"settee" poems
I knocked the black
door knocker
on Janice's nan's door
and her nan answered
and said
o hello Benedict
Janice can't come out
she let the canary out
and we had
a hell of a job
getting it back
in the cage again
so I'm keeping her in
I was going
to tan her backside
but I thought
keeping her in
was more
of a punishment
on a day like this
o right
I said
looking at Nan's eyes
and her greying hair
and unsmiling face
but you can come in
and see her
for a few minutes
shame that you
have to be
without her though
so she walked
back up the passage
and into the sitting room
where Janice
was sitting on a settee
looking disgruntled
it's Benedict
come to see you
he is only staying
for a few minutes
so don't think
you can go out
because you can't
Janice nodded
and looked tearful
and her nan walked off
into the kitchen
I didn't mean
to let the bird out
I just opened
the cage door
to get it to stand
on my finger
but it flew out
and it to ages
to catch it again
and Nan was so angry
that she was
on the border
of giving a smacking
but then she thought
keeping me in
was more
of a punishment
so here I am
on a lovely warm day
sorry about that
I said
where are you going?
she asked
I was going to Jail Park
on the swings and slide
I said
I see
she said
looking at me sadly
what have you got
in the bag?
I opened the bag
it's that Robin Hood book
I bought it
in that junk shop
on the New Kent Road
she held it
and opened it up
and looked
at the words
and pictures
maybe next time
I can be
your Maid Marian
to your Robin Hood
she said
yes
I said
looking
at the canary
in its cage
that'd be good.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 3:16 AM UTC
Strange nights, starry eyes
a little something to keep me going
no I don't lack in surprise
or modesty
and yet if honesty was a commodity
I'd surely be rich and living it up
or dead in a ditch for never giving it up
and you just don't quit
pry away the drink from my hands
and take a sip
never seen anyone
bite anything
the way that you bite on your lip
I don't know what you're looking for
but you won't find it in me
a compliment, a shred of decency
a night of thrills and secrecy
a shoulder to cry on
or just something to ride on
no, you won't find it in me
Got no money, no worries
don't sell drugs
never felt the need
not a pick me up
or shake you down
nothing changes when I'm around
no I don't want you
and you don't want me
Living life like a grazed knee
the pain is always there it stings
something always has to rub up on me
so if another stained garment
is what you want to be then, darling
pick away at my layers
I can never seem to heal
but I go on like nothing hurts me
and it could be worse
you could be just another verse in my poetry
and the night isn't over yet but
you've just about heard enough I bet
I don't know what you're looking for
but you won't find it in me
a friend for the night, a happy ending
a story to tell your girls, a heart for mending
someone to rely on
or just something to ride on
no, you won't find it in me
Got no money, no worries
don't sell drugs
never felt the need
not a pick me up
or shake you down
nothing changes when I'm around
no I don't want you
and you don't want me
Still relentless in your advances
but I can't take any chances
I'm susceptible to heartbreak
why do you think I'm sat here drinking alone?
unlike you I haven't looked down at a phone
I've no one to call, I've nowhere to be
if you're wanting a simpleton that's not me
I'm not offering late night comfort calls
I don't even own a settee
are you my therapist now?
too many questions are detrimental to trust
and I think you've just about heard enough
I don't know what you're looking for
but you won't find it in me
won't pick you up, won't shake you down
won't show you a good time and stick around
I'm not your wings to fly on
or just something to ride on
no, you won't find it in me
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 11:27 AM UTC
Nima showed me
her aunt's apartment
in London. Posh place,
up market. She had
her own key to get in,
and once we entered,
she closed the door
behind us and leaned
against it like one having
found the Promised Land.
So what do you think?
She asked. Lovely place.
Does she live here alone?
No, she has a daughter;
moody ***** has her
own crowd, sort of in-lot.
We wandered around,
room to room and stood
at last in the kitchen.
Coffee? Tea? She asked.
Tea, please, two sugars,
little milk, I replied.
Take a seat in the lounge,
I'll bring it through.
I went in the lounge;
posh place, a settee
of white soft material,
chairs brown, aged,
but antique and fragile
looking. There were
paintings on the walls,
water colours, rural,
country scenes, horses,
fox hunts, red coated
hunters, hedges, trees.
There was a large table,
armchairs, lovely carpet,
and a lampshade in one
corner. Nima came in
carrying a tray with two
cups in saucers, spoons,
sugar bowl, jug of milk.
