Fifty Something
“Do you know…what day it is?”
“Nope”…said my beau. “What’s today?”
“Well! If you can’t remember”, I cried
“I’m not gonna say.
Well aren’t you gonna ask me?”
I insisted with a few tears.
“Alright”, he said…”you’re fifty today…
and you have been for three or four years”.
That wasn’t what I wanted to hear.
Just a few…simple birthday wishes,
a romantic night…a bottle of wine
and someone to do the dishes.
Instead…like a mature plucked Cinderella
with mascara blurred…eyes
my Prince Charming declares he’s swapping
my fifty for two twenty fives.
He’ll have a problem handling two;
his belly hangs below his belt.
He said my boobs were no better
like saddle bags…last time he felt.
See…they fall underneath me arms.
He knelt on ‘em once and they spread.
Reckoned he was leaning forward
to switch on the light overhead.
He can’t do things…like he used to
gets short winded and very abrupt.
When we were young…he worked all night
now he’s all night…working it up.
Mind you…I don’t give him a lot of help
like I did when I was young.
The elasticity has left my vital parts
you could say…spring has sprung.
We try to get together…
was recommended a book called “Fore Play”
wasn’t a crossword or card game in it,
and the pictures were worn away.
I looked at myself in the mirror
perhaps the problem lies with me.
Surely the body doesn’t fall apart…
…life begins at fifty.
I need to recharge by batteries,
get rid of my facial hair,
buy new underwire bras,
make ‘em look like a pair.
My beau used a whipper snipper on my face,
“I’ll trim it”…he said…”it won’t pull”.
So I laid on the floor with his foot on my neck,
it started…then ran out of fuel.
Just as well…it went berserk,
desexed our neighbor’s cat.
I said…”Whatever you do…don’t mention it…
when you give ‘em the snipper back.”
I’ve been going to the gym lately,
I wear the correct gear…
you know…leotards with that skinny strap
on the strategic part of your rear.
No-one told me to wear tights as well
as I sat on the rowing machine.
Imagine how I felt…when a man pulled it out,
thank goodness it came out clean.
I’m preparing my body and keeping fit,
you know age is a state of mind too,
don’t ask me what state I’m in,
let’s just say…’Thirty Two.’
By - Shirley Friend
Jane Elahi
Me name is Jane Elahi an’ I’m livin’ pretty rough
I ain’t no playboy pin-up… but I couldn’t give a stuff
I ain’t got any parents, me old man was a quitter
Me mum shot frew in ’82 an’ took me boy-frien’ wid ‘er.
I lost me job at Woolies… ya reckon I should care?
They pick on me about me gear an’ ‘ow I spray me ‘air
As if a grocery-packer’s job was somefin’ upper class
They’ll take me jest the way I am, or they can kiss me ankle.
They only paid me wages… I’m the one what buys me clothes;
What’s it to them if I choose ter wear an ear-ring… in me nose?
I tole ‘em at the C.E.S. it wasn’t good enough
an’ me name wuz Jane Elahi… an’ I couldn’t give a stuff.
There’s work up at the fact’ry, but it don’t appeal ter me;
Yer tie yerself ter some machine an’ lose yer identity
I feel trapped like an eagle in a little plastic cage
An’ I need ter fly as surely as an eagle needs ter rage.
The foreman is a sadist an’ the leadin’ ‘an’s are snobs
An’ ole women in their forties ‘ave got all the cushy jobs
An’ what about me bikin’ trips wif Maggott, Mitch ‘n’ Scum?
If they fink I’m givin’ them up they kin stick it up their nostril.
I fink I’ll get a pension… maybe ‘ave a kid or two
Yer gotta screw the system while the system’s there ter screw;
There’s two fings they will never change ‘owever ‘hard they bluff
Me name is Jane Elahi… an’ I couldn’t give a stuff.
Don’t talk about termorrer… all the future’s one black ‘ole
Yer never ‘ave a future when yer on the flamin’ dole
Life stays on ‘old till chooseday, when another cheque is cashed
Then we laugh a bit an’ smoke a butt, an’ end up gettin’ smashed.
