Stop Press. ©
I dedicate this poem to my son Robert,
and my daughter in law Sharon, who have made us so happy, love from
Edith &Roy. October 2005.
That Fella from Stratford talked of the Seven ages of Man,
About women, he didn't seem to have a plan,
I, humble woman, wish to balance the books,
And no matter how this may really look,
I will try my best
My time to invest, and explain my version,
Of the female point of view.
I fully realise that this is something I may well come to rue,
But, nonetheless I know it is something I really have to do.
I started my life as a child, a girl,
Ready to give the world a damn good whirl,
As a young woman full of angst,
I gave many young men, cause to say thanks,
As a wife I really am the trouble and strife,
I don't think that will change for the rest of my life!
As a mother I thought the picture complete,
But now I've had news that knocks me off my feet,
Yes, I'm going to be a granny,
The bloodline will run through,
To create another person,
A branch of a tree if you like, a Yew.
This will take forward the family voice,
And give cause to loudly and happily rejoice.
I'm going to be a granny, but wait,
I'm not ready for that, yet,
Wrinkles, and dentures, and wearing a god-awful hat!
Poor child whoever you will be,
you won't get this granny to fit into that category.
I'm me, I love, Frank Sinatra, The Rat Pack, Trad Jazz,
Cliff Richard, The Rolling Stones, get my drift,
Through all that confusion, you'll have to sift.
Whoever you are, whoever you will be,
I'll always love you, and I pray you'll love me,
I still have stages yet to go through in life,
With you in my corner, I'll be strong for the rest of my life.
Over the last fifteen years I must have walked my dog
Kyle, over the same territory many, many times, and after a while,
the charm of watching your dog root around in the grass to select
a suitable spot for his frequent deposits, loses something in
the repetition. Anything to distract and avoid boredom comes as
a blessed relief. On one such trip my eye lit upon a shoe - a
gent's shoe, lying in the gutter. I would have called it a 'posh
casual' type of shoe - mid brown, suede, lacing, not too well
worn, just one gent's shoe. I looked around for its neighbour
or, possibly its owner lying drunk or worse, on the wet grass,
but to my relief, neither was there. Just one gent's shoe!
||How does a man become separated from one shoe
that does not seem damaged in any way? Did he have a sudden urge
to paddle one foot in the puddles? Was he fleeing a scene of crime,
running from a would- be attacker? Was he bundled into a car by
ruthless kidnappers and became separated from his shoe in the scuffle?
There seemed to be more sinister and unpleasant explanations than
pleasant ones. The shoe was not damaged in any way, nor was the
lace snapped. It was just one gent's shoe, lying in the gutter,
defying me, taunting me to supply an explanation as to its presence.
|I remembered an occasion several years
ago when I met a fellow dog walker and we paused briefly as our
dogs snuffled around each other, as dogs do, and my friend said,
"That's the sign of a good Saturday night". I looked towards
where he was pointing, and there, lying on the grass, was a ladies
sling - backed shoe that would sling no more. The heel was snapped
backwards so that scenario explained itself very satisfactorily.
Obviously given up as a bad job the woman had kicked it off, hopped
onto a bus or taxi, and gone home. Simple, end of story, though
how my friend reckoned on this being the sign of a 'good' Saturday
night seemed not the right question to ask.
||But one gent's shoe, in good
condition, did not fit easily into a straight - forward situation.
Over the next few days, I walked the same route without variation
and looked for clues. I needed a resolution! All I saw was one gent's
shoe, which gradually worked its way, unseen by me, from the gutter
to the pavement,and from the pavement to the grass, where it settled.
By now it was beginning
to look the worse for wear, out in all weather mainly rain, and
apparently abandoned by its owner. It looked pretty bad by now,
and, as far as it is possible to feel sorry for an inanimate object,
I felt sorry for this shoe.
Over time, the puzzle faded
from my thoughts, until, one evening at dusk, when heading for
Kyle's happy hunting ground, known locally as piddle patch. I
stopped short and stared.There, in the gutter was a shoe, the
OTHER shoe, in pristine condition.
. .I felt threatened,
challenged by some unseen person or force saying to me "Well,
explain that if you dare!" Do you know what? I can't. Is
there a shoe collector who tires of his shoes one at a time? Or
a foot - fetishist, or, or...?
see me suffer for
my art at
(754kb wmv file)
This morning I read an article entitled, "The
At the time it seemed exactly the right thing to do,
I had written it in frustration at the unsolved riddle
Of a discarded shoe observed whilst my dog took a piddle,
Imagine my amazement when some of the other writers
Gave their own interpretation,
And sympathised with said frustration,
it is reassuring to be told,
That my plight is not new, but old,
And that we all seemed to have problems with one unclaimed shoe
Wrapped in a blanket surrounded with love
Our latest addition we look down to from above
As we seek some recognition
From this baby's perfect parts.
That's your nose, I do declare!
Don't give the poor child a terrible scare!
Mum's smile, Dad's nose, we all agree.
And decide to add Erin to the family tree.
Mum looks contented., we must let them rest,
This baby, this family, are simply the best.
To the joys of baby sitting,
I have now been introduced,
When handed over, Erin was placid and sedate,
She didn't start her grizzling till they shut the garden gate,
Figuring out a baby-grow, and where it should be fitting,
I'm terribly aware; in that domain I'm really very slow,
Its all very well saying “you’ve done it all before”
But most forget that was thirty years ago!
For an ending to this poem inspiration I don’t lack
The best part of being a grandparent
Is handing the wee bugger back!
The grass is green, the air is blue
Uncle Bob has lit the barbeque,
The sausages are burnt,
Ma stomach is turnt,
God I hate the summer!
Alas Alack, its Xmas time,
Auntie Alice has made some wine
It's very good for cleaning your pipes,
Or for bringing up your face in pink stripes,
After a few its not too bad,
Good God, how many have I had!
I've lost another sock
It's not like it's a frock,
It's only one sock
I have a mountain of unpaired socks,
and it drives me insane.
when my husband hears this cry
from the house he finds reason to fly!
The cat dives to the nearest protection league,
from my community
I cannot blame them,
I am obsessed about these missing socks.
Machines eat them up,
Of this I am convinced.
This is my theory,
Others seem leery,
But I know I am right!
I have spent time on my knees, checking under machines
No sign, no clue,
Would you? Well, wouldn't you?
I am not paying homage to the god of sod,
I am trying to understand why, these socks
Between feet and machine do fly,
Perhaps I need to get out more,
My friend has given me this ring
She tells me the fashion is Bling,
It is a sparkly thing, this ring, called Bling,
I like to watch it twinkle as it catches the light,
Other people look mesmerised
Their faces quite a sight
I find their expressions quite funny,
As they wonder if I really might have hidden money,
Ah, no, my riches are not measured by money in the bank,
My wealth is in friendship,
Of the highest order I rank.
I have chosen this way my friend to acknowledge,
The jewel of friendship given openly, from her, to me
Let's face the music ©
Lets face the music and dance,
Let's watch Grandad be silly and prance.
Lets let life be free
Lets give peace a chance.
Did conscience catch you ?
Did you change your point of view?
Did you, will you, give peace a chance?