Elegy To Lost Childhood

the little things inside our heads
all seemed as real as rain,
knew nowt about taxation, mortgages or pain,
then they came and scooped them out.
monsters! from above
and fantasy was no longer truth
and we grew facial fuzz.

poem by Frances May
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Horse Manure, A Pile Of It

horse manure
a pile of it
avoid it
and walk around it
spray perfume
to cover it

remove it
or complain about it
step in it
then curse it
shovel it
bury it.

Horse manure
a pile of it
collect it
grow flowers
horse manure
make use of it.

poem by Frances May
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Aslewake

Rusty lampost
an intruder
Get lost
says
the dark, cold night
cat's eyes
reflect
the pale moonlight
faries
dance upon
My window frame

I sit
I stare
blank
fuzzy
German homework
Ja
Nein
Es ist kaput

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poem by Frances May
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Inkwell Spills

Inkwell
spills
on
the frills
of my frock
drip
drip
drip
blackened sock.

Inkwell
spills
over
the lines
of my sonnet
drip
drip
drip
blackened bonnet.

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poem by Frances May
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We English

We English
are drinkers of tea
We like to play polo
and speak eloquently.

We have framed portraits of the Queen
Hanging up on our walls
We smoke cigarettes
and dance at balls.

We have bad teeth
and spell colour like that
my Grandad smokes a pipe
and wears a top hat.

We all know prince Will,
pass our time in red boxes,
Buckingham palace is our 'ghetto',
and we enjoy hunting foxes.

poem by Frances May
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Rainbow drizzle

I seldom see
those like you or me
that is why
we're meant to be

Playing our banjos
on the roof
Putting nail varnish
on a horses hoof

Rainbow drizzle
Red green and blue
I like me
I like you

Let's always stay young
having fun
we'll fly away
we'll touch the sun

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poem by Frances May
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