Look for Dan, Similar style to me.
I will give the title of this ode at the end &
you'll understand why, when you hear it.
One phrase I've noticed past few years,
Which irks me to extreme,
Is heard in MANY interviews
On media, it does seem.
When being asked some questions,
To information, give,
Instead of starting th'answer off,
This phrase, repeated, is.
The first few times 'twas novel,
But aft. a while, does tire,
I feel like reaching out my hand,
It sure does produce 'ire'
It's heard also in general chat,
In public, private too,
Wherever folk do congregate
Or cause hullabaloo.
It may be said on impulse,
To have few seconds more,
In order to form answer,
For me, it irks, hearts, core.
Of course it's a good question,
Why ever ask one, bad ?
Just give an answer to what's asked,
Try not, to make me mad.
So what is it that irks me,
That causes such aggression,
That makes my teeth just grate with rage?
Well, '' That's a very good question."
This next poem is more personal, and for me, a tear jerker.
Background to it is that I was born having a Grand Mal epileptic seizure, then they returned age 7 as the milder, but more frequent, Petit Mal form. (I thankfully was able to have corrective surgery aged 32.)
They Loved Me.
Recall one precious moment
Shown only by a mum,
A time when LOVE was physical,
Made me, what I've become.
Earl' twenties, at home living,
Still heav'ly medicated, for seizures,
they were rampant,
No sign, eradicated.
My peers, well paid careers had,
Their own transport, had they,
While public transport was MY lot,
Timetables, HAD t'obey.
The moment that I recall,
With mom, alone, was I,
Frustration, it had built up,
Resenting tears, did cry.
Poured out to mom, frustrations,
With bitterness, did sob,
My teen years, disappeared, they,
My youth, it helped to rob.
I KNOW her heart was broken,
Felt helpless to assist,
All she could do, was comfort,
With loving kindness, kissed.
I'm SURE, with dad, she shared this,
He too, was rock, so strong,
And through his deeds did highlight,
In family, DID, belong.
Now on a more jocular mood
'Twas the night AFTER Christmas (a cynical view)
'Twas the night AFTER Christmas,
And all through the house,
NOTHING was stirring
Bar the snores of the spouse,
While up in the kitchen,
Where turkey DID baste,
Lay only a carcass
And scraps, for the waste.
The children, exhausted
And we'll overfed
On stuffing and chocolates,
Were tucked up in bed.
I sat on the sofa,
A well deserved rest
And as I reflected
I was quite impressed
Gift giving completed,
It passed without tear,
And Christmas is over
For ANOTHER WHOLE YEAR.
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