Feet don’t touch the ground

Alarm wakes me at 5

Doves coos are deafening

Sun ray yet to warm

Dew soaks the grass

Time is of the essence

Walking dog in the woods

No time for delay

Don’t disappear, not today

Kettle boils slowly,

Or is it me in a rush?

Car to the garage

Wait, time ticks again

Then hurry to work

No time for lunch

No time to stop, to breath

To think

Then work finishes

Time for a drink

Too tired, too rushed

Time to sleep

Feet don’t touch the ground

Tomorrow will be slower

And time will wait.

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Perfect end

Rushing around,

a hundred miles an hour

hardly time to breathe yet stop.

Phone ringing, emails pinging

people talking loudly.

So much to do, so little time

End of the day is close.

Home again, breathe again

relax kick of my shoes.

Long hot soak,

candles around the bath

bubbles up to my ears,

soft music playing

finally resting

Ice cream with a flake

movie on the screen

curled up with you

a perfect end.

Turn the Tables

Having spoken to my closest friend, I understand her dilema and her need to have confidence and believe in herself.

So this poem I dedicate to her.

Turn the Tables

You slammed the door as you entered the house,

You drag your dirty shoes across the new carpet.

“WHATS FOR DINNER’ you shout at me,

You couldn’t even say hello, how was your day.

 

‘I’m not cooking’ I tell you gently

‘I still have several hours of work to do yet.’’

You turn without looking at me and stomp out of the room,

 “THERE’S NOTHING HERE TO EAT’, your bellowing bounces off the wall.

 

‘YOU WILL HAVE TO GO SHOPPING’ you spit the words out.

‘I can’t, I’m tired from work, I’ve just got in, I have too much to do right now.’

IT’S ALL ABOUT YOU ISN’T IT; IT’S ALWAYS ALL ABOUT YOU.

I can see anger flaring up in your eyes.

 

I shake; I tremble, I shrink back into my skin,

Is it all about me? I think to myself

Am I being selfish or rude or unkind?

The guilt flows through every part of my body, I feel I’ve failed.

 

I step back and stare, my thoughts start to unwind

It’s not me; I realize it’s not me at all, I am the Mother;

This is my house now, I earn the money, I pay the bills

I am tired of being treated with no respect

 

I stand opposite you, “Look at me” I say

“You are my son and you are selfish and unpleasant right now.”

I want a warm happy place to come home to.

So here on in, I would like support, respect and kindness,

My love for you never falters, but it’s time to put your anger away.