Write Me A Poem

Write a poem for me he said,
But such things are not easy to do,
When writing such words describes how one feels
And reason behind actions too.
What will he say if he read my true thoughts?
When on paper they are finally laid down,
As my true feelings even though not often said,
In my writing is easily found.
What if I were to mask my words,
Make them complex and obscure,
But that is not me and how I do write
And so that offers me no true cure.
What if I choose a subject of sorts,
That relates to neither he nor me,
What am I kidding, by the second verse
The pen involuntarily would be roaming free.
So what does one do in a situation like this?
The options are limited so-
Not writing at all will hide all things inside,
Is that the only place left to go?
But I am a poet and writing I love
This is so real and so true,
Write me a poem is what he had said,
And that is what I’m going to do.

Write Me A Poem

Write Me A Poem

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Mr. Woggle’s Tales- Monty’s Big Day

Mr Woggle

Mr Woggle

Mr. Woggle is an ostrich,
Tall and wise and old,
And all day long he can be found,
Writing stories to be told.
And when the school day is over,
And all homework is done,
The children gather by his favourite tree,
All of the children, yes, everyone.
Four o’clock is story time,
As all the children know…
Come on Mr. Woggle tell us a story…
Ready…. steady…. Go….

‘Monty’s Big Day’.

Today is Monty’s birthday,
Listen closely, hear him say,
“If it’s my birthday, this day is mine,
This is my special day.”
But what really makes the day special?
The presents? The food? The drinks?
Well, let’s hear this tale about Monty,
And then tell me what you all think.

Monty the elephant is seven today.
“You’re a big boy now” Mummy says.
And with that she gives her boy a cuddle
And a little kiss on his head.
“I hope you are enjoying your party,”
Says Mummy, “all of your friends are here”.
Monty answers, “This is the best birthday,
now where are the presents, mummy tell me where”.

The cake had been cut already,
Guests had sung ‘Happy Birthday’ and such,
So Mummy said he could open his presents,
And he liked each special gift very much.
But after unwrapping each of the parcels,
Monty began to look all around,
He knew that there was a box missing,
One which just could not be found.

‘Is there something wrong Monty darling?”
Asked Monty’s Grandmother with a small smile,
“You look like you’ve lost something precious,
Now what have you lost my dear child.”
“Well Granny you see,” began Monty,
“There’s something I saw yesterday,
I saw it and straight away I loved it,
I saw it although it was packed far away”.

“It wasn’t that I was snooping,
It wasn’t that I was bad,
It just happens I saw this one parcel,
And when I saw it I was so glad”.
“Inside were skates oh so shiny,
With colours of red, blue and green,
With the smallest and blackest of spinning wheels,
They were the most wonderful skates I had ever seen”.

“And straight away I got excited,
Because I knew these skates were for me,
Although I do not know who had bought them,
You, Mummy or Daddy”.
“But I knew that they would make my birthday,
The best birthday that I had ever had,
But Granny I can not find the wonderful skates,
And Granny, I want them so bad”.

Granny looked down at Monty disappointed,
And slowly she shook her wise head,
“Now Monty, you said you were not snooping,
Monty, isn’t that what you said?
I am having trouble believing that,
As those skates were hidden so deep,
Monty were you in my room peeping?
Monty did you go there and peep?”

Monty seemed to want to say something,
Granny asked “Have you something to say?”,
He began “Yes Granny, I was snooping,
But I was just so excited about today.
It was wrong, and for that I am sorry,
I did something I should not have done,
I hope that you are not too angry.
I’m sorry for the wrong that I’ve done.”

Granny looked down at Monty smiling,
“I accept your apology my sweet boy,
Now run along and have some fun,
On this wonderful day of great joy.
But there are no more gifts for you today,
As those skates are not yours Monty dear,
I bought those skates especially,
For your baby sister – St. Clair”.

St. Claire was surprised to hear this,
She asked‘ “You really bought something for me?
But it’s not even my birthday.
Oh wow Granny, I am so lucky”.
Granny handed the box with the skates to her,
A big smile spread across her face,
She took her time and put them on,
Then started skating at a slow pace.

Suddenly Mummy realized that Monty was missing,
She and Granny looked all around.
In the house, in the yard, they looked everywhere,
But Monty just could not be found.
Then suddenly mummy saw a small shadow,
Moving between the tall coconut trees,
And slowly mummy walked over,
To see what was wrong with Monty.

