No-Fear Poetry
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the hen
hates men
for the cock
likes to mock
listen to him now:
bawk-bawk-bawk
rattling on
complaining
always hensplaining
hear him go
her harem beau
he surely don’t know
his reigning role
is waning
she hopes
he’s soon
for the pot
she likes that
a lot
as jerk chicken
of course
as the delicious
main course
but it itches her loathing
whilst he’s decomposing
dry-rubbed
marinated
he’ll be tasty
so tasty
but also
unhated
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You only ever need it
when you’ve left it on the bus
on the train
home in the cupboard
somewhere with no rain.
Don’t bother getting cross because
you know you’ll do it again
and again
and again.
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A little context before you read this one (from the YouGov website);
In February of this year, Guardian journalist Sam Wollaston called YouGov out for our lack of data on how many British men sit down to urinate.
Kicking ourselves for this glaring omission from our Public Data archive, we have since conducted a 13-country study on men’s peeing preferences internationally.
The results show that British men are among the least likely to sit for a wee, with 33% saying they “never” do so – tied with Poland...
…it is German men who are the most likely to sit down to pee – 40% say they do so every time, and a further 22% do so most times. Only 10% say they never do.
Ironically, Germany is a nation that has a term deriding men who sit down to pee – ‘sitzpinkler’, literally someone who sits down to wee, but also used to imply a man is wimpy or effeminate – while also requiring them to do so in many places. Signs telling men to sit down to pee are common in German bathrooms, and standing to urinate is often seen as antisocial behaviour.
You can read the full article here.
I’m a wife, and the mother of sons, so you can appreciate my perspective, I’m sure.
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Pooh-Poohing a Pejorative Pee-Pee Name
I love a sitzpinkler
He’s less of a sprinkler
There’s not much to clean
If you know what I mean…
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when I die
if they say of me
she lived her life joyfully
she lived it utterly
she made the most of every day
she didn’t fritter time away
she was habitually free
they lie
too many books
is why
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It’s Be Kind to Animals Week but I haven’t written a lot of animal poems, so I’m reblogging this one from last year.
And like last year, I still don’t know technical stuff, so there’s a photo of the poem as I set it out, followed by the text.
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Most snakes will hiss
to scare away
but cobras spit
right in your face
their aim’s your eye
I’ll tell you why
to blind your head
until you’re dead
***
Okay, just read this again and realised it’s not the poem to convince anyone to be kind to animals; but…
To Be Fair
The cobra’s just doing
what cobras do.
Don’t bother it
and it won’t bother you.
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And now I’ve just noticed that somewhere between taking the photo and posting it way back when, I changed the title. This blogging gig is hard, folks!
I prefer the current title; which do you like?
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It’s not the shape of his head
or the shine of his coat;
not the smell of wet fur
or the noise from his throat;
not the whisper of licks
that tickle your face;
not the shame in his look
when he’s fallen from grace;
not the tricks that he learned
’cause he likes the rewards.
It’s the times you’re upset
and he holds out his paw;
it’s the bliss on his face
as you rub down his back;
the knowledge that you’re
the main man in his pack;
the wag in his tail
as it’s quickly unfurled;
the love in his eyes
that says you’re his world.
***
Our boy Bobo is fifteen today. Happy birthday, lovely boy xxx
Of course I was going to include a dog poem for Be Kind to Animals Week 🙂
Oh, and happy birthday to my lovely sister-in-law, who shares the day 😉 🙂
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I’ve written a poem – no peeking!
I’m afraid it needs some tweaking.
I must just make alterations
to punctuation
and sentence location;
boost the reader’s sensation
in relation to line gradation;
shorten duration;
add a narration.
[Relax concentration;
smile in self-approbation.]
Hmm.
Perhaps some small additions,
a diversification;
compression, repression
to help with expression;
avoid real distortion;
keep the proportions;
add alliterative contortions.
It needs tonal transition;
left-alignment position;
text justification;
to lose desperation,
hesitation, imitation,
the flowery dedication.
Presentation is all.
Hmm.
[Stare at the ceiling.
Revulsion of feeling.]
Cut all repetition.
I’ll start again.
I’ll start again.
I’ll start again.
It needs transformation
or a little refinement
while I’m in confinement
for they carried me off
when I began to laugh wildly
(that’s putting it mildly:
in truth I was shrieking),
for I’d written a poem
that needed some tweaking.
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Three men in a pub
imbibing, laughing,
rejoicing, chatting.
Three men in a pub
discussing, debating,
shoulder patting, mate-ing.
Three men in a pub
shouting, punching,
fists>teeth: crunching.
Three men in a pub
horizontal, bleeding,
first aid they’re needing.
The party is off
I can see at a glance:
three men in a pub
need an ambulance.
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Photo by Katherine Rosati, Stockport Women’s Networking Group
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A hat adorned with an awning
Is usually worn in the morning
But a hat that reaches the ceiling
Can only be worn in the evening
Caveat being
As you’re already seeing
Is that a hat with a rhyme
Can be worn anytime
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Thank you to guest poet Graham Shiels for this poem, left on the Facebook post where I showed off my wonderful writing hat.
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Poetry Fluff 