She put it down on a small
coffee table by the settee.
She sat down next to me
and kissed my cheek.
At last,she said, just us,
alone, no nosey parkers,
no nurses or medical
quacks to interfere or
spoil our fun or lives.
I sat gazing around
the room. You been
here before? Of course,
as a child I often came
and stayed if my parents
were too busy with their
careers or away on the
matters medical. I smelt
her perfume, sensed her
thigh touch mine, soft,
moving against mine.
Why were you sectioned?
I asked, looking at her.
Drugs and a sudden mental
breakdown and attempts
on my life by me, she said.
I see, I said, studying her
closer, each aspect of her
features. Forget that, she
said, lets drink up our drinks
and get to bed and have ***
Whose bed? The spare, not
Aunt's, she said, smiling.
Is it a single or double bed?
Double with silk sheets, so
watch out you don't slip out
of bed while having it away.
We drank our drinks quickly,
then she showed me the bath
and the toilet and the bedroom.
What if your aunt returns?
She's in Ireland with her moody
daughter, won't be back until
Monday week, Nima said.
First a bath together, then
hot ***** *** in bed, she said.
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 2:21 AM UTC
Teenagers write poems about sadness
And I diagnose
Drain false narcissistic depth
I choose to diagnose
Girls that moan about darkness
I can try emphasize
At a therapeutic distance
Walls rather a leather settee
Cry me your conjured problems
The attention that you desperately need
Hug into my
False intellectual façade
You want your name in lights
Rose-colored perception
Of a overused typecast
Your sadness poetic and bottomless
Caught in the flight
Spotlight
That you cannot bear
Insipid perpetuity
Whining and moaning and whining
Life in hard and it is not fair
I’ve seen it all before
But should I sit
Put myself high on a pedestal
Satisfied with my own scholarly ruse
What I lack in qualifications
I make up in apathy
You wear a different coat
You messy attention grabbing
Poetically distraught
Attracted to the next sparkly thing
That will make you more interesting
You magpie, you lemming, you
I will hold your hand if you hold mine
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 8:11 PM UTC
Does she notice the four sugars,
You sneak into your tea?
What’s she like, this girl?
The girl who isn’t me?
She hasn’t even realised,
The weird dent on your knee.
Who even is this girl?
The girl who isn’t me.
It’s been more than a fortnight,
Since you made me leave my key.
Did you give it to the girl?
The girl who isn’t me?
She’s thinner, smart and cooler.
No one can disagree.
But can you learn to love,
A girl who isn’t me?
Your clothes are where you left them,
in piles on the settee.
That girl calls it a ‘sofa’.
The girl who isn’t me.
**** this, I’m getting wasted.
One shot turns into three.
I’m tempted to drunk text her.
The girl who should be me.
It’s not like I’ve been stalking
Your profiles frantically.
I just can’t believe you’re seeing
A girl who isn’t me.
Does she put up with your mood swings?
When you’re loathing your degree?
How can you stand to be with?
A girl who isn’t me?
Just answer this one question:
What do you really see?
In that wretched girl you’re dating?
That girl who isn’t me?
I must be going crazy.
Who still writes poetry?
I bet your girlfriend hates it.
The girl who isn’t me.
I’m keeping your new console,
And your comfy blue hoodie.
That’s what you get for kissing
A girl who isn’t me.
Maybe I’m just jealous?
I think it’s clear to see.
You clearly love your girl,
Your girl who isn’t me.
You told me all your secrets,
Under that big oak tree.
Can you trust this girl?
This girl who isn’t me.
You can’t, that’s why you grab her.
Silence her every plea.
You laugh and call her stupid.
That’s what you did to me.
I must have dodged a bullet.
I know I’ve been set free.
I hope she breaks your heart.
The girl who isn’t me.
I cannot be the girl,
The girl I used to be.
I guess that’s why you’re now with
A girl who isn’t me.
I see this as a blessing,
It surely has to be.
You’re now stuck with a girl,
A girl who isn’t me.
Your days, my friend, are numbered.
You listening to me?
‘Cause I still know your secrets.
And they’re not safe with me.
The cuts, the bumps and bruises,
I claimed I could not see.
Does your girl have them too?
The girl who isn’t me?
I’ll do my best to save her.
She’s too naïve to see,
that you can’t control your temper,
with a girl who isn’t me.
