My time shall come…..

 

Paying lipservice to the demi-god

As I bow and scrape and lick his boots

Disconcerting feelings of deja-vu

Illusion no longer – there is nothing I can do

His piggish eyes stare into my soul and

like a pickpocket steals what he beholds

Wanting me to be beholden to him

He holds my soul in storage – awaiting ransom.

 

Oiled by his power, his tongue goes into action

Lashing out spiteful rhetoric designed

To bring me to my knees – he thinks in worship

Methinks in hate – biding my time.

And as he sees me kneeling before him in subjugation

His wicked eyes devoid of morality

Bore into my mind to further pillage and rape

Without remorse – he’s out to destroy.

 

His velvetine tongue tries to convince

My fevered mind that he is my friend

While his eyes search out a weakness

He can exploit – to move in for the kill.

But what he has overlooked in his

Assumption to declare himself ‘the winner’

Is that the battle has only begun and as I lie there

In apparent masochistic servility –

there is life and Fire in my eyes.

 

He thinks me broken, he thinks me dejected

And he thinks himself untouchable – the winner

And therein lies his very weakness

Therein lies my chance to break free.

And when he extends to me his hand,

To bring me from my knees

I will look him straight in the eyes

Not in awe but in hate-filled superiority

And I will plunge the carefully concealed knife

Into his blackened heart and kills this beast

At last!

What Am I?

I had to fill out a form once, while I was on a five year break from work while my children were young.  Officially, I was a ‘housewife’, but that just didn’t seem to cover the job description of what mothers do, or are expected to do.  So as I pondered my role in the family, I sat down and wrote this ditty to motherhood and who exactly I am…..  Hope you can relate or at least enjoy….

What am I?

I’ve been driven to write this,
To explain what I am
When asked what I do
The term ‘housewife’ is so bland…
So read on now and look anew
At my everyday job redefined for you

First and foremost, I suppose I’m a wife
Although some men would call this their ‘trouble and strife’
I prefer the endearments, Lover and Friend
And you’ll see what I mean towards the end….
Housing Technician, I like the sound of that
However when I say it aloud, I sound like a prat.
It doesn’t however explain what I do,
So lets think on the title afresh and anew..
We’ll start at the top and work to the end
Where again, I’ll be a lover and friend
But the more mundane titles are in between
Read on now and see what I mean……

I could start off and say that I’m a great chef
Although by the end of the day, I feel more like a ref
A ‘negotiator of treaties’, now that’s more grand
Or perhaps a draughtsman, who draws up the family plans
A nurse when I’m needed and a doctor too
Cleaning and Wiping up cuts, puke and even wee and poo.
And I have to add cleaner to the list,
And that’s already enough to drive me round the twist.
Because everday I have to start again
I swear I’m going round the bend

Speaking of bends, I’m a plumber too
Armed with a plunger when you block up the loo
Small time electrician, part qualified
I can live with that
I change light bulbs, plugs, fuses,
Tune in TVs, videos and DVD machines
Actually come to think of it, I’m quite handy I mean.

When the children were babies, they were fed from the breast
So a built in bottle and milk plant was attached to my chest
Of course this meant I was on duty day and night
So sometimes I thought breastfeeding was such shite…
Montessory teacher next comes to mind,
A seeker of things you all need to find
A labourer, gardener and a painter at times
Are just a few of the titles that come to mind
An agony aunt, advice giver and psychologist
Those really also have to go on the list.

A massager of broken hearts, crushed egos, and feet!!
Creator of character and backbone, now that’s neat
Financier, bank manager and lending agent all rolled into one
When dealing with money I get the job done.
Payer of bills, a buyer of clothes, books and shoes,
Shopping assistant? Naw, that just won’t do
There are people who shop for the rich for a living,
So a personal shopper I am too, Don’t I just go on giving and giving….

A stauncer support you won’t ever find
Because my family are in my heart, soul and mind.
But judge, jury and prison warden I am sometimes I find
Because I often have to be cruel to be kind.
‘Broken record’ too, of that I’ve no doubt
And sometimes I just have to let out a good shout.
So raving lunatic might have to go down there too
Cause up till now I sound like ‘Miss Goody Two Shoes.’
But I am regularly naughty, if you catch my drift
Although the label for this you won’t find on my list….