“Why did you suddenly leave the party?’
Mummy asked when she reached by his side.
“Because I’m not feeling very happy,
Monty quietly replied.
“But Monty, today is your birthday,
And you seemed to be having lots of fun.
Why did you leave the party?
Please tell me, Monty what’s wrong.”

The little elephant started,
“Well today is my special day.
So shouldn’t I get all of the presents?”
Monty began to say.
“All the other gifts were really nice,
And the party has been so much fun.
But why did St. Claire get the skates mummy?,
All the presents should be mine, every one”.

Mummy looked into his eyes very deeply,
And let out a very long sigh,
“And that’s what’s upset you little elephant?
That’s why you came over here to hide?”
“Now listen to me very closely,
Monty, you should be feeling so great,
Today is a day to be joyous,
And look at you in this sad state”.

“You have friends and family around you,
A party of cakes, food and drinks,
And I think, you should be happy,
Yes that is what I think.”
Everybody gave you nice presents,
Everybody was here just for you,
And because St. Claire gets one present,
You run and hide, That’s what you do”.

“Now listen to me little elephant,
As today you get older by a year,
And you need to learn understanding,
You need to learn how to care,
Sometimes we need to think about others,
Maybe put ourselves in their place,
Try and see things from their side,
Now look at St. Claire’s happy face”.

“Yes today is your birthday,
And a lot has been done just for you,
But don’t you think your baby sister,
Should get a little something special too,
Remember not too long ago,
When she celebrated her sixth birthday,
Monty, now think back, remember,
Didn’t you also get something that day”.

Monty’s head now bowed lowly,
As he knew his mummy was right,
And now he began to feel guilty,
He wanted to run away with all of his might.
But Mummy just smiled and said “Monty,
I know you are feeling a little bad.
But I think you have leant your lesson.
So please, stop feeling so sad.”

“Instead lets go back to the party,
And if you ask nicely I’m sure,
Your sister will let you try her skates out,
For a few minutes or maybe some more.”
And off they went back to the party,
And I feel it would be right to say,
Even with all that had happened,
Monty still had a wonderful day.

He learnt it was wrong to go snooping,
And to think about only himself,
He learnt that small untruths will always be found out,
And that sharing days gives you great wealth.
He learnt that special days like birthdays,
Were about more than parties, gifts and such,
He learnt a range of good lessons,
He learnt very, very, very, much.

“And now children,” said Mr. Woggle,
“Lets think about Monty’s big day.”
“Was it made special by what he had learnt,
Or simply because it was his birthday.”
Now don’t all rush at once to tell me,
Go home and think about it tonight,
Discuss it with your Mummy’s and Daddy‘s,
Ask them which answer they think is right.

“In the morning talk to your teachers,
Talk to them about Monty’s day,
I think it might make for a good lesson.
Take time to hear what they say.”
“Now run on home little children,
And tomorrow come back here at four,
As Mr. Woggle always has a good tale to tell,
Oh yes I have many many more”.

And with that all the children departed,
Thinking about Monty and birthdays and things,
Thinking about what can be gained by snooping,
And also the trouble it brings.
Thinking about sharing with brothers and sisters,
About how sharing is better by far,
About how tomorrow they’ll hear another tale from Mr. Woggle,
And about how wonderful his tales always are.

It is what it is – Another Side Of Valentines

727px-Drawn_love_hearts.svg

She leaned back smiling,

‘Why the smile?’ he asked.

She replied-

‘Because it is what it is.

Not a love of wanting and passion

But one that is born of familiarity and respect.

Not one that has left my heart racing-

But one that I know will always be.

Your love has always been like the seasons

Each spell bringing its own characteristics.

There has never been a constant

Nothing that I could be sure of.

One minute you would be infatuated with me, the next…

Well I would be surprised if you remembered my name.

Although something inside would always nag at me and would say that the love was still there.

But it was and is sometimes hard to see it.

Don’t  get me wrong, I am grateful for you and your presence.

The presence of this familiarity.

Yeah, I know what you are thinking…..

There she goes again, dictating how to love, dictating what love is, dictating, dictating…

You know I have never been a tyrant, or that person in charge

So it is funny how you would call it dictating.

I call it sharing with the man I love.

Sharing my thoughts and opinions.

Or maybe they should be kept inside.

A woman should be seen and not heard.

That’s what your daddy told you right?

Yeah, that makes me smile-

As you loved me for having my own mind before,

But that was before I became your wife.

I really do love you

And I have loved being with you over all of these years,

But you know what I wish….

I honestly wish that through the ups and the downs you had just kept on loving me despite it all….