I wear these scars like war paint,
For all the world to see.
They show how hard I fought,
For that girl and for me.
I did my best to save her.
I tried to help her flee.
But you damaged, hurt and ruined
the girl who’s now like me.
The creaking of your window.
How cold your house must be?
You’ll always have to live with,
the girl who once was me.
I hope this poem haunts you.
I’ll never say sorry.
That girl you called a weakling?
That girl just isn’t me.
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 6:10 AM UTC
It happened tonight
I dare not clap
Haggis the cat
slept on my lap
watching a film
on the settee
Denise was sitting
next to me
he strolled along
looked at my pants
though "oh well,
I'll take a chance."
A stroke and a pat
I doff you my cap
Haggis the cat
slept on my lap
Feb 6, 2011
Feb 6, 2011 at 4:17 PM UTC
"Daddy" "Daddy"
"Watch me" "Watch me"
As she jumps hands on the settee
She jumps higher each time,
I want to be a cricket,
I want to
**Hop,
Skip,
Jump**
Bounce up and down
But they jump well, but not high enough
"Daddy" "Daddy"
"Watch me" "Watch me"
I'm a bunny,
Bounce, bounce, bounce
I bounce higher this time,
But the whiskers make me sneeze
And I really don't like carrots,
"Daddy" "Daddy"
"Watch me" "Watch me"
I'm a kangaroo
Boing,
Boing,
Boing
Look at me go look at me
Fly through the air, and land
Once again on the ground,
"Daddy" "Daddy"
"Watch me" "Watch me"
I loved being a Kangaroo but it was too hot,
I want,
I wish,
I bounce
In to space, the biggest jumper in
The know universe
I want to be an astronaut
I want to jump from
Earth
To the
Moon,
I want to hop along asteroids
Like I was playing hop scotch
"Floating endlessly"
One jump, two jumps
Look at me float, look at me daddy
I jumped on the moon,
"Little lady"
"My little jumping bean"
"You must learn much"
"Do good at school"
Then you can use your amazing bouncing talent.
Use it to jump from here to there,
But my little princess your only five,
So much time to
Bounce,
Skip,
Jump
Upon everything you see, the moon
Can wait till you grow up,
"My utterly amazing little jumping bean"
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 5:11 PM UTC
Love isn't all about
sunshine, lollipops and rainbows
it's about hard work and mayhem
and psychological blows
It's about betrayal and jealousy
infidelity and boredom
it's about looking the wrong way
and getting slapped by the doorman
It's about leaving the seat up
and many sleepless nights
it's about slamming the doors and making up
after many countless fights
It's about verbally vomiting sweet nothings
with warm and fuzzy glee
it's about finding pairs of ***** socks
hiding behind the settee
It's about holding hands and snogging
while everybody stares
it's about embarrassing storytelling
and pretending not to care
It's about realising that you need someone
no matter if they cause you bedlam
you just know it's because you love them warts and all
and you just can't live without them.
Oct 17, 2010
Oct 17, 2010 at 7:13 AM UTC
I had an Indian Fakir come
To stay, from Uttar Pradesh,
I was doing a friend a favour,
I don’t, as a rule, have guests,
I couldn’t make out a single word
He said, and so my friend
Provided a written commentary
To guide me, in the end.
It seems he was naming my furniture
It’s something that they do,
In places that are incongruous
Like the depths of Kalamazoo,
And he wanted to give them English names
So he asked my friend’s advice,
In case I couldn’t pronounce them,
Well, at least the thought was nice.
My armchair became Albert
And my settee Gunga Din,
I suppose he thought it would be okay
As it was from Kipling.
The tallboy was called Gerald
And the wardrobe, simply Joe,
The polished table Cheryl
And the kitchen one was Flo.
I’m glad that he wrote them down because
I can’t remember names,
Just that the bed was Susan
And the kitchen sink was James,
Some of them were portentous like
Ignatius, for the desk,
While each of the kitchen chairs was given
A name that ends with -este.
Celeste, Impreste, Doneste and Geste
And then of course, Ingeste,
I couldn’t remember which was which,
My friend was not impressed.
We bade farewell to the Fakir
And the Wardrobe flapped its doors,
And rumbled out a ‘Goodbye my friend’
From between its mighty jaws.
