Tag: poetry

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School Sport

This a “concrete” poem – a poem shaped like the thing it’s describing. If it doesn’t look like the picture above, turn your phone on its side or get a larger device (wink wink). Now – gym knickers on, and let’s proceed.

School Sport

.                       School sport,                                           Tick tock,
.              simply a torture form                                 Tick tock,
.           a notch or five above the                           Oh watch
.        norm, the most horrendous                      the clock,
.        cruelty designed specifically                  When will
.          for me, who has no puff &                    this finish,
.            cannot aim – picked last                     this quest
.               in every single game:                      to pillage
.                       School sport.                             pride and
.                                                                              joy and all
.                                                                            respect??
.                                                                          In half my
.                                                                        lifetime, I
.                                                                      expect, as
.                                                                    this is just
.                                                                  a wheeze
.                                                                to squash
.                                                              my will, to
.               bring me                     to my knees;
.                  for sticks and balls may hurt
.                      us all, but double games
.                                will break me.

 

© Nina Parmenter 2018

Like the poems? Why not follow me on Facebook www.facebook.com/parmenterpoetry or Twitter www.twitter.com/ninaparmenter?

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There Are Days

There Are Days

There are days… when each moment crushes
While everything rushes
To some futile end

There are days… when every voice mocks me
My solitude shocks me
I’m blind to my friends

There are days… when I feel luck has played me
And choice has betrayed me
For giggles and thrills

There are days… when my ceaseless fixation
With self-reformation
Just worsens my ills

There are days… when fear shakes its rattle
Each step a tired battle
Of me versus me

There are days… when perhaps it’s all worth it
My mess is as perfect
As screwed up can be

 

© Nina Parmenter 2018

Like the poems? Why not follow me on Facebook www.facebook.com/parmenterpoetry or Twitter www.twitter.com/ninaparmenter?

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The Workplace Wee

Thanks to my Dad for this one (yes really), who sent me a picture of these lovely urinals (at Dobbies Garden Centre, Shepton Mallet – urinal tourists take note) and asked me to write a poem about them.

Well, I couldn’t find a poem within me about flowery urinals – but urinals in general – oh yes. To me, and I think to most women, the whole concept of urinals is just absolutely bizarre.

If it wasn’t bad enough for men that they have to unleash their todgers in front of complete strangers… surely it must be even worse having to do it next to colleagues?! Well.  My female brain can’t even begin to imagine.

But maybe there’s an upside…

The Workplace Wee

If someone at work saw my Mary,
I’d resign just as quick as can be,
But men have to face this fear squarely,
When they go for a quick workplace wee.

They stand petrified in the toilet,
All three eyes staring blankly ahead,
One flicker, one movement could spoil it,
They might get the eyeful they dread.

But there’s power there, at the urinal –
Take young Billy, the purchasing clerk,
There he stood, between Jimmy and Lionel,
When out came a magnificent arc.

What a rainbow of clear, shining yellow!
His colleagues all gasped through the steam,
Jim gave in, glanced at Billy’s wee fellow,
And cried “Billy! You MUST join my team!”

Behind them, from inside the cubicle,
Where Frank, the big boss, was “in motion”,
A fanfare burst forth, loud and musical,
To celebrate Billy’s promotion.

So ladies, if you get the feeling,
A hunch your career’s not on track,
It could be the porcelain ceiling,
That’s holding us womenfolk back.

 

© Nina Parmenter 2018

Like the poems? Why not follow me on Facebook www.facebook.com/parmenterpoetry or Twitter www.twitter.com/ninaparmenter?

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I’m Alright Going Forwards, But I’m Awful In Reverse

The image above shows a genuine example of my parking.

In this case, I stepped out of the car, took in the results of my work, pointed and laughed at myself, and then took a photo.

But that’s not the end of my… er…. talents when it comes to motoring…

I’m Alright Driving Forwards, But I’m Awful In Reverse

I’m alright driving forwards, but I’m awful in reverse,
My turning skills are terrible, my parking skills are worse.
Whenever I move backwards, people hurry to disperse,
While someone calls a breakdown truck, a vicar – and a nurse.

