked us
Ravaging our bodies and economies
Leaving some to die alone and in ignominy.
Now you have been unmasked!
Though we wear the mask
We see you-
Marauder-
In quest of plunder.
Move on fear monger
No more her wander.
We will stay the course
Be patient; social distancing en-force
There is no recourse;
Wear our masks until you have passed and
We will be free at last!
Copyright © Pollyana Darrell | Year Posted 2020
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Pollyana Darrell Poem
The Foreigner’s Waltz ©Pollyana Darrell 2020/06/02
The whisper in my dream bellowed your name-
Who you were never mattered before,
I never knew you; never saw you-your name an echo
You became my mystery!
Wonder of wonders!
We finally met and
A studied artful dance began-
A glaring glance
A steady stare
But never a closer step we dared
A sly smile; a naughty nod
Both our backs stiff like ramrods.
You watched me
I watched you
Across that crowed, silent space
Inviting me to dance-
1 step, 2 steps-
Shy reluctance rooted me in my place
A yearning to know who lies behind the face
The epitome of manly grace.
1 step, 2 steps tremulously taken
Head down, arms haplessly outstretched
We did the dance-1 step, 2 steps
Effortlessly- we learnt the dance-
1 step, 2 steps
Tenuously awaiting
A swing, a dip, a turn
But no….
Only 1 step, 2 steps….then
Suddenly, like an apparition you were gone!
Flummoxed, flabbergasted
Family and friends tried to explain
The strange turn of events.
My captured bleeding heart contracted, erupted in
In pain, in sorrow, in regret
Days and nights were counted only by my flailing
1 step, sometimes 2 steps as I regained a steady gait.
I watched you gaily dance the full waltz
With another-with dips
And turns-
And swings-
And spins-
Full of laughter for the foreigner
Slowly it dawned on me-
Our 1 step-,2 steps were just that!
There could be no dips and swings; no spins and turns for
You already had a full waltz for the fairly ugly foreigner.
Copyright © Pollyana Darrell | Year Posted 2020
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