Then voices rose in a chorus from
Each part of my tidy home,
The names had given them each a voice,
It was rowdier than Rome,
The voices were accusatory
Trying to lay some guilt,
And Susan said of the Wardrobe, Joe,
‘He’s looking up my quilt!’
‘How could I help it,’ Joe replied,
‘I’m at the foot of the bed,
You’re flashing me with your silken sheets,
It’s doing in my head!’
While Albert grumbled in voice so deep,
‘Do I have to be a chair?
Each time you plonk on my tender seat
I’m gasping out for air!’
Then the kitchen chairs were out of place
And James was choked with suds,
The carpet, name of Emily
Was sick of traipsing mud.
It seemed that the polished table top
Was scratched, and she was mad,
The desk disliked my keyboard so
To each, I answered ‘Sad!’
‘You’re going to have to get along
I won’t put up with this,
Until that Fakir came along
This house was perfect bliss.’
I did away with their English names,
Replaced them with Chinese,
But they couldn’t speak a word of it
So I brought them to their knees!
And peace returned to Grissom Place
Just as I thought it would,
I made it plain to Wardrobe Joe
‘You’re just a lump of wood.’
While Susan smooths her quilt right down
And tucks her sheets right in,
And James just blubs, he’s full of suds
As I nap on Gunga Din!
David Lewis Paget
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 7:40 PM UTC
I
Among ten thousand trees,
the transformation begins
with the blink of a snowbird.
II
Snowbirds live.
Snowbirds die.
Wing tips span
the seam between
egg and bone.
III
I baked my snowbird
in a pie; the oven wanted
something beautiful to eat.
IV
A nest is a clever home.
At night, house windows
shine like yellow puzzles
for the snowbird to solve.
V
I steal the notes
of the snowbird’s song,
shackle myself to the silence
that blooms between the notes.
VI
Abandoned women
in thrift store robes,
abandoned houses
warmed by bedroom fires—
the snowbird understands.
VII
The mouth of a snowbird
is small but mellifluous.
VIII
Children with dusty fingers
color sidewalks with chalk.
Snowbirds alight there and dip
their wings into an apocalyptic sun.
IX
When the snowbird departs,
the branches of the juniper
languish like bitter crescents of lime,
ice cubes melting in a glass of gin.
X
To decipher snowy syntax,
etch lines on a sheet of ice;
get on all fours and trace
snowbird tracks in snow.
XI
Rain is turning to sleet.
The snowbird is awake.
XII
She crosses her legs
on the velvet settee,
exhaling cigarette smoke
in rings across the room.
The ashtray is a crystal grave
of severed snowbird beaks.
XIII
It was winter all afternoon. Across the city,
chimneys are spilling snow into the sky.
A snowbird shivers in the fireplace.
I close my eyes and gather kindling.
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 9:17 AM UTC
You park your lard *** **** on the skin of a cow and call it your new leather settee,
strap your feet into hide worked boots and stride across the Earth, all at the height of fabulous fashion.
Slap another slab of flesh on the barbecue and call it steak
(rare please) right next to the rack of ribs sizzling,
another brimming mooing cattle truck pulls into the abattoir,
and they say all the farts,of all the cattle, we keep eating, is destroying the climate all by themselves, but you wont find that information on the menu in a fast food shop serving burgers by the millions, or the main discussion at a barbecue, because lets face it, the meat in front of your nose has done all its farting, and its far too late to help save the World by some form of self-denial.
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 2:11 PM UTC
Auntie's friend
gave me
a cheese sandwich
I sat on
an old settee with it
her daughter Elsie
sat at the other end
of the settee
as far from me
as she could get
nibbling at a sandwich
why are you sitting
so far way from Benny?
her mum said
don't want
to sit next to him
Elsie said
you'll sit near Benny
and like it
her mum said
Elsie shifted
nearer to me
with a ******* lemons
sort of face
and nibbled her sandwich
not looking at me
her mum walked back
to the kitchen where
she was talking
to my aunt
what sort of sandwich
have you got?
I asked
bread
she said coldly
but what
is in it?
I said
corned beef
she said
do you like corned beef?
I said
why do you
talk to me
you're worse
than Billy the bird
she said
I like talking to you
I said
I don't like you
talking to me
she said
I ate my sandwich
in silence
for a few moments
what year
were you born?
