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


It is what it is – Another Side Of Valentines


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


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.


To My Folks Whom I Love

Image courtesy of africa / FreeDigitalPhotos.net"

Image courtesy of africa / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Too many times we leave for last the things we now should say,

Too many times our lives, our days; they get so in the way,

We go about evaluating all we see with the eye,

But spend little time considering the things that happen inside.

We forget to say thanks to those who raised us, from a cell to man and woman,

We forget to include them in our present thinking, they will not understand,

A simple thought would tell us that they have lived this before,

Ignorance and arrogance denying that of this world they know more.

You look at the frame, you look at the face and say they do not know of the now,

But a little time and a little talk will illustrate exactly and precisely how-

They know of the now that matters- of the things that trouble you deep,

Of the headaches and heartaches and sorrows of all that cause to weep.

So deep in the night whilst angels sleep in a bed just like the one where you once lay,

Yesterday the angels were you, but they take the form of your children today,

And just like you oh so long ago while they dream blue streams and green hills,

Their parents argue and fuss and cry about debts, lack of money and bills.

Just because these same spirits of yesterday don’t use YouTube and Netflix like you,

Doesn’t mean that the importance of the today is something relatively new-

No in today’s ‘what really matters’ are the sweat and the tears of those past,

All the other stuff just falls by the wayside those are not the things that will last.

So take the time and converse with those who have been there and seen,

Because our reality of today is so parallel to what has already been,

And they have been there and made it and can still sit back and smile,

They know how to get up the energy, produce the strength for the last mile.

So please talk listen understand because the blessing will not always be,

And in time all we will be left with is just this generation of you and me,

So laugh with them, engulf them, be with them and understand,

And as you sit laughing and talking, say thank you and gently hold their hand.


Copyright 2013

Inspector Lynley Investigates. Or does he?

Hercule Poirot

Hercule Poirot (Photo credit: elena-lu)

I am a lover of all fictional murder mysteries. I simply cannot get enough. When I was around seven, I remember sitting down and watching an old black and white Miss. Marple movie with my mother. She introduced me to them. Margaret Rutherford played the protagonist. I cannot recall what the movie was called, or which book it was adapted from, but I fell in love.

I remember sitting there crossed legged in awe, just taking it in. You would think that at seven I may have found the whole thing a little daunting, but no. I guess the portrayal of Miss. Marple by Ms Rutherford also had a lot to do with it. This Miss. Marple was a larger than life busy body. With energy to spare, she put her all into finding the murderer. She was out of this world and I loved her. Not missing a detail, identifying all of the clues, and then in the end explaining how it all had occurred. It was fascinating. With that being said, it was no surprise when the next time our local mobile library came around, I ventured out of the children’s section and found myself trying to locate every Agatha Christie novel that the small book source on wheels had to offer.

I remember the librarian looking at my mother with a kind of ‘Are you sure?’ expression on her face when I approached her with mum and presented her with the books that I wanted to borrow. Mum smiled. She said something like, ‘She just loves to read’. The librarian smiled back, the books were stamped and we left.

That evening was the first time I was ever introduced to him. The genius and brain of Hercule Poirot. Since then, for me, there has never been another detective that could better his intelligence or mode of detection. Many have tried mind you, but all have failed in their attempts. As for his portrayal on screen. Peter Ustinov did well, Albert Finny (who I love in all else), just was not my cup of tea, whilst David Suchet has stolen the character and made it his own.

I guess that is why where ever I am in the world, I must engage in some good old British Television. No one does the ‘cozy murder’ better. Even though at times the genre is expanded on and made grittier, the essentials are always there. And wow, what a catalogue of great detectives on offer. From Frost to Morse, from Lewis to Dalgleish, the list just goes on and on and on.

These days the investigative skills of Richard Poole in Death in Paradise have me captivated. Not only funny, this sleuth has all the skill of his old school predecessors. Yeah, maybe the stories are not as complex as those by Christie, and a lot easier to figure out, but hey, it’s hard to top the best.  I’ve heard that Ben Miller who plays Richard Poole in the series will be leaving soon. So sad, he will be missed. With his quirks, jutting chin and full suit in tropical conditions, the character is a true Brit sleuth through and through. Taking in all he sees and hears around him. Registering everything and then, not until the very end, explaining how it all relates. Bliss.

However, there have been some who have let the side down I feel. One such character is Inspector Lynley. Do not get me wrong, I have watched every episode of this BBC series, and I did like it. I have also ready all of the books, but Lynley is so far removed from the logical, puzzle solving sleuth. There is little deducing and then explaining. Lynley leaves me a little out in the cold. I recall book where he literally accused nearly everyone of being the murderer until he got it right. I mean, where is the deduction in that? No, I prefer the use of the little grey cells, when coming up with an answer, and when you do, you get it right first time. That to me is a conclusion worth waiting for.

And so I end, referencing my title. Bear with me, as I do the best Dr. Evil impersonation that I can, and ask, ‘Inspector Lynley Investigates……..  Or does he?’

(Evil laugh!) Mwahahahahaha!!!