Despite the fact that the kids where bothering you

Despite the fact that money was tight and things were rough

Despite the fact that there was a lack of alcohol in your system

Despite the fact that I did not like your new female ‘friend’

Despite the fact that you were just pissed off at the world and all that it encompassed

Despite all of that.

Because when I was sick I loved you,

When I was mad at you I loved you,

When I was alone, home with the kids and no adult conversation for days I loved you,

When we were broke I loved you,

When you told her you loved her and I overheard I still loved you,

Despite all of that I loved you’.

She reached for her walking stick.

‘But as I said’ she looked at him, ‘it is what it is’.

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ He asked.

She smiled again and raised her aged body up from the chair.

On seeing the pain in her face he got up and stretched out an arm towards her,

‘You need some help?’ He asked.

‘No’ she said, ‘But thanks for showing love’.

 

Due To Events Of The Day

My beautiful pictureMy son has lost his merit badge,

Oh gosh, where can it be?

He has searched in all the right places,

But it he still cannot see.

Distressed is not the way to describe him,

Frantic is more the right word,

As on this badge he sees his gain,

His place within the world.

His endless hours of studying,

Are displayed on the badge face,

Proof of his excellence and intelligence,

Can be read in the words of ‘Second Place’.

When wearing it his confidence does not falter,

On his lapel, it glimmers and gleams,

I really hope that he finds it,

Even if the badge is not all that it seems.

As without it he will still be excellent,

A brain so eager to learn,

Without it he will still be knowledgeable,

Taking in a new concept at each turn.

Without it he will still be intelligent,

A logistical thinker throughout,

Without it he still is my darling,

Of this you know there’s no doubt.

So I say, I know your loss fills you with sadness,

I know your loss fills you with grief,

But do not let sorrow over come who you are,

Do not let it be the thief-

That robs you of all of your brilliance,

As it was just for display, just a thing,

As nothing and no one can ever take away,

The wonderful you that’s within.

I-t’-s A-b-o-u-t T-i-m-e

clockbuttons

t has been so long – since I have visited you my friend,

he life I live became a whirlwind –  I thought it would never end,

ometimes I would think  about running back to you,

s my words needed an outlet, what was I to do.

B ut now I am back with a  vengeance – that you surely see,

O h yes, the words are flowing, gushing out of me,

U pon my keyboard fingers tap the letters in their rows,

T iredlessly finding ways to express the things they know.

T he thoughts are now abundant and I will not hold back,

I have a mind to declare a war and launch a word attack,

M ight was never my thing though, it’s not the way I choose,

E xpressive rhythmic wordings.. oh yes, that’s the method I use.

Memories Of Heathcliff and Cathy and such….

This past week I was going through the contents of my Kindle and I was reminded of the fact that my elder sister had put a copy of Wuthering Heights on there. Well, I got down to reading it right away. This fascinating story of obsessive love and heartbreak. I read and read and read until I reached the final page. It was as wonderful to take in now, as when I had first read it over twenty years ago.

I put my kindle down and turned to my PC, where I streamed a 2009 miniseries version of the book to view on-line. Starring Thomas Hardy, it was actually pretty good. It reminded me of the first ever film version I had seen of the Emily Bronte classic. It was a black and white version. I cannot recall when it was made or who the actors were, however I remember taking it in with my mother and enjoying every minute of it. I do recall being a little confused at the end though, but this was soon put to rights when I bombarded my mother with an onslaught of questions, which she happily answered.

What next came to mind was Kate Bush. I used to think she was crazy, growing up in the eighties. You have to admit; even now she is a little out there. I hated that Wuthering Heights song growing up. I loved Top of the Pops though and every week through the late 70’s and 80’s, my sister and I would tune in to hear and see the UK’s top 40 music count down. During the late 70s Kate Bush always seemed a constant at number one with that song. I started to get to like the chorus after some time and even now, I find myself singing it. The verses though, as they were to me then, remain a jumble of quotes set to music. I never really liked the flow, but to each their own. I sat glued to YouTube today however watching Kate dance her dance in white as she appealed to Heathcliff that it was Cathy and she had come home.  A smile sat on my face throughout.