So you see this leads us down to the end
And we’re back to the start at lover and friend…
And what went in between the start and this
is some of what I am and that is the list….
A chef, ref, negotiator of treaties, draughtsman, planner, nurse, doctor, cleaner, plumber, electrician (part qualified) built in milk factory (now closed down and all workers made redundant) Montessori teacher, a seeker and finder of things, a labourer, gardener, painter, agony aunt, psychologist, massage artist with magic fingers, creator of character and backbone, financier, bank manager, lending agent, payer of bills, personal shopper, judge, jury, prison warden, broken record, nervous wreck, raving lunatic, naughty girl, oh… and lover and friend…….Try fitting all that down on a form when you’re asked what you are……

Those three most Important Words…

I wrote this as a gift for my best friend when she was getting married a number of years ago.  I wanted to give her some ‘wisdom’ gleaned from my many years of marriage.  So I thought long and hard about what to tell her, and eventually just gave her the advice my father gave me when I was getting married.  Three important words, he told me are not what I assumed would be ‘I love you’, that he said is taken as a given, it’s the other three important words I need to keep as part of my repetoire for what he called ‘effective communication’…  I have to laugh every time I use these words because they are quite apt, as is most of his advice.

So I passed on his advice through my filter and in the guise of a poem…  Read on and enjoy (I hope…)

Those three most important words….

The three most important words you need to hear
Is not ‘I love you’, but ‘I’m sorry dear’
Yes, love is important in the early stage,
But love grows less important as you age,
That shivery lovey dovey feeling goes
But marriages last when the man knows
The three most important words you need to hear
Are not ‘I love you’, but ‘I’m sorry dear!’

The honeymoon stage, as yes, ain’t, that grand
When together, united and strong you both stand
But the winding road of life has many a bend
And all too soon, the ‘honeymoon’ phase will end
What comes after is for you to know
Because you only reap from what you sow
And while love is desperately important – in the end
What’s more important is he’s your best friend
And as best friends sometimes – you will fight
But there’s something guaranteed to make it right
Yes, you’ve guessed it – you need to hear,
Those three little words – ‘I’m sorry dear.’

When one becomes two and ‘I’ becomes ‘we,’
It’s strange how stupid and stubborn we can be
Life is hard, and basically a grind.
The secret is simple; take one step at a time
But in the end, you will find:
You’ll fight over him leaving the toilet seat up
You’ll fight over who left the tea in their cup
You’ll fight over him leaving his clothes on the floor
You’ll fight over him not locking up the back door
You’ll fight over him not looking after the bins,
You’ll fight and you’ll fight but no-body wins
And you’ll fight some more because he’s too logical
And he’ll say you’re just too bloody emotional
But makes the difference is when you hear
Not ‘you’re a silly cow’, but ‘I’m sorry dear’.

My advice to you now is explain this to your man
Put it in writing if you can
Tell him to read it and keep it close to his heart
Because there’s one way to stop fights before they start
Yes, he’ll then know what you need to hear
Those most important words: I’m sorry dear.
And let me tell you because this is not the end
And because you are my best friend
I’ll tell you what sometimes he needs to hear
It’s for you to say sometimes ‘I’m sorry dear.’
The trick is in knowing whose turn it is…
But if you both get it right you’ll have wedded bliss….

Who the heck is Liam….. A poem about my big brother…..

I wrote this poem for my big brother Liam who has spent the last 25 years in Australia.   I suppose to get the true value out of the poem you would have to know my brother but I hope that you can at least get some of its’ humour..  My brother is the first-born son of an Irish mother, and as such has always been her ‘extra special’ pride and joy.  While all six of us children know we are cherished and loved, there is I think, a special place in my mothers heart for her firstborn. My brother and I are actually very close, so it was certainly with tongue in cheek that I wrote this. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it…

Who the heck is Liam…

I love my siblings, one and all,
But there is one that I seem unable to recall
His name came to mind as if in a dream
Liam, Liam…  who the heck is Liam…..

