Poor mom: trundled all over town

Determined to find paid employment

Some families couldn’t survive, they; drowned

Suffocated by disenchantment

She squeezed slots at Hay and Humphrey’s

Reputable drink merchants

Quickly banished hungry bellies

Made sure – giving us fighting chance


I remember particular times

So intricately remote now

Sends crippling chills down my spine

Our generation should take a bow

Flower-powered sixties children, when

Situations were extreme, well hard

Solace few and far between, often

Dire poverty marked your card


Look how far we’ve actually come

Hand-lighted, green gas lamps – cobbled streets

Distant stars edging Her Queendom

Bread and dripping suppers, buttered

potatoes without meat; plastic

Sunny sand sandals – no socks on feet


Her second job iced our cake

Yes!  We had toys, and weekend bakes.



Private, Personal Conversation:


Again, I thought: ‘am I losing my mind?’

Ruefully determined indifference being cruel

Being cruel – to my mad self – obviously unkind

Self-denial doesn’t help, no recommendation

At all, it’s a result of superannuate decomposition

Heading for an untimely fall.  This is all about

Me – remembering Brazilians burn effigies – leaving

No stone un-turned as yet, instilling corporate

Imposition on myself, and yester-me alone

Because this fool never forget.  I very rarely

Sleep, ending up counting foolish mistakes

– enough to make sympathetic adherents weep –

Relive those deplorable out-takes, until

Daylight starts to decisively creep, into; uneasy

Eyelids, like sweet-tasting butter-roasted

Fresh hake, when insanely hungry, its teasing

Scent seeps, soon as bread has finally baked.

I don’t think I’m actually mad, just

Frivolously crazy, it’s; something I’ve always had

Tenet of dysfunctional personality.

My mom used to, say: ‘prone lazy – just a tad,’

And remembering, she whispered,’ absolutely

Plum crazy and, a trifle mad.’