I seem to lack the circuitry to know which way to steer,
And things are always closer than they actually appear,
Those parked beside me hover, as they sweat in mortal fear…
I fart about, the mean ones shout, the nice ones say… “oh dear.”

I’m terrified of places where the roads are single-track,
Cos a car might come the other way and force me to go back,
Careering blind from side to side, the hedges take a whack…
So please don’t swear, I WILL get there – I just don’t have the knack!

I’ve got a snazzy camera now, which shows me what’s behind,
It’s really great when going straight, but when I turn I find,
That I’m going left, the camera right, it makes my brain cells wind,
And a prang is much more likely with a whirling, swirling mind!

So I hit them in the car parks, and they hit me in the purse,
And I feel I’ll be afflicted with this mortifying curse,
Til the day they tell the driver as he parks my golden hearse…
That I’m alright driving forwards – but I’m awful in reverse.

 

© Nina Parmenter 2018

Like the poems? Why not follow me on Facebook www.facebook.com/parmenterpoetry or Twitter www.twitter.com/ninaparmenter?

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My Garden, July, 7pm

My Garden, July, 7pm

As today’s performance nears its sticky close,
And the clement shadows enter from the wings,
Honey sun throws one last spotlight on a rose,
While in crowd-pleasing finale, blackbird sings.
Props lie strewn: abandoned clothes, a bug-smeared glass,
Garish toys form grubby rainbows on the grass…
And as hosepipe soothes my garden’s weary brow,
Daubed with dirt, my little cast take one last bow.

 

 

© Nina Parmenter 2018

Like the poems? Why not follow me on Facebook www.facebook.com/parmenterpoetry or Twitter www.twitter.com/ninaparmenter?

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The Teaspoon’s Lament

So I looked at my teaspoon. And my teaspoon looked at me. And I said, “How’s things?” And really. I wish I hadn’t asked.

The Teaspoon’s Lament

I sit here, used, and caked in grime,
And watch, as all the forks and knives
Dive in the sink for wash-up time –
How pampered are their shiny lives!
I hear the kettle boil with dread –
Could it be coffee? Is it tea?
It’s coffee. Yes, in goes my head…
I’m whirled round nauseatingly.

I gulp for air, but no! There’s more!
A teabag’s heading for a cup!
Here comes the dunking I abhor…
In out, in out, down up, down up!
You British! Once, reserved and hushed,
You made your tea with reverence!
And now, these teabags! Crushed and flushed
With bullying malevolence.

A rinse! What glory now awaits?
Oh curses. It’s a boiled egg.
Bang bang, crack crack – this bit I hate-
Oh, don’t mind me! it’s just my head!
But things get worse – as, come desert,
I’m grabbed again. Oh no, please not..
A small boy’s hand, all caked with dirt.
I shovel yoghurt through the snot.

My grandma was a christening spoon!
Respected! Hanging in a frame!
But I’m a puppet! Slave! Buffoon!
I shudder for the family name.
So use me! Hurt me! Boil my brain!
Don’t cry for me! I’m dead inside!
Through all this strife, I shall remain…
Steely, cold and dignified.

 

© Nina Parmenter 2018

Like the poems? Why not follow me on Facebook www.facebook.com/parmenterpoetry or Twitter www.twitter.com/ninaparmenter?

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I Wish I Was An Octopus

A poem about octupuses. Because octopuses are spectactularly weird. And, if recent press is to be believed, are in fact aliens. Brilliant.

I Wish I Was An Octopus

I wish I was an octopus,
Way down in the depths of the sea,
With suckers so comical, face diabolical,
Kooky as kooky can be!

Hurray! Hurray! I’d be jetting away!
As I flunged through the shimbly sea,
Confounding all others by changing my colours,
An octopus’ life for me!

A cephalopod who looks awfully odd,
A freak with a beak, tee hee!
I’d never more moan, “ooh, the pain in me bones!”
Cos I’d be an invertebrate, see!

