No, I never met Robbie Williams
by Wendy Goulsbra
Copyright © 2011 Wendy Goulsbra
Smashwords Edition
* * * * *
Forward
I have been writing in my head all my life; I have always been called a daydreamer.
In the last few years I have taken to writing some of it down.
This collection has an obvious feminist slant, not surprising, as I am a feminist.
But more importantly some of the topics covered in this work are controversial and I make no apology for that.
I have found writing to be therapeutic and I hope this collection will inspire others to write their truths.
That said, many of the poems in this collection are written with an ironic or tongue in cheek tone and I hope readers will find them amusing.
This collection is the work of the Stoke on Trent years and is dedicated to all my friends back there.
You all know who you are and there are too many to write here, but especially to Dulcie.
And to all Sainsbury's workers, there are worse things, and worse people.
And no I didn't meet Robbie Williams
Cover photograph © Pixeldome.co.uk
Contents
1. Vanity
2. Are hippies still excluded?
3. Surrender
4. Boobs
5. All you see
6. Coming home
7. Who are they kidding?
8. Go home
9. Hell is thank you
10. If I have ever been glamorous
11. Compassion
12. How to express a dream
13. Midlife crisis
14. Feminist
15. Haiku influence
16. Guilt
17. The Gathering
18. Languages
19. Sliding through life on charm
20. Which me
21. A better way to spend the day
22. What do we want?
23. Isn’t it ironic?
24. Plastic World
25. My Best Friend
26. No one told me
27. We are not paid enough
28. Save me
29. Reinvent myself
30. Good morning, good night
31. Madonna with the tired eyes
32. Dandelion
33. Emily Suzanne
34. John
35. Lost vagueness
36. Charity
37. Not me
38. Attitudes
39. Listen
40. Lunar madness
41. You hold me high
42. New beginnings
43. Endless repetition
44. Voices
45. Earn a living
46. My World has changed
Vanity
My hair fell out today, most of it
my nails are broken now
my feet are quite ugly these days
and I miss my floating rib
It seems I’ve developed an allergy
to collagen and silicone
my face is expressionless and tight
no-one can tell I’m pissed
Pilates hurts right here, where
it’s supposed to be easy
and do most good, and you know
I can’t do tantric sex now
I haven’t been offered anti wrinkle
ads yet, I suppose that’s
a good sign, in my head I’m still young,
tell me, what do you think?
I can still mesmerise and seduce
just don’t look too close
and dim the lights for me now, please
I don’t do natural any more
Are hippies still excluded?
Signage, hippies please use the side door
is this a leftover from the sixties?
or are hippies still
excluded?
Make love not war, was the philosophy
that scared the normal people
are hippies still
excluded?
Flowers in the barrels of guns, tell us
of a better world, remember?
are hippies still
excluded?
Songs of love and protest marches,
alice through the looking glass
are hippies still
excluded?
A new generation twice removed, wear
the clothes and walk the walk
are hippies still
excluded?
Surrender
There is peace in surrender, the final abdication
a stunned acceptance of what you should
always have known
Stop trying to be strong, lay down your burden.
don’t need an anchor, you can fly. Friends will
hold you to the world
Surrender to the flow; let it take you where it will.
Accept wherever you find yourself, live now,
hold no hostages.
Stop trying to be strong, lay down your burden.
don’t need an anchor, you can fly. Friends will
hold you to the world
Surrender and understand, you’re not responsible
for another’s happiness. No one can depend
at all upon you now
Stop trying to be strong, lay down your burden.
don’t need an anchor, you can fly. Friends will
hold you to the world
Take your privacy; take your power, allow yourself
to matter after all. Follow your star, we each
have one, at least
Boobs
My right boob is smaller now
they took a bit away you see
only a tiny, tiny bit
but when yours are as small as mine
you can see it, well I can
But its alright now, the results
are in, everything was normal
so now I can stop
imagining myself with one, or none
or not here at all
My friend had the same news,
good news, she said, I guess
he doesn’t want us,
yet, but shouldn’t that be she?
or even you, or me
Anyway, I wouldn’t have said
that it would matter that much
but boy it really does
not more than death of course
but enough, eh girls?
All you see
All you see
when you look at me
is a woman of a certain age
You don’t see
when you look at me
the youth behind the lines
You don’t see
when you look at me
ambitions not yet filled
You don’t see
when you look at me
how lightly the years sit still
All you see
when you look at me
are signs of the life I’ve known
All you see
when you look at me
now is a woman fully grown
You don’t see
when you look at me
a zest for the thrills of life
You don’t see
me smile and wish I had
known then what I know now
You don’t see
that the dream is still alive
somewhere deep inside of me
All you see
when you look at me
is a woman of a certain age
Coming home
I like to travel home late at night
it seems I am suspended,
between the me of there and the me of home.
I watch the red lights, like an animals eyes
and I float somehow out of time.
The dislocation of identity,
the soothing motion of the night sky, flashing by
and most of all the lights that blink
and blink, in and out of time
Rooms lit and curtains undrawn
drip a glimpse of other lives,
into my receptive mind, why are they so late about?
I ask, what dramas of illness or childbirth
keep them awake at home.
A quarrel or a late night task
a light left on for a scared child,
as I look in when I pass by,
I feel like a child again.
Who are they kidding?
Gorgeous homes for sale the sign said
but beneath it was written,
TOO LATE
are they joking?
rubbing my nose in it,
I think!
Each month houses prices fall again,
despite being underwritten,
BY ME
the taxpayer,
tying my hands,
I think!
We are in a recession they say,
global and inevitable,
CRUNCH
my plans have
long gone west,