Geez, we might uz well take ‘appiness fer every cent it’s worf
before they drops an atom bomb an’ wipes us orf the earf!
The way the oldies carry on… it fairly makes me sick
Yer’d fink that gawd made all the world
fer some self-righteous person!
Well, they can ‘ave it all, fer mine… I won’t be ‘angin’ round
I’ll be o.d. at fifty-free… they’ll put me in the ground
An’ I hope they carves an epitaph an’ sticks it in the turf
Sayin’ “‘ere lies Jane Elahi… an’ she didn’t give a sturf!”
By - Charlee Marshall
The Parent
You cared for me when I was young with tender love and care.
You gave me food and shelter, and some clothes for me to wear.
When I was tiny, you would read me stories every night.
And then when I was fast asleep, you’d tuck me in so tight.
And every day, right after school, you’d be there just to say,
“How was school?” and then I’d tell you all about my day.
And when I had some problems in my life, as children do,
You always seemed to understand. It wasn’t new to you.
And at my graduation, you were standing in the crowd,
And when they called my name you cheered for me so loud.
And now that I have grown, I’ve seen you ripening with age,
And soon within the book of life, you’ll reach your final page.
I know that you need care, but I have children of my own.
So I’ll just say goodbye, and then I’ll send you to a home.
Growing Old Gracefully
There’s a mole on my neck that’s growing a hair
When I was younger it wasn’t there
A lot of things changed since I’ve grown older
like my fallen arches and this hump on my shoulder
Yesterday I noticed a twitch in one eye
and spots on my hand that resemble a fly
I used to be able to party all night
but now to stay awake until five is a fight
My breasts used to be firm and quite pert
Now I have to be careful they don’t drag in the dirt
Gravity surely has taken its toll
What was once on the surface is now in a hole
The backs of my arms are wobbly like jelly
and I found the remote tucked under my belly
I used to eat steak but now I can’t chew it
growing old gracefully. I don’t think I can do it
By - Donna Vickodil
Tail Chasing
Running, running, here I go
To catch my tail but I’m so slow
And lagging, dragging, my behind
To try to catch up with my mind.
Tripping, falling on my tongue
That is often too high-strung,
Dropping words I have to eat
And spitting them upon my feet.
Keeping up with things today
Is harder than my words can say
For every time I think I’ve won,
There I fall down on my bun.
My body’s old, my mind is young;
Upon a cloud, my dreams are hung
And so if you should see me cry,
You will know the cloud’s passed by.
Slower, slower, now I go
Like Wisconsin winters in the snow,
So if you want to walk with me,
You’ll have to slow down or carry me.
By – Gloria Sarasin
Foetal Frolics
I wish I was a foetus
I never would be bored
Sitting in my uterus
Swinging on my cord.
To worry obstetricians
I’d be a proper beast
I’d change position on the hour
Transverse, oblique then breech.
To student midwives I’d present
A mystifying case
I’d hide myself inside the os
And leave an empty space.
I’d tie my cord into a knot
And wave it through the cervix
I’d give the midwives such a shock
And laugh off all my vernix.
And when my membranes rupture
I’d be a right old pest
Presenting large diameters
I’d transversely arrest.
I’d tell my pal placenta
To get himself detached
To theatre then the lot of us
Would pronto be dispatched.
And when they start to caesar
I’d laugh and think “Tee hee!’
When no-one else is looking
I’ll come vaginally.
By - Pauline Bryant
Medication
A row of bottles on my shelf
Caused me to analyze myself.
One yellow pill I have to pop
Goes to my heart so it won’t stop.
A little white one that I take
Goes to my hands so they won’t shake.
The blue ones that I use a lot
Tell me I’m happy when I’m not.
The purple pill goes to my brain
And tells me that I have no pain.
The capsules tell me not to wheeze
Or cough or choke or even sneeze.
The red ones, smallest of them all
Go to my blood so I won’t fall.
The orange ones, very big and bright
Prevent my leg cramps in the night.
