I could be a better golfer I could try to be more green I could be a full-time writer I could keep my whole house clean I could take care of my pets Consider other people’s needs I could make some sort of effort To not remain what I have been
But life has made me what I am Should I try to be another? It sounds like far too much hard work I really can’t be bothered
Woke up this mo’nin’ Mah boobs touched mah toes Grey hairs wuz sproutin’ From outta mah nose Hormones a-ragin’ All over the place Acne reclaimin’ Mah much lived-in face Waistline expandin’ While waistband contracts No use complainin’ Ah gotta face facts Ain’t temp-o-rary Ain’t goin’ away Youth lease expired I’s forty today
I thank the Lord fo’ My three handsome men If they wuz ugly I’d trade ‘em all in ‘Cause ah’m worth double A twenty-year old ‘Cept’in mah wrinkles An’ feelin’ the cold
Don’t you be cryin’ It sure ain’t no crime Better be forty Than dead fo’ all time.
The best laid plans of mice and old women…September is my birthday month and I had intended to share some poems I’ve written over the years to mark special dates but, of course, I forgot.
As the song says, this is the last day of September, so you get one poem, written to mark my fortieth. I remember reading it out to three friends who had taken me out for a meal to celebrate, beating time on the table, to their obvious bewilderment. I don’t think I’d told them at that point that I wrote poetry; or perhaps it was the (somewhat – I had the poem with me after all) impromptu performance that kind of embarrassed them. Put it this way: I’m sixty next year and don’t see any of them anymore, so they won’t be hearing that poem.
No more dogs! I barked, booting poo down the hall.
The kick was accidental; the weariness incremental.
My dog is getting old and occasionally she can’t make it to the door in time…and occasionally she can’t be bothered to make it to the door in time. This was one of the latter. She’d been out not ten minutes before and I guess she figured that was it until her walk.
I can’t be too hard on her, though, as she inspired a poem; and the carpet had a thorough clean.
Auntie Phyllis loves Nigella That hen is better than any fella And what would she with any man do? Not much at age one hundred and two 😉
Happy birthday to Helen’s Auntie Phyllis!
My poet friend Helen Kay is a wonderful niece to her elderly aunt. She also has a cuddly companion in Nigella the Hen, who kept many Facebook friends cheerful (and sane) during lockdown.
Helen writes award-winning poetry and has an excellent published pamphlet of poems about dyslexia through V.Press Poetry. Called This Lexia & Other Languages, you can read a poem sample (and buy the collection) here.