Rodrigo the seagull

The rains, they have passed over

It’s now time to get out and about

To leave the safety of my perch

In the branches of the trees near the roundabout

I fly out to the island

Where the cars flow around us in streams

Once there, I get into my stance

to begin my daily routine

For I am Rodrigo

the flamenco dancing gull

Who moves with such intention,

such grace and such passion

With each golpe from my legs

that strikes the soil below

My tacon and my punta

I feel the rhythm and I just let go

each stamp building to a

worm-enducing, meal-producing,

frenzied crescendo

Which is the reason I have learnt

to be so skilled with my two feet

Without my gypsy passions

I’d be hungry with no food to eat

And so I schooled myself

and learned to move to a new beat

So I will always have a belly

Full of flamenco enticed meat.

Making plans for Christmas

This is a bit of a throwaway poem and it’s a bit twee because I literally just chucked it together before hauling my ass out of bed this morning. Anyway, here it is.

Making plans for Christmas

Christmas is creeping up on us

Soon its lights will shine

We’ll all be putting up our trees

and stocking up on food and wine.











This year it will be different





A little harder to prepare for





As the purse strings may be tighter





Than they ever have been before















With all the current uncertainty





It’s almost impossible to plan





how many will eat at our tables





Will we be allowed to invite nan?















We may have to keep it simple





As most shop doors remain shut





It might not be advisable to travel





We may have to all stay put















Which for those of us residing





In a house with other folk





may not seem such a hardship





but if you’re all alone it’ll be no joke















In this most difficult of years





We’ll have to be more mindful





Because whilst we happily celebrate





for some it’ll be an awful struggle















So donate to the foodbank





Send a gift to those in need





Check up on your neighbours





Practise charitable deeds















Don’t let anyone be lonely





Be grateful that you’re here





to celebrate, albeit differently





And hope 2021 is a better year.

	


	





	

		
2020 can do one.
	


	
	

		

Today I feel jaded





My eyes are tired, my sparkle faded





As so much bad news is being constantly paraded





On our TV screens for days and days and it





Wears you down and it starts to grate





We hope for better times but know it’s gonna be a long wait





As the nights are dark and the shadow of illness lurks





And there’s nothing more to life than home and fucking work





And it’s started to do my head in cos all I see is doom and gloom





And it’ll be months before the flowers all start to rebloom





And I need to see the  sunshine and I need to see it soon.










I am jealous of the tortoise who will sleep winter away





Instead of plodding through day after monotonous, dull day





Because we don’t know when we’re  gonna be allowed back out to play





And meet our friends in numbers that total more than six





Because seeing 10 or 12 will end up making people sick.





But I won’t be taking no rushed vaccine, I’m not that fucking thick





And it seems that everybody just wants to be a dick





to anybody with an opinion that differs from their own





because to make us all compliant, the seeds of panic were sewn





and how to protect ALL people at this time is still unknown





so certainty and happiness have left the nest and flown





away.  Now I muddle through this dark and dull November





Which will lead into a depressingly shit and low December





Unless something amazing happens and we find some Christmas cheer





Then we’ll give a two-fingered farewell to this truly dreadful year.






	


	





	

		
Only the essentials.
	


	
	

		

She opened up her handbag





 and tipped the contents on the floor





All her must-haves and life essentials,





the keys to the front door,





Tissues to capture sneezes,





Tablets to ease her pains,





Pens for making notes with





An umbrella, incase it rains





Scrumpled receipts from shopping trips





A month or six ago





A safety pin and darning kit





For things she needs to sew





A slightly matted hairbrush





For when she needs to preen





A bottle of sanitiser





To make dirty hands clean





A notebook for observations,





A mobile phone and charger





A trolley coin, a shopping bag





For stocking up the larder





A purse full of rewards cards





But very little cash





Some lipstick, liner and mascara





For a fuller looking lash





Menstrual pads, some tiger balm,





Can we fit anything else in





to this girls’ bag of necessities?





When a wallet and keys is enough for him.

	


	





	

		
Online incarceration
	


	
	

		

At the start of my sentence in two thousand and seven
I misunderstood the gravity of the step that I was taking
Propelled by a wanderlust; a desire to join the throng
I dived into the waters though the current was far too strong
For a will as weak as mine to rebuff this new temptation.





Eleven years on, when real criminals have already been released
From the cells that they once occupied for fraud or being thieves
I remain here imprisoned by the person I became
When I signed up to Facebook and turned into a social media slave
Addicted to the constant additions in my daily newsfeed










I have lost the art of conversation, cut myself off from friends
With diminishingly broad horizons, I follow the latest trends
Foisted on us by algorithms
Society divided by deepening schisms
Polarisation now rules as various groups seek to achieve their ends










On a personal note, I know I am not the woman I was before
I used to phone my friends, often I would knock upon their door
Make arrangements to meet up with them, pop over for a cuppa
Watch a film, go clubbing or invite them round for supper
Activities now obsolete since enlisting as an online voyeur.










Currently I waste my days trekking through a barrage of posts
An eternal journeyman on the pathaway from those I love the most
Arguing with strangers about opinions that I hold true
Interacting with nobodies but never changing their points of view
A fruitless loss of precious time – a truly weighty cost.