Such an array of brilliant pills
Helping to cure all kinds of ills.
But what I’d really like to know…
Is what tells each one where to go!
The Perfect Man
The perfect man is gentle
Never cruel or mean
He has a beautiful smile
and keeps his face so clean.
The perfect man likes children
And will raise them by your side
He will be a good father
As well as a good husband to his bride.
The perfect man loves cooking
Cleaning and vacuuming too
He’ll do anything in his power
To convey his feelings of love on you.
The perfect man is sweet
Writing poetry from your name
He’s a best friend to your mother
And kisses away your pain.
He has never made you cry
Or hurt you in any way
Oh, lets just face the facts ladies
The perfect man is gay.
The Terrible Teens
Turn that bloody music down,
My head is spinning round
Have you no consideration
when you’re blasting out that sound?
I think they call it Hip Hop,
But me, I call it crap
The bass it sounds so bloody loud,
It gives me a heart attack,
You haven’t cooked the dinner,
Or tidied up your room
If you don’t sort this mess right out,
You get to leave home soon!
Makeup on the bedroom floor,
Dirty washing in a pile
I gave up clearing after her,
It’s just not worth my while.
And what is that you’re wearing?
It’s my brand new bloody skirt
You can take it off right now my lass,
And get rid of that smirk!
So you’ve looked all through my wardrobes,
And what else have you stolen?
And I suppose you’ve nicked my tights again,
Now that yours are full of holes,
I thought I smelt my perfume,
You’ve got a bloody cheek
And I bet you’ve used my hairspray,
You know, the one I bought last week,
You’re always taking liberties,
You don’t even ask to borrow
Whatever you have nicked tonight,
You can give me back tomorrow,
And I want it washed and ironed,
I’ve only worn it twice,
If I get to wear it after you,
Then not ruined, Would be nice!
And I suppose you’ll want a lift again?
And more money from my bank
You take the piss right out of me,
Now I’ve no diesel in my tank
Well this is the very last time,
You can go and ask some other
And in future will you please grow up,
You’re supposed to be my MOTHER !!!
By - Sasha Bailey
Oh Such Misery
Today I feel rotten
Lost and forgotten
Moody, misty and blue
My hair is splitting
Nothing is fitting
Both my thumbs I chew
Today I feel crazy
Like a wind-shaken daisy
The dizziest dame on your way
I am all out of order
On the misery border
And my heaven is terribly gray
I am awfully saddened
Not very much gladdened
It’s as if a bad crop I grew
Everything is creepy
I am feeling all weepy
When I see the thumbs that I chew
Today I am mouldy
And “Oh” such an oldy
A shrunken, outdated prune
My joints are all rusty
My corners all dusty
And my voice is all out of tune
I look at the sheet
That lays underneath
My unhappily writing “ball”
And I ask with a sigh
“Whatever and Why”
Do I write such nonsense at all.
By – Anita V.
To My Alarm Clock
Every morning I lie there innocently sleeping
when the peace is ruptured by a horrible beeping.
My serenity ripped asunder, sudden and drastic
by this evil, demonic, red-eyed piece of plastic.
I roll over in pain and pound on the snooze,
Groaning, moaning, thinking ‘What’s there to lose?’
‘Don’t make me get up, just nine minutes more.’
The same thing I’ve said every morning before.
It’s not that I hate mornings or dread the new day.
It’s just that I loathe waking up in this way.
I’d much rather simply rise up with the light,
Glowing in the window, chasing away the night.
But the sudden screaming, the incessant fuss,
Makes me want to yell and cry and simply to cuss.
Especially the knowledge that all of my sorrow
will be repeated the same time, same way, tomorrow.
Test
Now I lay me down to study,
I pray the Lord I won’t go nutty.
If I should fail to learn this junk,
I pray the Lord I will not flunk.
But if I do, don’t pity me at all,
just lay my bones in the study hall.
Tell my prof I did my best,
then pile my books upon my chest.
Now I lay me down to rest,
and pray I’ll pass tomorrow’s test.
If I should die before I wake,
that’s one less test I’ll have to take.