I heard tell of a brother who left to make money
So he emigrated from our land of ‘milk and honey’
Off to the prison colonies of Australia he went
But I heard tell, whatever he earned, he spent….

Fancy cars, fast women, or was that the other way round.
He made plenty of dollars instead of our punds.
Life over there was great it seems
But I still can’t recall who the heck is Liam…

I heard my folks tell of his legendary wealth
They whisper to themselves ‘we knew he’d do well’
But there’s something in the back of my mind I can’t palce
Oh yes, of course – it’s this guys face!!

My mum tells stories of when I was young
And how this Liam and I had such fun
Apparently I was a favourite sister of his
But what you can’t remember, you don’t miss…

Now that sounds sad but it’s not my intention
It’s just that I always hear this guy mentioned
And it causes me great confusion you see
I don’t remember him, but does he remember me?

He could be sitting at home as we speak
Just about to sit down to have something to eat
He could be thinking to himself as well
Edel, Edel, who the heck is Edel….

Now that I find hard to imagine you see
Cause once we meet, you’ll not forget me
But the other guy is not so special it seems
Because I just can’t remember this guy, Liam…..

Perhaps the confusion is caused by my mind
Perhaps my memory of him is just blind
But you know there is this thing called a plane
That can take you from there to here in a day.

But maybe he’s stupid and not heard of these things
Or perhaps he’s waiting to sprout his own own wings
Whatever the reason he remains sight unseen
And I continue to say, who the heck is Liam?

I vaguely remember a few things come to mention.
I didn’t think he’d last to collect his pension.
He liked fast cars and he talked in a mumble
Oh yes, and he found it impossible to be humble…..

When he met someone new he wanted to know
If they’d always dress nice because beside him, they’re on show
So he liked his women looking sweet like honey
And oh yes, did they or their family have money?

There’s one final thing I just want to say,
Its fifteen years and one month to the day
Since I’ve seen you and as I write this poem
What I want to know Liam is; when will you be home??

Oh for Sleep…..

Will the pounding ever cease.
Will the urge to shut my eyes
and dream all day, ever go away
My body aches for bed……

My temper rises without fail
God help those in the way
For my tongue is very sharp today
I am just so tired……

My muscles won’t react
They don’t want to be pushed
Into activity they can’t do today
Oh, the strain, the strain

God, my eyes won’t stay open
The burning sensation is just so strong
Each time I blink,
Each lid becomes so damn heavy

I pause and try to think
But all thought flees
I am just so tired
I want to sleep……

Innuendos

Innuendo

How can it be that this is so,
When did it change to this.
Within the blink of my eye,
the knife fell and it threw me over the edge.

My mind screams to answer back your words.
Because behind them is not the meaning you meant – but the meaning you mean!
But I only smile nervously.
And You – you hide behind your grin.

A hand (mis)placed upon my shoulder and a shiver worms up my spine.
As I turn to look at you my eyes meet your sneer
You’re secure in the knowledge, there’s no one else near.
Innuendo’s, sly strokes, recklessly placed hands, insinuations,
All designed with only one thing in mind,
to undermine me and leave me open
to what you have in mind – on your mind.
You’re out of your mind and I’m losing mine!

I am strong, I AM strong, I say over and over.
But your sexual ranting’s leave me tongue-tied
and speechless and squirming inside.
Like a small child caught with her hand stuck in the cookie jar.
But I am no child – no child…..
And you – you’re less than nothing,
a cowards – a man without balls.
Reduced to preening your ego by destroying someone else,
younger, weaker,
by destroying someone else – Me!

Sometimes when I look at you

Sometimes when I look at you,

I catch my breath

And wonder at what I feel

My heart almost bursting with love

And fear… that maybe I love you too much

Sometimes when I look at you

I notice things I haven’t seen before

And wonder how I missed them

Having known you so long

And then wonder do I really know you at all

Sometimes when I think of you

I wonder what I would do if you were gone

And you laugh at me when I tell you my fears

Whispering softly “I’m not going anywhere”

But, the panic is still there

Now that I know love

With you at my side

As my husband, my lover and my best friend

I know I’ll never be truly alone again….