Poetry Blog by Ronnie Leek 1
on The Mother. (Sat, 16 Apr 2016 09:21 pm)
In the sun bathed seaside town of Lyme
Where ice cream now drips where dinosaurs once walked
pastel shaded cottages skirt the sea
And Grockles eat cockles and cobbs on the Cobb.
A writer of repute resided
A postmodernist existential philosopher
Who welcomed me into his home
A number of times, talking of his craft
His books his work and films that were made of this
Monday 8th April 2019 6:35 pm
Parking his mobile library
A short time before it was due
He provided Jean with a sneak preview
Often giving her extra lending time
Without ever punishing her with a fine
as she adjusted her hair
And he adjusted himself
They placed fallen books
back onto the shelf
And when his bus groaned and spluttered off
Jean knew that she wasn't his only stop.
Friday 3rd June 2016 9:32 pm
A dog died on the streets today
A well bred dog with pedigree
His coat was riddled with fleas and lice
And his stomach was empty.
He would never bark or snap or crack.
Some would offer him food or treats
And some say he died of sadness and grief
A man died on the streets today
One less dog to think of
some were heard to say
On his passing away.
Saturday 14th May 2016 12:19 pm
There's a lady
who's known as the lady of the night.
On the dot of 9-00 she arrives,
with her fiery lips and fiery hips
dressed in colours that match her eyes.
She totters on heels as high as a hand
and makes her way down the street
to the place that she calls her place of work
where her clients know that she’ll be.
In driving rain she'll be there again
as the drivers stutter on b...
Saturday 23rd April 2016 10:32 pm
The day that she was told that she would die
she did a big shop for the family
and made the kitchen smell of baking bread.
she labled and then ladled into pots
then all went in a freezer fit to burst-
as meals that they could eat when she was gone.
Then, going up into the children’s rooms
she took some time to sit upon each bed
and chancing on a scattered shirt or top
she held them close ...
Saturday 16th April 2016 4:09 pm
Boys and girls
come out to play
but boys are more often led astray
From the moment of conception
the boys hand holds a weapon
pointing that willy
gradually learning to gauge the distance
and then with age comes the decision
to aim the weapon with more precision
and the years of practice at pointing this piece
plants seeds in his head
of disturbing the peace
Monday 4th April 2016 5:39 pm
Switch off the TV’s
Cover their ears
Wrap them in cotton wool
Drink all their tears
Drown them in fairy tales
Sing them sweet songs
Take them to places
The bad don’t belong
Bathe them in sunshine
Shower them with love
Serve them their childhood
Wearing kid gloves.
Thursday 24th March 2016 3:07 pm