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Janet Bosson Poem
It’s not the storms that bring me down,
But sudden noise or violent sound.
A cupboard slams, the coffee spills,
And I’m back among the distant hills.
A car backfires, an angry tone,
And I’m no longer here alone.
The past comes rushing, sharp and fast,
The present’s gone, the moment’s passed.
A shadow moves, my heartbeat climbs,
I’m trapped inside those other times.
So small the spark, yet fierce the flame,
It calls me back and speaks my name.
Copyright © Janet Bosson | Year Posted 2025
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Janet Bosson Poem
I’m deaf not broken
just differently wired.
My ears went on strike and were never rehired.
They packed up and left not leaving a note,
Just departed my head without taking a coat.
I walk in a room,
people chatter and play,
I nod like a expert,
not a clue what they say.
Was it “You look great” or “You’ve put on weight?”
Either way, I just smile and say “you too mate!”
Someone shouts loudly behind my back,
and I turn around like
I’m under attack.
“So you did hear, that?”
They say so proud,
Like that’s some mystical
truth that they’ve found.
Lip reading’s wild, a silent charade.
Did you say “it fades”
or “do you wear aids?”
And if your hand’s halfway over your face,
I’ll just nod and wave, like I’m keeping up pace.
At meetings I sit,
calm and serene,
Looking like I’m planning a masterful scheme.
But truth be it told,
I’ve zoned way out,
Thinking of pizza,
with chips no doubt.
People laugh, I laugh,
no clue what it’s for,
I watch the faces
and laugh some more.
They ask, “Did you hear?”
and I just say “Who?”
Then pretend I’m deep, like I meant to.
But hey, don’t feel bad
if I miss your cue,
Just give me a sec,
And I’ll find a clue.
I’m not confused,
Just silence, my slave,
Riding this wave
that the deafness gave.
So say it twice,
or write it down,
But please don’t mime like a chicken, in
a wedding gown.
I’m chill, I’m cool,
and thriving too.
My world’s just like yours but on audio cue.
Copyright © Janet Bosson | Year Posted 2025
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Janet Bosson Poem
Step by step we walk along,
Breathing in the air so strong.
The sky above the ground below,
Our hearts are light,
Our spirits grow.
Side by side we laugh, and talk,
The road stretched forward as we walk.
Steps complete the mind feels clear,
Calm and balance free of fear.
As we walked, the journey flows,
Stronger still, our friendship grows .
Grateful hearts, refreshed we part,
Feeling light in soul and heart.
Copyright © Janet Bosson | Year Posted 2025
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Janet Bosson Poem
Put on your dance shoes,
come take my hand,
We’ll Waltz through dreams in a ballroom grand.
Tango! calls with a fiery chase,
Two hearts meet in a bold embrace.
Salsa! spins in the tropic glow,
fast feet flash as the trade winds blow.
Rumba! sways with a warm desire,
slow steps burn in a tender fire.
Foxtrot! smooth as a silver stream,
cool as jazz in a midnight dream.
Quickstep! kicks with a bright, loud cheer,
flying feet as the crowd draws near.
Paso! proud with a stamping beat,
Swing! where laughter makes life complete.
The music’s here the night’s still young,
put your dance shoes on let’s join the song!
Copyright © Janet Bosson | Year Posted 2025
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Janet Bosson Poem
I see the world split, two by two,
A doubled spark in every view.
Like someone paused to play a game,
And painted each scene twice the same.
Lines wobble, shimmy, twist, and sway,
Two shadows juggling in dismay.
And I, caught in their dizzy spins,
Search for the place where one begins.
Shapes wobble, teeter, blur, from view,
A teasing trick I can’t hold true.
Each glimpse a pair, each glance a spin,
A world that shakes beneath my skin.
So when the sights collide and gleam,
Two forms that haunt my waking dream.
And even when the visions bounce,
I chase just one and take a chance.
Copyright © Janet Bosson | Year Posted 2025
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Janet Bosson Poem
We gather with chatter and pockets of seeds,
With trowels and laughter and half-formed needs,
With minds full of clutter and days that are long,
Then someone starts digging, and we fall into song.
The soil gets turned and the air starts to shift,
A joke passes round and the whole group will lift,
We talk of the weather, then drift into more,
Little by little, we open the door.
We plant out the beans in a neat, hopeful row,
And someone admits they’ve been feeling quite low,
No big declarations, no need to pretend,
Just hands in the dirt and a nod from a friend.
The rhythm is simple: we weed and we sow,
We water, we wander, we watch how things grow,
The courgettes sprawl wildly, the sunflowers lean,
And somehow our thoughts feel a little more clean.
There’s comfort in passing a spade or some twine,
In sharing a moment, a story, a line,
In knowing you’re part of a slow, steady crew
Who show up each week and make space just for you.
We don’t fix each other, don’t try to be wise,
But light finds a way in the cracks we disguise.
With dirt on our fingers and sun on our backs,
We’re quietly mending what life sometimes lacks.
So here in this patch where the good things begin,
With mud on our boots and a calm settling in,
We grow more than veg in these well-tended rows,
We grow something deeper than anyone knows.
Copyright © Janet Bosson | Year Posted 2026
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