Category: Poem

Prom Dress Poem – Acrostic

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Perplexed, I’m in a mother’s shock. We’re shopping for a posh new frock

Retracted plan to boycott prom, now keen to try big dresses on.

On entry, met by satin swathes, assistant squeaks and jumps and waves.

Met at a gig with mobiles spelling, now two girls giggle, hugging, yelling.

Dresses tried in beige and steel, my girl, a giant in 6 inch heels

Recoils at strapless silicone, while tightening lace and corset bone.

Eleven dresses tried, excited. Select, of course, the first she sighted.

Stroll downstairs to pay deposit. Strip lights buzz while two girls gossip

Sue in denim prints receipt. Decision made, we leave to eat.

#meredithschumann #author #authors #poem #poetry #prom #promdress #promdressshopping #harrystyles #acrostic

You Didn't Get Much Sleep Last Night – a Poem About a Poorly Child

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You didn’t get much sleep last night
You snored and thrashed: a soul not right
You shouted, screamed with night-time fears
Your puffy eyes glowed red with tears.

You shivered, sweated, sobbed with shakes.
Boy not asleep. Boy not awake.
With clammy hands and sodden hair
You sought relief that wasn’t there.

You’re hot, you’re cold, you’re cold, you’re hot.
You shouted through. ‘I need you lots.’
My comfort sought, you cuddled tight,
You bed me ‘Stay with me all night’.

I laid me down, and your head flopped
Your eyelids closed, your breathing dropped.
You sleep a bit, move left then right.
You toss and turn all through the night.

You woke, excited, giddy, healed
Your body strong, it didn’t yield.
I’ve borne your burden. Wretched. Old.
You’ve given me your stupid cold.

I laid in bed with you last night
You shivered, boiled and whimpered light
You shouted, screamed with terrors deep
I didn’t get a moment’s sleep.

‘You’re Ashen Pale’ my friend she said
While making toast, and tea and eggs.
‘Just you relax. We’re going that way.
I’ll take your lad to school today’.

And when she left, with you in tow
I heaved relief, and tears fell slow.
I picked at breakfast, sipped at drink
Then poured it down the kitchen sink.

I didn’t get much sleep last night
You snored and thrashed: a soul not right.
Now half past nine, my duties gone
I’m back in bed. Awaketime none.

#meredithschumann #author #authors #poem #poetry #child #cold #flu #motherandchild

What I Fear

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A strangely structures circular prose poem.

What I fear about FOOTBALL is the obsession with BALLS.
What I loathe about BALLS is the sheer bloody MACHISMO.
What I dislike about MACHISMO is EVERYTHING there is.
What I object to about EVERYTHING is its overwhelming BIGNESS
I don’t like BIGNESS because it makes me feel SMALL.
I don’t want to feel SMALL because I’m not UNIMPORTANT.
I hate feeling UNIMPORTANT because NOBODY is.
I’m unhappy about NOBODIES because the term is so INSULTing.
I hate INSULTS when they scorn the WEAK.
I fear for the WEAK who may well fail at SPORT.
I totally despite SPORT because it attracts CROWDS.
I don’t like CROWDS because they follow the PACK MENTALITY.
And I am scared of the PACK MENTALITY, especially when it relates to FOOTBALL.

#meredithschumann #author #authors #poem #poetry #football

Creation and Re-Creation

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‘Creationist,’ he said. ‘That’s what I am.’
I nod, and shuffle in my seat.
Willing to listen.
Hoping to understand.
Struggling to accept.
I ask why his scientific mind would be so keen
To reclassify all he’s ever known.
He says it isn’t like that.
He’s seen a video or two.
They explain it all.
Along with the intellect of Trump.
The empathy of Johnson.
The terrorism of Labour.
I’m sorry, I say, as I leave the room.
Torn between out-loud laughs of disbelief
And terror for my baby’s mental health.

#meredithschumann #author #authors #poem #poetry #creationist #evolution

There's More Than One Way To Bin Your Kin

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Daphne was driven. The life she’d been given
Was clearly no better than bad.
Her husband, a user, a nightmare, a loser.
And she knew that she’d surely been had.

What reason was there, for his ripped underwear?
For his stubble, his hairpiece, his scowl?
And how might he explain his pretences of pain
When presented with spade or with trowel?

If his body was lazy, his mind it was too,
He lived in a permanent mist
Of smoking and drinking and drug-addled thinking.
Of his vices… she’d written a list!

Of how he would curse, in the car it was worst,
Of how he would hate and berate her.
And then he would calm, say ‘I’m sorry, no harm’
And take it all out on her later.

Oh, but how he relied. And how she had cried,
When again he demanded her wages.
She screamed ‘It’s abuse’, but still couldn’t refuse,
For fear of his terrible rages.

On Friday she planted a kiss on his cheek.
She said, ‘See you later, okay?’.
‘Whatever,’ he said. That’s when she wished him dead.
Cos he didn’t care, he had nothing to say and she knew that he’d always
Keep acting that way.