Hurray! Hurray! I’d be wafting away!
As I flooped through wurgly sea,
Squeezing through cracks with a curious knack,
An octopus’ life for me!

If you crossed me, I think I would squirt you with ink,
How I’d laugh as you scarpered from me!
I’d be sly, I’d be smart, but I’d have a great heart,
No – better than that… I’d have three!

Hurray! Hurray! I’d be creeping away,
As I scrundled down deep in the sea,
I’d not hunger for much – for I’d taste all I touched!
An octopus’ life for me!

Us humans are gringey, our lives dull and dingy,
What cloddery beings we be!
I’d rather be flexible, waving my tentacles,
Flubbering curiously!

Hurray! Hurray! I’m dreaming away,
Of a life in the glorpical sea,
As a creature of splendour, a freak show contender,
An octopus’ life for me!

 

© Nina Parmenter 2018

Like the poems? Why not follow me on Facebook www.facebook.com/parmenterpoetry or Twitter www.twitter.com/ninaparmenter?

Photo by Taylor Ann Wright on Unsplash

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Doggy Style

Doggy Style

The eighties set fashion on fire,
That’s why it’s the look I desire!
So I’ve nailed it, long-term,
With a hot poodle perm,
Just like Brian May, Cher and Mariah.

Showed my stylist a photo of Whitney
She went ever so pale very quickly,
She got acid and bleach,
Three big drumfuls of each,
And some creosote. “Yes!” I cried, “Hit me!”

She slathered me, crisped me like crazy,
I said, “Hold up the mirror! Amaze me!”
And – woohoo and way-hay!
I was Jennifer Grey,
Ripe ‘n’ ready to woo Patrick Swayze!

But then – it all got rather strange,
For my poodle perm started to change,
Seems its poodle-dog mind
Was not noble or kind –
It was dirty, debauched and deranged!

My friends weren’t impressed. They’d cry “Wowzers!”
As my perm tried to dry-hump their trousers,
It would steal all their shoes,
Roll in animal poos –
I was banned from their elegant houses.

But soon they were howling with laughter,
It would jump in the lake – I’d go after!
Chasing kitties for kicks,
Going crazy for sticks,
My new perm was a doggy disaster!

It would seek other perms! It would spot em,
Bound up close, and then sniff round their bottom!
This all got me in trouble,
With Bon Jovi’s double,
Who called the police, which was rotten.

So now I’m awaiting the chop,
Down at “Woofterz”, the dog-grooming shop.
Well, I’ll no longer feel,
Like a smokin’ Brooke Shields,
But at least all the lawsuits will stop!

 

© Nina Parmenter 2018

Like the poems? Why not follow me on Facebook www.facebook.com/parmenterpoetry or Twitter www.twitter.com/ninaparmenter?

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Underwear

Gah! Beware! Half-naked lady! And she ain’t no spring chicken…

Underwear

Prancing around in my underwear,
Carefree, with clothes cast asunder, there’s
All sorts of scares lurking under there –
Yippee! I’ll get them all out!

Watch out, I’ll give you an awful fright,
Dancing, half-naked in your full sight,
This is such fun – and it’s lawful right?
Waving my wobbles about!

Once I was gorgeous and glamorous
Naked, I’d make the boys amorous
Now I look frankly cadaverous
Bits falling off all around

Dimply bits, crinkly bits, hairy bits,
Flabby bits, saggy bits, scary bits,
Here! Have a look – even stare a bit –
Some bits hang down to the ground!

Waggling to waltzes and minuets
Have I put fear of God in you yet?
No? Then just watch as I pirouette –
Front bits fly round to the side!

Yay! Let’s go frighten the town today,
Let all our fun bits hang down and sway,
Wiggling, wiping our frowns away,
Flashing with passion and pride!

 

© Nina Parmenter 2018

Like the poems? Why not follow me on Facebook www.facebook.com/parmenterpoetry or Twitter www.twitter.com/ninaparmenter?