I said
after swallowing
a bit of sandwich
1946
she said
that is why
I am 5
I nodded
and looked at her
I was born in 1947
in London
I said
that is why
you are 4
she said
she nibbled
more sandwich
Mum said
kids from London
got fleas
she said
a few minutes after
I haven't
I said
you smell of dog
she said
just then Elise’s mum
came in and slapped
Elise’s leg
with her hand
don't be horrible to Benny
I heard you
I nibbled my sandwich
say sorry
her mum said angrily
Elsie looked at her shoes
and mumbled a sorry
her mum walked back
to the kitchen
Elsie rubbed her leg
with her small hand
and looked at the sandwich
in her other hand
didn't mean it
Elsie said
her leg getting red.
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 2:47 AM UTC
Rain, rain go away I,ve had enough of
You today, you met your friends near
The river bank and thought it would be
Fun to come up and give me a wave.
As you fell and friends did follow, you
Invited yourselves in through my door.
As more did follow, a house party of
Wetness invited, once dry objects now
Soaked, ruined by the unclean that pushed
Their way though my letter box.
Not even knocking to ask to come into
My home, drenching my settee and my phone.
Rain, rain has come to stay, ruined my
Things now being thrown away.
I don,t mind a drip a sprinkle or down
Pour, but I don't think you again should
Come knocking at my door.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 5:08 PM UTC
After boring nature study lessons
with Miss Ashdown
and on the walk home
from school
Janice said
the man along
the balcony
of the flats
where I live with my Gran
blackened
his wife's eyes
and locked her out
of their flat
and she was crying
and shouting
to be let in
and this was 4 o'clock
in the morning
and Gran went out there
and tried
to get the man
to let his wife in
but he wouldn't
and someone phoned the police
but they said it was a domestic
and that she'd have
to sort it out herself
and so Gran let her stay
at our place
for the rest
of the night
and so she slept
on our settee
not that she slept much
she was crying
for a long while after
here Janice paused
by the newspaper shop
and went in with you
to buy some sweets
with money
she had over
from her birthday
and you had enough
from your pocket money
to get some bubblegum
then walked on
so what happened next?
you asked
she went back
to her flat this morning
and knocked
on the door of her flat
and he let her in
by which time
he had calmed down
and was all over her
like chickenpox
as Gran said
what an ****
you said
not what Gran would say
but yes he is awful
and it's not
the first time either
and her eyes
were really bruised
this morning
if I thought
it'd do any good
you said
I'd go round there
and blow him away
with my toy 6 shooter
Janice looked at you
that wouldn't help
she said
no I guess not
you said
but at least it'd show him
we don't like his sort
in town
we don't
Janice said
once he dragged her
along the balcony
by her hair
and Gran chased him
with her broomstick
and he rushed indoors
leaving his wife
on the balcony
in a heap
I could always fire
an arrow at him
as he entered the flats
from the balcony
you said
no
don't it wouldn't do
any good
Janice said patiently
you went down
the subway together
and along
and your words
echoed
along the walls
especially the words
he's a *******
having that gross sound
as it bounced
off the walls
like bullets
from a gun
and Janice said
hush not so loud
but you liked it
you liked playing
to the crowd.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 1:49 AM UTC
Sometimes I stick out from my friends a bit - I think. It’s the French in me. Americans have this excité-ment about things - that’s, well, exhausting.
Sometimes, when friends are jumping about, they practically plead for my engagement. I think I have a genetic, French reticence, an observer gene.
True, I have my moments of bitter COVID lock-down angst but I'm doing better than some friends. Maybe because the French live slowly - life is just moments - once a moment has passed, it’s gone.
I wait, in my secret gardens, like a cat on a settee, sipping small pleasures. The poet in me refuses to zone out - there are poems in the stillness.
Nov 15, 2020
Nov 15, 2020 at 7:38 AM UTC
Where is it?
The unspoken inertia's setting in.
Searched high and low.
Under the cushions.
Beneath the settee.
On the bus.
In the car.
In my bed.
Must be in my head.
My stamina has gone down the drain.
Such a pain.
I found my answer finally.
Deep in a can of fizzy drink.
Loaded with sugar.
Hell what a ******
All those calories they buzzed me up.
And then increased my waistline!
(C) LIVVI
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 5:20 PM UTC
Living within this crumpling skin
leathering to the elements
all self delusions crease and crumble
becoming one with the old leather settee.
They say you are part of the furniture
long before your funeral
sinking in the folds, morphing into a couch potato.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 8:18 AM UTC
All shrubbery around is shaken by the wind
As smoking grey clouds threaten rain.
