Last day (for Karen)

As I walked away
I decided not to go to their party.
I pushed my sadness and shame
into a vault and shut it tight.

I let you and I down.
You, that big institution called school
and me, the little number on the list;
missed.

Years of invisibility did it,
ignored by my peers,
avoided by teachers, except for their sneers
Now I was free.

School never ever liked me.

poem by Ruth Walters
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More Time Please

When I learned to love Monet my world became a misty.
As I grew to love Pavarotti my ears became foggy.
Tears fell and the sun's rays shone cold
the day I found I was growing old.
Purple and blue are the colour of my tears
as I pause to count the passing years.
Now as I recall the past I find it hard to say
I'd like more time to do the things
I've come to love today.

poem by Ruth Walters
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Another February

It's a non month
that takes me from winter
to early spring.
It sneaks in,
like a mousey spinster,
barren and lonely,
mostly ignored
and then hurries
back to whence it came.

It is the worst month,
dark and dismal,
neither here nor there,
never thought about,
except for its rain.
February, poor February,
its only redemption
is it is swift
and goes quickly on its way.

poem by Ruth Walters
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Infestations

I Googled New York yesterday
on Google maps, I have to say
and took the little yellow man
to walk upon the street and play.

I walked along the streets as him,
I saw the yellow taxi cabs,
I saw the shops and people there
and suddenly I felt quite scared,

for in amongst the thronging crowd
no animals did scamp around
as all the people hurried by
a world infested by mankind.

poem by Ruth Walters
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Shadows

I don’t read newspapers anymore, or watch T.V.
so news is alien to me.

No wars or violence gets through, or pains my head
or makes me weep.

Sometimes, when the sunlight peeps and burns the clouds,
shadows appear.

They seem to try to talk, to tell me something
but I close my eyes and ears.

Shadows are in the blackness now, no nightmares,
and my days, a shadow, of reality.

poem by Ruth Walters
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The bed warmer

All night long I lie against his body,
that firm naked flesh.

As he turns, I turn; we touch and I
caress him softly.

I warm him, comfort him,
hug him; we snuggle.

Light trickles through the curtains and
I feel him stir.

Suddenly I am thrown to the floor!
I've no voice to cry.

I feel used; dishevelled,
but I should have said,

I'm just a 12 tog duvet on
my masters bed.

poem by Ruth Walters
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Pathways

We're all special; different,
each of us with our own kind of glow.

Don't follow me, I'm drifting,
taking the slower route now.

You step ahead and take the lead,
careful, the road ahead is steep.

Mind the pot holes and the spiders,
mind the silken webs they seed.

Keep to the path, don't you stray
and at the end we'll meet again

where the sunset touches the sea,
some day.

poem by Ruth Walters
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No Baggage

I sit on the seashore
breathing salt air
free as the wind
no worries, no cares.

I've no possessions,
not even my bones
for all that I am
will quickly be gone

Why shackle my spirit,
make me conform,
limit my freedom
as soon as I'm born.

I am the ocean,
I am the sun,
I am the land,
do me no harm.

[...] Read more

poem by Ruth Walters
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A thing of darkness

This thing of darkness is his huge black mole.
It has little hairs like spider's legs
and sits on his bottom where he cannot spy it,
although he proudly acknowledges that it belongs to him.

It has been seen by all his lovers, he tells me,
and so it's hardly undiscovered.
It's a landmark so imposing and I'd take a cheeky guess
some day the nasty zit will ooze and die a timely death.

poem by Ruth Walters
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This Thing Of Darkness

This thing of darkness
is his huge black mole.
It has little hairs
like spider's legs
and sit upon his bottom
where he cannot spy,
although he proudly acknowledges
that it belongs to him.
It has been seen by all his lovers,
he tells me,
so it's hardly undiscovered.
It's a landmark so imposing
and I'd take a cheeky guess
some day the nasty zit will ooze
and die a timely death.

poem by Ruth Walters
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