Friday Poem #249: Hibernation
Monthly Archives: October 2021
Friday Poem #248: No Wear to be seen
No Wear to be Seen
The shorts that I wear;
Purely for swimming
Black – made by speedo
Streamlined and slimming
Quite figure hugging
(If you know what I mean)
Have disappeared completely
Nowhere to be seen.
I wore them last on a Thursday
That was when I last saw them
Took them off to get changed
And then somehow ignored them
Thought I had packed them
Quite safely away
Got home to retrieve them,
Which is when I said “hey!?”
Not a sight; not a sound
Nowhere to be found
Perplexed and confused
By this problem profound
Steps retraced in my mind
As best as I could
But my shorts remained lost:
Situation not good.
Now I’m no Sherlock (or Watson)
But I swiftly deduced
That in the men’s changing room
My swim shorts got loose
I remember then hanging
Off a hook by my chair
But get hazy about taking them
Back down from there.
Contacted the leisure centre
As soon as can be
Described the shorts
So that they could go see
But their search it was fruitless;
There was nothing to find
My sanity was in question
Was I losing my mind?
Was this all a nightmare?
Just a horrible dream?
I didn’t know whether to
Laugh, cry or scream.
I can’t imagine why anyone
Would want my previously worn shorts
Then again, as the saying goes
It does take all sorts.
I can’t think how I lost them
I just know that they’re gone.
Maybe grabbed by a stalker
(That’s just all kind of wrong)
Or dropped in a car park
And dumped in a bin
Never more to be slipped on
In preparation to swim.
My swim shorts are out there:
Of that I’m convinced
I just hope they’re folded
And properly rinsed
And if someone’s now wearing,
My swim jammers in black
I’ve got one thing to tell you:
I don’t want them back.
Friday Poem #247: Break The Mould
Break The Mould
The moulds are set from the moment we’re born;
It’s the way that we’re spoken to; the clothes that are worn.
Girls are told “you look so pretty!”, dressed in light pastels and hues
Boys hear “wow you’re strong!”, Wearing reds and blues.
For males it’s competition – you must simply be best:
Be stronger, more handsome, and wealthier than the rest.
You’ve got to make money, be successful, be muscular and toned
Because if you don’t then no-one will love you, and you’ll spend life alone.
For Females, it’s appearance – from your feet up to your hair
Perfect toes, silky smooth skin, and vibrant strong flowing hair
All packaged up in the right clothing, with the right perfumed scent
Following the conveyor belt of trends ensures your money’s all spent.
So boys are set on this aggressive trajectory, to be masceline and tough
Sensitivity is a weakness; being yourself isn’t enough
While girls are marketed as trophies – something to just look and smell nice
Because you must be attractive to be worthy – or no-one would ever look twice.
Fast forward then to adulthood and the mess we find ourselves in
Doing all we can to “fit the norm” – but still uncomfortable in our skin.
We tell women how to dress, then blame them when they do
Putting responsibility for their safety at their door, is a perspective that’s skewed.
Men are set unrealistic targets, in how to look or behave
Reality TV, social media – it’s just wave after wave
Of psychological warfare telling us who we ought to be
Because it’s not profitable to allow us to think “I’ll just be me”
It’s the fascination with profit, and with growth for growth’s sake
An industry driven for its own benefit, no matter what is at stake.
Inequality, and bias – stereotypical attitudes remain
From infancy we imprint that men and women aren’t the same
That we just are not equal, for all excuses and reasons
And you can bet this continues like the following of seasons
Unless we stop what we are doing, choose a different outcome
For all future generations – whatever they choose to become.
So tell your sons they are beautiful;
Celebrate the strength in your girls.
Champion their worth and uniqueness in this potentially wonderful world
Don’t restrict them, don’t chain them – just let them run free
Knowing all that truly matters is the person that they want to be.
Friday Poem #246: Hairstyles
Hairstyles
I’m no expert on hairstyles
That pretty much goes unsaid
Cos although I grow some on my face
Not much grows on me ‘ead.
There was a time, many years ago
When I showed a healthy crop
And can evidence (with pictures)
That I once had a cool Flat Top
But those times have now receded
Like the hairline with which I’m bonded
And I think what other hairstyles I could have had
Before my scalp absconded.
I could have had a bowl cut
(in fact I probably did)
It was a popular choice of parents
When I was just a kid.
A Chignon was a no-go
As were bunches I’m afraid
I didn’t grow enough for pigtails
Let alone a nice French braid
I would have loved double buns;
I’d have looked awesome with a Perm
Gone to school with new extensions
That got longer every term.
Of course I would get highlights,
And finger waves like in the twenties
Frosted tips or a beehive
Would get me looks a-plenty
I’d experiment with mohawks
Go dramatic with some bangs
Or embrace my inner emo
Slick hair, black – and let it hang.
I might have rocked a Pompadour
Given Odango a try
Even braved a mighty mullet
Or some fearsome liberty spikes
A Hime cut is a classic
Along with the Manchurian Queue.
Though I might skip the Devilock
If it’s all the same to you.
Alas, it’s all a fantasy;
All hairstyles I’ll never get to endure.
Cos the way my hair is going
I’ll end up with a Tonsure
Friday Poem #245: The Needle Falls
The Needle Falls
The easiest way to start a panic,
Is to tell people not to panic.
And thus everyone is burning fuel on our roads
In search of a petrol station that isn’t closed.
“There is no shortage!” the government cries,
While the news media reports issues with supply
And the army’s drafted to drive tankers
All driving a surge in forecourt……angst
A ticking time-bomb against the clock
Of driving round asking “have you got….?”
Only to see that shaking of heads.
Maybe we should have gone electric instead.
But if you actually get to fill up,
It’s not just your car you should fill up:
Take every container that you can
Cos stockpiling petrol is a great plan.
Jerry cans, a flask or two
We’ve seen double layer shopping bags used
Hot water bottles, or crystal glass decanter
(I’d use the last one if I could – purely for the banter)
I’m driving round with a wetsuit
(Extra Large) sat in my boot
And once my car’s full to the brim
I’ll put it on and pump straight in.
I’ll be a sight – there is no doubt
But with extra fuel sloshing about
When my bloated neoprene self drives away
I’ll know that I’ll have won the day
For I will have once again averted disaster
Though I won’t be able to drive any faster
Than 5 mph at best I fear
Cos in a fuel filled wetsuit it’s hard to change gear
So one day, in my full wetsuit
You may shout, jeer, call out and toot
To let me know that I look a fool
But at least I’ll know that I’ve got fuel
Until that day I’ll drive round calling
To every petrol station while the needle keeps falling
Like a stressful, terrifying game of countdown
I’ll helplessly watch my fuel run out.
W Is For Duck 