But I sit snugly in my lounge
Idly contemplating a chicken-breast tea.
The long heatwave is over
For now.
Atlantic air has swept the mugginess
Aside.
Thermometers have settled down
While cooler moisture sooths our very souls.
This lounge of mine presents a landscape too:
Of settee, armchairs and table
Along with dining chairs and TV:
Mountains over carpet savannas.
But the kitchen calls me from next door
So no matter how lazy I feel
I really have to eat now.
This interlude must end
So very soon.
Paul Butters
© PB 29/7/2018.
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 12:45 PM UTC
The house settled slowly into a deep deep sleep
The floor board could be heard yawning
The wind brushed the window
he's coming it whispered
Hush said the bed with a sock hanging from it's nose
the children are asleep
The cat lay sleeping on the settee
and let out a one eyed peep
as dust fell from the chimney
The dog in the armchair sat up
ears touching the celling
as he saw the footprints of Santa’s soot-black feet.
Now the smell of Christmas wafts through the house
The children’s noses twitched
And let out big Christmas yell
Quick, SANTA’S BEEN
All the house was awoken to the sounds
of great joy and the happiness
The smiles on the faces this day
light up the world
and we wish it could be Christmas every day
Dec 24, 2017
Dec 24, 2017 at 6:20 AM UTC
There's a boy
at the door for you
Elaine's mother said
talking to Elaine
at the door of her room
what boy?
Elaine asked
he said his name was John
her mother said
looking unhappy
her voice strained
he's here?
Elaine asked
I’ve just said he is
her mother said
Elaine frowned
how did he know
where I lived?
how do I know
her mother said
where is he?
Elaine asked
by the front door
now get along
and see him
and then tell me
what is going on
her mother said
Elaine went down stars
to the front door
and there he was
the boy John
standing by the door
how did you know
where I lived?
she asked him
leaning by the door
unsure what to do
or say more than that
I asked someone
in the village
and they said here
I got the bus here
from my village
he added
O I see
she said
looking at his eyes
hazel and bright
well invite him in Elaine
don't need to stand
on the doorstep
the mother said
ok
Elaine said
and invited John in
and they walked
into the living room
where he was invited
to sit on the brown settee
I’m Elaine's mother
and you are John?
yes,I'm John
he said
we go to school together
he added
on the bus
he put in
after a few seconds silence
I see
the mother said
she sat in an armchair
opposite him
and Elaine sat
on the settee
beside John
Elaine's not mentioned
you before
the mother said
eyeing the boy seriously
O I see
he said
looking at Elaine
never thought to say
Elaine said
looking at her slippers
are you friends
at school?
the mother said
yes
he said
we are
Elaine looked
at her mother
hoping he wouldn't
mention the kiss
he'd given her
we share an interest
in birds and butterflies
he said
gazing at the mother
birds and butterflies?
the mother said
yes I bring my book
to school and we
exchange what
we've seen
he said
O I see
the mother said
unsure of the boy
but thinking
he seemed all right
can I get you
a drink of tea?
the mother asked
he looked at Elaine
then at the mother
yes that would be lovely
he said
one sugar if I may
he added
the mother nodded
and smiled
and went out
to the kitchen
leaving the two alone
why did you come here?
Elaine asked
looking at the boy
I wanted to see you
he said
and I didn't want to
wait until Monday
he added
O I see
she said
feeling uncertain
feeling unsure
what she should
say or do
you don't mind do you?
I didn't think
I came on impulse
I don't usually
but I couldn't get you
out of my mind
he said
really?
she said
a smile lingering
on her lips
but not breaking out
yes
he said
ever since you got off
the bus on Friday
I’ve been like this
and he leaned forward
and planted
a gentle kiss.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 4:05 PM UTC
writing stuff, not physically,
curled up in the big settee.
opened the window behind me,
talked to pretoria, prettily.
not hard work, packing stuff,
to go, unless big and unwieldy.
midsummer yesterday, it was
not difficult to see it through, warm
and sunny.
dreaming of war tired me.
yellow star houses.
sbm.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 1:10 AM UTC
Home – This warm familiar place
An ****** of every day to me
Where cooking smells and laughter dwell
The cat curled up on grey settee.
Noisy kids run in the hall
Sun beams hang in shafts of light
But dust motes in suspended drift
Reflect that something isn’t right.