It was all about him, how he’d gain, how he’d win.
It was all about what he could get.
He exploited her caring with his own brand of sharing
A minefield of doubt and of debt.

She lay in the bath, contemplating her wrath,
And thinking of what she might do.
She came up with a ruse for her crime without clues.
And was sure what she needed to do.

She would get her revenge, she would seek out new friends.
She’d prevent her life plunging to hell.
She would simply say ‘Bye’ to the hate of her life
And leave him to fend for himself.

Inspired by Paul Simon’s ’50 Ways to Leave Your Lover’

#meredithschumann #author #authors #poem #poetry #revenge #paulsimon

Resolution

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2020 is the year, for reaching goals and squelching fear.
There’s much to do, so I’ll command, prioritise, set up and plan.
Though short of time, I’m strong and wise. I’m talking time to organise.
I’ll schedule all the months ahead, with useful tasks, more work, less dread.

I resolve to eat less fat, to drink less wine, less this and that.
And use the food that I have got, not let it ooze nor let it rot.
Sugar will be much reduced, and I will thrive on cabbage soup.
And alcohol won’t be a crutch, more of a friend I don’t see that much.

I’ll make a start on leathercraft, I’ve got the gear so need to graft.
I’ve got my dremel, studs and stamps, needles, pins and frames for lamps.
Embossing and pyrography, enamelling, photography. Wooden sculpt, and painted tin, basketry to keep things in.
But aren’t they all a waste of time, these useless, pointless tasks of mine?
So…

I’ll work less hard and play much more. Try not to be a writing bore.
I’ll close my mind, spend time outdoors, I’ll learn to dance, to ride a horse.
Switch laptop off, take time to rest. There’s no need to be the best.
For who and what must I impress? There’s no exam, life is a quest!

I’ll love my life, I’ll light my way, and never dwell on yesterday
When things go bad, I’ll stand up strong, and trust that I’m not always wrong.
I’ll take more care, and get more sleep, I’ll look before I cross and leap.
I’ll rise and shine, enjoy my toil, though never burn the midnight oil.

But something doesn’t feel quite right.
Something keeps me up at night.
Selfish thoughts and selfish needs
Self-centred tasks and boastful deeds.
They swarm through me, those nightmares mount.
With crippling guilt, and dreadful doubt.

So, it’s best to take another heed of resolutions, wants and needs.
To turn things round, to start again, consider women, children, men.
And work for victims, help, assist. To make a difference, help, insist.

So that’s my resolution, now.
Do something useful. Make that vow.
Take time from life to help and serve.
Just hope I have the strength and nerve!

#meredithschumann #author #authors #poem #poetry #2020 #resolution #happynewyear

I Only Cheat For Chocolate

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I only cheat for chocolate, said the diabetic dryly.
At times I pinch leftover treats from off the children’s plates.
I like my crisps, of course I do, but I don’t eat them daily.
I show restraint, especially on the school run, when I wait.

I only take a candy bar or two.
An Allsort here, a Humbug there.
I’ll only have a very few.

I only cheat for chocolate, and I only cheat a little.
I only cheat when I can cheat in secret, bite by bite.
I only cheat for chocolate, and I only cheat at weekends.
The cheating is my secret, I’m most secretive at night.

I only cheat for chocolate, and I munch enthusiastically.
Its cocoa dribbles run right down my chin and to my shirt.
A cream egg yolk is what I craved, I stuffed them in quite drastically.
I bought a pack of six, and just one more aint going to hurt.

Its only there a moment on my tongue.
It’s worth it, though. It’s so deelish.
It never lasts for long.

I only cheat for chocolate, and I only cheat a little.
I only cheat when I can cheat in secret, bite by bite.
I only cheat for chocolate, and I only cheat at weekends.
The cheating is my secret, I’m most secretive at night.

#meredithschumann #author #authors #poem #poetry #food #chocolate #dietcheat

Postcard to the Dead

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I thought I’d write a verse, my dear, explain just why you’d like it here.
This beach is one I know you’d like. It’s shingle, mainly. Still, its nice.
An ice cream stall squats near the pier, but you can’t get rum and raisin here.
Cracked steps lead wobbly to the beach, with deckchairs stacked just out of reach.
I know you’d love the irony, you’d lap it up quite happily.
Perversely, too, you’d love the beach. It’s wide, with sea just out of reach.
And the ocean’s also not much cop, just toxic bubbling, grey-green pop.
The rockpool’s bleak, with not a sign, of life, apart from mirrored mine.
Escape to town is harder still. The path back is a long, steep hill.
And back in town, there’s just one caffie, one that’s dirty, bleak and scruffy!
I’ve been here lots without you, dear. You never wanted to come near.
But, can you see just why I claim. You’ll like it here, you’d lay no blame.
You’d get such a chance to moan. Complain and threaten to go home.
Then once back home you’ll tell our friends, you wished our break would never end.
So here’s my little verse, my dear, I really think you’ll like it here.

#meredithschumann #author #authors #poem #poetry #postcard #holiday #beach #badholiday #ukseaside #seasideuk #seaside #coast #beachbreakuk #britishseaside