People always comment on how I seem a little stuck in my ways with my love for eighties music and classic British literature, but you know my love for the music and the prose comes not from the content (O.K. sometimes it does), but more from the emotions they conjure up. As stated, I was not such big a fan of Kate Bush’s Wuthering Heights then and I’m still not a big fan of the song now. I know it’s supposed to be a classic, but it just never appealed to me. However, the song conjures up such great memories of my sister and me in our small bedroom in East London. Two black girls of Caribbean descent mimicking this woman’s style of singing and what we saw at the time as her crazy dance moves. These were the best of times. So do I hate the song? No. Would I switch it off it came on the radio? No. Why? Because it is able to bring me back to a time when happiness was abound, fun was my middle name and life was supreme.  The same can be said for the books also. I remember when I was first introduced to those classics. They were to be found on the shelves of Rabbits Library, Manor Park. Our local library that mum took us to every other week after school. Oh, such good times.

So just think about it. Memories usually materialise from the strangest of places, and these places usually fill us with joy. This is even the case when back in the day we may not have really liked the place. Sounds complicated right? Well it’s not really…. And I know that you know what I mean.

 

The Fortunes and Misfortunes and Absence of Strength of Moll Flanders

English: Brereton Hall Grade 1 listed 16th cen...

English: Brereton Hall Grade 1 listed 16th century building – front elevation (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I began this year with a promise. I was to watch the many movies and read the many classics that I had placed on a list that I had drawn up when I was only eighteen. Well it took me a while to get started but last week I picked up a copy of the first book on my list. That book being The Fortunes and Misfortunes of Moll Flanders.

Anybody who is a lover of classic literature already has an understanding of what the book is about. With the many television and movie adaptations that have been made of the novel over the years, it only stands to reason that most would have knowledge of what the story details. In short, the novels author, Daniel Defoe, famous also for his tale of Robinson Crusoe, tells the tale of a lady he later calls the original moll. She is a woman whose life is so criminally active and scandalously shocking, that any reader would be taken aback by what they saw within the pages of the book. Defoe later went on to state that the piece was actually based on memoirs he found within his possession. With this being the case, many have speculated that the novel is in fact based on a true story. Although this is questioned to this day, the author was right in stating how the book would shock when first published in 1722.

The story of Moll Flanders is not a light-hearted one. Born to a thief in Newgate prison, her life is a continuous journey of twists and turns, ups and downs, highs and lows. Coincidence features heavily but in a sense helps complete the circle of life which is her own. Her romantic encounters begin when she is eighteen and in love with one brother but marries the other. He soon leaves her a widow. She later marries a spend thrift, a gentleman, her own brother (by mistake and coincidence). She falls in love with a highway man, marries a banker, becomes a thief and a prostitute, but later repents and goes on to live out her life finally at peace and with the wealth she has always wanted with the man she loves. Oh yes, this tale is jam-packed with plots to make your head spin, tales to make you cry and exploits to make you draw your breath in astonishment. However, what this classic lacked for me was the ability to make me feel any empathy for Moll.

I do not know why but regardless of whether things were going right or wrong for her, I simply just did not care. The amount of crazy occurrences that filled her life, and I just could not be bothered. I literally finished reading the book, simply because I had started it. My problem with Moll is not that she delved into criminal activity, or lay on the wrong side of the bed, (quite literally) but rather she seemed to have no true conviction to be anything. Yes, she wanted to be rich and so set off at an early age to con and trick any wealthy man into becoming her husband. And, (even though it may sound wrong) I applaud her for that. The reason for my praise is because this is the only real aim Moll ever had in her life, and one she worked hard towards. However, everything else that happened to her seemed to simply be what life brought her way. She became a great thief, because that is where life took her. She became a prostitute because that is where life took her. She went to America, because that is where life took her. I would have empathized so much more with a woman who aimed at becoming a great criminal, or aimed at being the best at the oldest profession known to man, or who aimed at going away and making life better for herself. I totally understand that the book was written in a time when women had to simply deal with the life they received, but if Moll was able to have the intentions of becoming a con woman to bag a rich man, and worked towards it, could she not have made a conscious decision to become the other things also? Circumstance does have an effect on life, but Moll was ruled by circumstance.

I would hate to think that my feelings towards the protagonist may be because this version of a strong woman was penned by a man in the 1700’s, but to my thinking, a strong woman is a strong woman throughout. She makes decisions. She says, ‘yes, this is what I am going to do!’ A strong woman always has intention, no matter how low or unobtainable that intention might be, it is always there. Moll simply lacked that, and with her being the main protagonist… the book for me was lacking…..

I have waited years to read this classic and in all honesty, it let me down, but I will not be swayed from my endeavour and I will continue down my list of classics. The next being The Mayor of Casterbridge by Thomas Hardy. Until next time.