Agitation twists her thought
He said he would…but didn’t then
Which led to heated, wounding words
That killed the mood and distanced them.
Home, where no one lies and cheats,
No one says those hurtful things
Unravelling the textured trust
Dispersing peaceful tranquilings.
No one storms into the night
With slamming doors and loud abuse,
Wracking sobs at kitchen sink
Unravelling to no good use.
Fearful, wide eyed, silent kids
Crept away to sanctuary
To furthest bedroom down the hall
Where silence helped the peace to be.
Home – that warm familiar place
That ****** of everything to me,
Where once, that ghost of happiness
Would dissipate from us to flee.
M.
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 9:13 PM UTC
The boy John
had gone
he'd been there
for about an hour
sitting on the settee
then briefly
-with her mother's
permission-
out in the garden
where they looked
for birds and butterflies
Elaine had seen him off
from the front garden gate
-her mother peering
through net curtains-
and watched until
he disappeared
around a bend
did you know
he was coming?
her mother asked
no I had no idea
Elaine replied
looking at
the empty place
on the settee
where he'd sat
he does know
you're 14
I suppose?
he's in my class at school
he's 14 too
Elaine said
sensing the place
where he'd sat
beside her and the kiss
on the lips
so sudden so gentle
yet Mum had been
in the kitchen
what if she had seen?
he might have
asked first
her mother said
not just turn up
on the doorstep
I didn't know
Elaine said
then licked her lips
where his lips
had been
can I trust you?
her mother asked
trust me
to do what?
Elaine said
do nothing
her mother said
do nothing?
Elaine said
looking unsure
what her mother meant
do things with him
her mother said
do things?
Elaine repeated
what things?
her mother frowned
and said
nothing just nothing
Elaine nonplus
nodded her head
her mother smiled
now what
was I doing?
she said
o yes the washing
and went off
to the wash room
and left Elaine frowning
at her mother's
departing figure
do nothing?
Elaine muttered
to herself
and patted the space
where the boy John
had sat
then touched her lips
and that was that.
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 2:33 AM UTC
Helen walked down
the steps of St Jude’s school
her mum was waiting for her
with the big pram
you were by the school gates
are you coming back with us?
Helen said
ok
you said
and so you
and Helen
and her mum
walked along
St George’s Road
her mother talking
about the shopping
she’d done
and what she’d bought
Helen walking alongside
you thinking of Cogan
and him saying
he was going to
smash your face
but he didn’t of course
he was all mouth
but even if you had to
fight him you had to
be careful of his glasses
never hit someone
with glasses your mother
used to say
but if you had to
you would of course
can you come to tea?
Helen asked
you looked at her mum
pushing the pram
if it’s all right
with your mum
you said
it’s fine
her mother said
as long as you
don’t expect caviar
and she laughed
and you wondered
what caviar was
but smiled anyway
and once you got
to Helen’s house
you said
will my mum know
where I am?
yes I told her
you’d come with us
for tea this morning
Helen’s mum said
that’s good isn’t it
Helen said
and she took you
into the sitting room
and you sat
on the big brown settee
and she sat beside you
and told you
about the boy
in her class
who said she looked
like a toad with glasses
I don’t do I?
she said
not at all
you said
you’re pretty
you added
beginning to blush
do I?
she said
yes
you said
and she kissed
your cheek
and you patted her
on the back
and she went off
to the kitchen
where her mum
was getting tea
and you heard her say
Benedict said I was pretty
that’s nice
her mother said
now ask Benedict
if he wants bread and jam
or bread and dripping
and you saw Helen’s
old doll Battered Betty
on an armchair
by the fireplace
staring at you
with that smile
on its face.
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 4:03 AM UTC
She was a pretty little mess,
One two many drinks,
A silly teenage fool,
One that doesn't think.
They all called her a *****
She wore a very short black dress
They said: ***** little ****
She thought: "but am I pretty yet?"
She danced against the wall
Until she caught an eye
She stumbled to the settee
Sat down on someones knee
They didn't talk for long,
No, they didn't speak at all;
Only breaths and gasps and whispers
The sound of a mistake
Of course, she had planned this all
And hoped that he might call
She blamed it on the drink
She said she didn't think
This happened many times,
Each night a new regret
And every morning she wondered
"Am I pretty yet?"
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 5:56 PM UTC