And so I must release myself, the problem, I’m not sure how!
No more fear of missing out, the time to stop is now
You only live once is what they say or YOLO for short
Rubbernecking on others’ lives is no life, that’s for damn sure
But first I’ll check this poem’s likes, then I’ll take up my vow.

	


	





	

		
Gut instinct
	


	
	

		






My gut instinct tells me





that something is very wrong, 





that they have been busy twisting truths





to make us submit and play along















My gut instinct tells me





that we can’t deny what’s here





But if we ponder all the consequences





Which is really the most severe?















My gut instinct tells me





that emotions are riding high





because psychology was employed





to make us swallow all the lies















My gut instinct tells me 





that the overriding mantra





Is not hands, face, space





but divide and fucking conquer















My gut instincts tell me





That the future’s looking grim





Because we’ve turned on one another





Instead of blaming them!















My gut instinct tells me





That it’s time to fight for truth





To protect the weak in our society





and the future for our youth

	


	





	

		
To the boy with the bruised ego
	


	
	

		

This poem is very personal and at the time felt quite raw. For the record, the ‘boy’ could be anyone.  I think it pricked at some consciences and  I was glad of that though, originally, it was only penned to share with one person!





I wrote this for my daughter Mali and for any girl playing in a boys’ sport. She is an ice hockey goalie and plays on mixed teams.  She has made many, many great friends. Most boys are brilliant teammates, but we had a bit of a rough spell when a tiny minority of them were not so nice.Luckily, we are past all of that now.   










To the boy with the bruised ego.










I’ve had about enough of this.





We’re supposed to be allies





On paper, we’re on the same team.





And yet you cannot stop yourself





One personal attack after another





Trying to make me look small





But you can’t





For I am tall (much taller than you!)





And maybe that’s what upsets you?





I am more formidable.





On the outside.





I just want to play the game I love





But you don’t want to let me





You try to upset me





But when we stand in line to be counted





It’s me they pick over you





Every time





I guess that hurts.





So, you may see the salty tears





Sliding down my cheeks





From the lash of your words





And the sting of your lies





But to truly beat me, you must be better than me.





You are not and you never will be.

	


	





	

		
Wishful thinking
	


	
	

		

Another non-story
In the News
Who slept with whom?
Who’s got new shoes?





Who cares?
Not me
Want the stories
We can’t see





Too much bullshit
Every day
Causing us
To look away





Sold lies
The hidden truth
Despairing for
Our hopeless youth





Life is fast
But days are slow
As on the gravy train
We go





Round in circles
In our attempts
To reach fulfilment
Be content





Too much distraction
Not enough sleep
All night long
Phones that beep





Bringing non-news
And facebook shares
Instagram photos
Straight to our lair





Then in the morning
We return
To the real world
With heads that burn





Got no trust for
Those in power
To do right by us
From their Ivory tower





Find billions
to fund war
Leave nothing over
To feed the poor





Remove our rights
To claim tax credit
A new minimum wage
If you can get it





Keep kids in school
For qualifications
Not enough jobs
In this damned nation





Need a PHD
to stack shelves,
drive a wagon
or just feed ourselves





Cos ‘foreigners took
Our pay packet’
‘Gotta keep them out
Cos I can’t hack it’





‘It’s all their fault!’
I just know
The Daily Mail
Told me so!





Frustration growing
Impossible to see
Who is friend?
And who’s an enemy?





So stop and think
And use your mind
Let your brain,
and not Wapping, decide





Be human
Care more
Think a second
Open the door





To other hearts
And new ideas
Hear not just
What we’re told to hear





Look at events
With open eyes
And a desire for
The one true prize





Of a human race
That works together
For everyone’s good
To make life better

	


	





	

		
Silly little ditty
	


	
	

		

I basically made this up spontaneously last night so it’s a bit throwaway but my friends seemed  to like it.










Pratting about!





I’m sat here in my bed
and I should be going to sleep
But I can’t drag myself off facebook
I’m just too fucking weak.





My eyelids they are heavy
And my eyes have started to sting
I need to turn the light off
and get off this bloody thing





My hubby is a snoring
the cats are curled up too
The dog has nodded off
and i have nothing more to do





except set my bloody alarm clock
and have my night time pee
Turn my bedside light out
Then snuggle down and get cosy





But I haven’t got round to it
Cos i’m making up this rhyme
and if I’m not bloody careful
I’ll hear the midnight bells all chime.





So i’m gonna get my head down
And post not one thing more
So I can get a few hours shut-eye
And getting up won’t be a chore

	


	





	

		
Retirement Plan
	


	
	

		

I wrote this 2 years ago. I am quite a long way off of retirement but when I get there I have plans!  I am a wannabe crusty.










Retirement Plan





I want dreadlocks
Old, grey dreads with brightly coloured wool.
They will be long
but not too long
so that I can put them up
and they will be a sign
That I have finally left the rat race – One day!





When I go out,
even if I have to dress up,
I will have my dreads and
they will make me smile
My dreads will be versatile.
They will be part of the woman I will become
I won’t be mum-sy
Or beige. Or bland.
With my dreadlock crown.
I will stand out from the OAP crowd.





When I am older and can shun
my responsibilities.
My long, grey and bright woolly woven dreads
Will show one and all that I am free