"nonny" poems
They say you fell into the creek.
Well you did, but not by accident.
You fell from the willow,
Like the tears you so often shed of late.
Life was too much
So you breathed the water like it was air,
Gasping between unheard sobs.
Drop by drop by bucketful of current
Moved between the folds of your dress
And pulled you in deeper and deeper.
The wreaths of flowers entangled around
Your wrists, your hair, your neck;
Beautiful nooses,
Symbolic of despair and misdirection.
Your life left you
Like a hey nonny, nonny
As innocence fled from Denmark
To the safety of inexistence.
How she wanted to pull you free,
But didn't.
This was your final escape.
You deserved it.
And now you lie
In a grave dug by comic relief
And filled with regret.
An unmarked grave
For an unmarked soul
Tainted by nothing,
But the wet mark of suicide.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 12:58 AM UTC
The secret’s out – Hip! Hip! Horray!
Meghan Markle has had her way:
no papparazzi just a note to state..
..gold framed upon the palace gate..
a baby born to her and Prince Harry.
It was a very private affair - narry
a Home Secretary was there to see
the birth - a custom ended by decree:
though historically meant as inclusion
t’was deemed at last a male intrusion.
Now in an age where all is bi-
ethnic black and white tie
parently neat and true
with the royal blood line’s
red, white, and blue.
By George! To Will and Kate
in poetry - I must relate
there is no comparison
other than that word
rhymes with Harrison.
Hey. Nonny. Nay.
Alack a day -
I must away,
for this verse done and said
I could withall lose my head.
Tobias
May 15, 2019
May 15, 2019 at 6:54 AM UTC
nonny is slipping away. she can’t eat her eggs, they dry on her lips. her hand is a claw, deformed, unusable. she shakes. she moans. her legs are thinner than they've ever been, her stomach too. she is just a straight line, no more womanly, comfortable, grandma curves.
for the first time she looked at my face and no smile broke out and no shine showed in her eyes. it is time for her to go. it time for her to know peace and joy and comfort again.
i hold her boney, contorted hand, and kiss it. i forget about the grossness of old age and just want to hold her.
i think i’ve heard the last words, and i couldn't even understand them.
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 11:07 PM UTC