whitevanwoman

Quite the opposite

2010-07-18T03:53:00.000-07:00

There once was a girl named Monique
Who, believing her name was unique,
Was dismayed when she heard
'Moniker' was a word
That meant 'label', which made her ubique.

Response to Philip Larkin

2010-03-26T07:40:00.000-07:00

Your children fuck you up. They do
exactly what they want to do
and while you’re shouting ‘don’t do that!’
their finger’s in the boiling fat
and social workers, neighbours too,
are blaming everything on you.

When God arranged your dual vision,
(ideal for watching television),
he didn’t see the bigger picture;
that raising kids requires a mixture
of three sixty compound focals
and instant access to your vocals.

And yet, you’re not allowed to put
them on a leash or nail their foot
into the ground, so when you go
out of the room you always know
exactly where they are and what
they’re shoving in the video slot,

(jam when they’re four – at fourteen, porn).

From the very day they’re born,
for every misdemeanour wrought,
make no mistake, it's all your fault.
What your mother said was true.
Kids fuck you up. That’s what they do.

Keeping Mum

2010-03-18T05:33:00.000-07:00

Nobody would notice from the outside.
She keeps the house exactly as before -
the white lace curtains at the kitchen window,
spring bulbs peeking out of neat containers
like soldiers standing guard outside the door.
The moment of your passing seems to have
been stopped in time - as if you were still there
cooking and cleaning behind the façade.

Her footsteps crunch on gravel as she leaves
for work each day. The cuttings that you took
last year are watered, the lawn still as neat.
Your daughter has poured herself into your
empty space. You have been gone some time, but
the house next door pretends you are still there.

Echoes in the Walls

2010-03-14T03:07:00.001-07:00

(In memory of Nick Jarram, 1982-2009)

Your t-shirt hangs upon the housemates' wall.
When the window is open, the breeze
blows the fabric in and out,
as if you were still breathing.

Demonstation of Incompetence

2009-04-13T22:35:00.000-07:00

Arrested before you’ve protested?
What is the world coming to?
Without even a chance to wave banners
or throw one or even both shoes?

Shackled but not to a railing.
Surely that wasn’t the plan -
to be singing 'we will not be moved'
when youre being shoved into a van?

Caught in possession of items
that may lead some to think you are nutters -
attempting to cause nuclear damage
to a Plant with a pair of bolt cutters.

It seems that the climate's not right,
the environment could have been sweeter.
You weren’t really cooking on gas -
The powers-that-be had your metre.

Although you are rightly concerned
with emissions, you’re sat in the lock up
having failed in discharging your mission.
Who on earth organised such a cock up?

Like Pigs in Shit

2009-04-07T14:32:00.001-07:00

Oh dear, what a pigging shame.
Caught with your snout in the trough,
snorting your expenses claim.

Now everybody knows your name
and your address… and what you watched.
Oh dear, what a pigging shame.

A patio heater? Can you blame
the public for their stone cold wrath?
For snorting, 'Your expenses claim?'

Your reputation’s down the drain -
that new plug wasn’t big enough.
Oh dear. What a pigging shame.

Politics is a mugger’s game.
Talking mounds of useless froth
whilst snorting your expenses claim.

It might be politic to proclaim
you’ve been an Oik and bugger off.
(snorting) - Your expenses claim?
Oh dear. What a pigging shame.

Daffodil’s Return

2009-04-07T14:12:00.000-07:00

(with apologies to W. Wordsworth)

I lift my head and out of darkness come
From my poor stance, my body bowed and bent,
To stare upon this new light they call sun
And raise my face to drink its nourishment.
And all around me, others such as I,
Awakened from their winter-sodden sleep,
Stand up and turn their faces to the sky
Rejoicing in the welcome light and heat.
Beneath the trees amidst the rippling grass
We sway all day, the wind stirring our leaves
And nod to all the butterflies that pass
With heads that dance and flutter in the breeze.
- When all at once I see a man stood there
With pen in hand and face in rapturous stare.

©Jude Parsons, 2006

Contrast in pink and lemon

2009-04-07T14:03:00.000-07:00

(a concrete 'countdown' poem)

Along the path against the garden wall
the cherry trees stand arm in arm,like
. .cheer leaders waving at the skies
. . .with fluffy-pink pom-pom balls;
. . . . . .whilst primroses beneath
. . . . . . .their feathery boughs
. . . . . . . . . .sit lemon-pale
. . . . . . . . . . .and exhale
. . . . . . . . . . . .scent,so
. . . . . . . . . . . . .sweet.

(with apologies for the dots - damn this inadequate blogger tool!)

Another chance to see…

2009-04-07T13:44:00.000-07:00

Got no iplayer or Sky Plus?
Missed your favourite show? Don’t fuss,
It will repeat another night on
Dave ja vu ... ad infinitum.