The stream (all workshops)
I'm not a girlie girl
i don't wear pink dresses,
i didn't play with Barbie when i was a child.
I long for unconditional devotion,
but i haven't spent my life
in pusuit of the perfect white wedding.
The love i have to give is infiniite.
when passion hits , ill be a slave to fervor,
i'll be adoration's bitch.
But i will not surrender
to the dark side of my gender
I won't be a girlie girl.
Bursts of Imagination
It is only rarely
That my imagination bursts out
In a way volcanoes do
The ocean gives just some comfort
To the tsunamis
That may surface
My mind is a jug full of juicy joy
A sort of commotion
As someone before did ask
Why don't you leave something?
To imagination
I took the cue
Metaflorically I flew
From the wilds of my inner imagination,
Into the far folds of seeding eternity
As my mind of its own does fathom,
Albeit mysteriously
Unbeknown to me
Turning green as Sycamore trees
But can never smell as sweet
All because the bumble bee’s
Always come to me,
The worker ants carry their load
Without the slightest care,
But it seems that your back
Has never seen wear and tear,
Babbling like a brook
Constantly without stop
All that you say
Just crashes against deaf rocks,
The flowers that bloomed today
and wither on the morrow
Seem to have more sense
Then all your yesterdays,
I once more dip my toe into free verse.............
Ruins
not just for the old world
any longer
Old factory abandoned
victim of neglect
and time
inexorable
Broken windows gazing
like cataracted empty eyes
no longer seeing anything
save memories
of more prosperous times
While within.........emptiness
where drafts ( or ghosts ? ) stir cobwebs
where once looms flew
or furnaces blasted
for an older generation
replaced
"WHY ME?"
Margaret Ann Waddicor
28th November 2010.
Why am I blessed
with friends of such worth,
with health and happiness
that bursts out of my heart,
each day, each hour, each minute.
Winter's shawl about my shoulders
cold enough to hurt with storms,
and with disasters fraught,
the peoples of this earth.
You push me like a broken door
But I refuse to sway
Just tell me what you’re looking for
And I will change my ways
You say I won’t understand
That I should just let us break
It’s not that I don’t care
It’s just hard to show
You’re poisoning the air
It’s getting hard to know
You say I can’t understand
That I should just let us break
But I can’t say goodbye, to you anymore
I just can’t let you, walk out that door
Cause when you say goodbye to me
I know that we will never be
…Ever again
I sit and watch the snowflakes tumble
as above the storm clouds freeze and crumble;
the first white wonder of the year
whose ending now is almost here.
A few wet flakes fell at last light
by full darkness the ground was white.
I look by flood light out my back door
while snow obscures my sun deck's floor.
The last snow here on Christmas day ?
I'm not old enough to say.
I moved here in nineteen sixty five
both grandparents were still alive.
Yet another Christmas
to remember the Lord
time to make merry, and
sing Christmas Carols
A festive mood
lifts the spirits
joy and laughter
warm the chills
Gifts adorn
a Christmas tree
Santa Claus too
hands out goodies
Loved ones gather
for a welcome feast
toasts are raised
with a turkey treat
Yet another Christmas
does pass off this year
may the next one bring
more peace and harmony
Merry Christmas Mama
Merry Christmas mama
I'm sorry there's no tree
And I feel kind of bad
With no present to you from me
Merry Christmas mama
You should see the lights
They're so beautiful this year
All of them so bright
Merry Christmas mama
I'm blowing you a kiss
Trusting that an Angel
Will see it doesn't miss
Merry Christmas mama
From me, your youngest child
Clutching tight to memories
Of the many times you smiled
Bah humbug !!
Centuries old fakery,
A Christian con job.
Celebration based on blind faith.
A kind of historical Chinese whispers.
An effort to make life tolerable.
Originally the pagan's welcome to the sun.
Highjacked to attract the faithful.
It's progression a mixture of religion
and the victorians.
Commercialised up to the hilt,
A huge marketing ploy
to part us from our money.
Where is the joy ?
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