Enticement in marble

I'm standing here watching;
watching you, watching me,
noticing your silky, auburn hair.
You stroked my bottom once,
I saw you smile twice
and you thought it very sensual,
you confessed.

My body's made of marble,
my eyes are marble too.
My father, he who sculpted me
was human just like you.
He was of the flesh
and knew its potent pleasures
I'll never know warm skin
with all its sacred treasures.

Come a little closer
place a kiss upon my brow
let's pretend we're lovers

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poem by Ruth Walters
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The Rat

Damn that rat!
I could hear it
scuffling about
in the closet.

He'd been there
some time
and I'd heard
footsteps.

Then there were
the phone calls,
from a female
called, Ratessa

Ratessa - called
every day, wanting
to speak to my rat.
No excuses.

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poem by Ruth Walters
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Why Did The Chicken Cross The Road

The chicken was undecided on whether to cross the road,
she was a short sighted chicken
who, not being able to see across the road
couldn't quite understand the advantages
of being on the other side.

People passing by the chicken
stopped to ask if she wanted to get across the road
but the chicken just clucked, indecisively,
looking very concerned as to her own
demise if she should attempt to.

After all, should she transverse the road
and avoid oncoming vehicles
she would then be stuck on the other side
but should she not, then she may well
feel unfulfilled, unaccomplished.

Not wanting to disappoint,
let down, or cause a disturbance

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poem by Ruth Walters
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Rocket Science

My little boy once asked me
"Mummy, what is space?
Is it all just empty? "
I looked into his face.

I hesitated somewhat
before I gave reply
for I am not a scholar
and that is rocket science.

My answer was as follows,
you may not agree,
but my little boy was satisfied
and comforted by me.

I told him "there are moons,
stars and comets too,
but we just cannot see them
from our sitting room.

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poem by Ruth Walters
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Since I've grown old (my version of Jenny Joseph's most wonderful poem, 'When I am old I shall wear purple! ')

Since I've grown old my belly pops out
though I don't care these days,
and find comfort in the wobbling.

Since I've grown old, my body aches
in places that I never knew I had,
yet I take pleasure in the aching.

There is time enough to feel no pain
when I am dead. At least I know
I am alive, the pain reminds me.

To moan and be outspoken is what I fancy
and I am _ to annoy my children
and my grandchildren and some.

What good is it to be old and silent,
to sit in a chair, rocking to and fro
without a gripe or a fart or both!

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poem by Ruth Walters
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Boxes

On our first date he told me of
the box,
‘Pandora's Box',
would I have him open it or not?

Would I let him go that far?
Should we wait a while?
Would I let him lift the lid?
This kind of made me smile.

Boxes were his weapons
for such a life he'd led,
and to frighten little souls like mine
he'd wrapped a box to send.

What would I find within it,
what would its inners be?
Would I find some demons
or would I find a key?

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poem by Ruth Walters
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I thought I saw an angel......

Her hair was long, it blew in the breeze.
a warm summer sun sat in the trees.
while birds high above sang as sweet as could be
for the girl with long blonde hair was free.

She sauntered through the glades,
she lingered by the water's edge.
and fed the swans some crumbs and then
continued along her way.

Her slender legs were tanned and toned,
she seemed so peaceful all alone,
as a wisp of her hair blew by her eyes
as it glistened like gold beneath the skies.

Many a young man glanced her way
hoping for a smile, but the girl
never stopped to return their gaze,
she just gently walked on by.

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poem by Ruth Walters
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Psychopomp

Well I've been here before but I don't remember it clearly.
The traffic lights changed from amber to red too quickly.
My Psychopomp isn't here yet to guide me, I remember her
with angel eyes, a soothing voice, a voice I've not heard in a while.

There's supposed to be a bright light but it's still dark,
a thick blackness surrounds me but no voices yet.
There's a neutral kind of warmth, not cold, not hot,
and I've left my body on the mortuary table.

I can still see it, it looks pathetic, weak and cumbersome.
I giggle in relief, now. I'm unfettered from earthly things
and wait for the voices to sing me to my long sleep,
my hours of peace before I'm reunited with the collective.

I'm an old soul and have made this journey many times.
Ah, here she comes now, my own special angel, calling me.
I recognise her and she holds out her hand to me.
It's a broad, plump, capable hand, reliable and warm.

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poem by Ruth Walters
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The Highgrounder

Far away on the planet Highground
A ‘Highgrounder' heard a most hideous sound!
He took out his scope, to locate the vibration
and soon it came up with the planets location.

It was a planet called Earth far away near a sun,
from where there was coming a most awful hum.
There was chirping and grunting, mooing and more.
There was roaring and snoring and bleating galore!

The loudest of all was a chattering noise
it came, said the scope from some humanoids
The scope said, "look here, if you've got any sense,
you'll avoid planet Earth, the gossips immense!

You can't say a thing without somebody chattering
and hell, if you're famous you'll take such a hammering.
Whatever it was that they first heard you say
will just be mistold in a couple of days."

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poem by Ruth Walters
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A Sweet Man (two poems)

A Sweet Man

Wistfully, our noses pressed against the window
we'd watch the man rolling and kneading,
kneading sweet paste into a long, twisted snake.

His big strong hands worked adeptly
as the smell wafted from the door.
Our mouths watered, our eyes grew big.

Every now and then he'd look up and wink.
Sometimes he'd beckon us to come in
and we'd ask him lots of questions.

'What are those? ' 'What flavour are they? '
'Can we buy one for a penny? '
He'd never answer, he'd just carry on.

On good days, without saying a word,
he'd bag up some scraps and give us all a treat.

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poem by Ruth Walters
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