Her room my house
Having lived in my home alone now for some years,
The history of our home now came under a cloud,
I lived here I said with the usual woes and fears,
And for the most part I’m proud,
They found out there was a murder committed in this place,
And wanted to know who what where and why,
So I told them there were times when I saw the woman’s
face,
The look on my brow told them I didn’t lie,
In winter she passes me at times on the stairs,
But always when I am alone and at night,
I could tell they were shocked by their astonished
glares,
Its ok I told them she never gives me a fright,
There are times when I lay asleep in my bed,
And I forget to close the room where she died,
She will pass me in the landing, sometimes nods her
head,
But there were times she was angry and would not be
denied,
I’d be lying in bed letting off the odd snore,
When the bedroom would suddenly become cold,
You see I would have forgotten to close that door,
The duvet ending up on the landing and that’s me told,
So I’d get up and lock the door to that room,
Picking up my duvet and head back to my bed,
And when I awoke in the morning a feeling of gloom,
That light would be on and the door open instead,
For the most part I say we get along her and I,
And if she’s angry and I want to keep my duvet off the
floor,
Nothing more for it but to remember I’ll try,
To close and shut her bedroom door,
To this day it’s her room for it is where she died,
And no woman has ever set an eye on her ghost,
And any man who’s slept in it knows I haven’t lied,
It may be her room but it’s my house and I’m a fair
host.
And the man who killed her lest I somehow forget,
If you gaze out her window you’ll see where he met his
tragic death.
12 Jun. 13
Hand me downs
Growing up in the sixties really wasn’t so bad,
Times were tough but we shared all that we had,
The wireless radio played Beatles songs most days,
There were dark times no jobs and no pay,
I had ten sisters six older four younger,
One younger brother one older and stronger,
Clothing was an issue it was all hand me downs,
Nothing was wasted amid all of our frowns,
For years I was happy in my hand me down clothes,
No shame in recycling as everyone knows,
The shoes had holes in them under our feet,
Yet we smiled at each other whenever we’d meet,
The mother would issue us all with some chores,
And we’d be out that door in threes and fours,
All chores would be left undone none of us trying,
Through the arch of the house of Mrs O Brien,
Did you see them my mother would shout from our yard?
I saw no one the reply with my eyes it’s a bit hard,
We’d be gone for the day our freedom achieved,
But coming home none of us felt relieved,
Our chores still undone with a clip upside the head,
Were always done before washed and to bed,
My pyjamas too small they pinched and chafed,
With four sisters after me they would not go to waste,
A night gown the mother presented to me,
From one of the sisters who giggled with glee,
I’m not wearing that I said it’s her slip,
And my ear went red from her hand like a whip,
My introduction there and then to ladies attire,
Back in the sixties there wasn’t much more for me to
aspire,
I often wonder with sisters numbering from one to ten,
Was it ok to be a cross dresser, aged nine back then.
12.06.2013
