Bio: I am an English teacher at Edgewater College, who has always loved writing poetry. My inspiration for writing poems often comes from situations which appear almost surreal. Poetry allows me to express how I feel about people,
places and things. Quite often conversations with people spark off images in my head. The poem "Conversation with a Flatmate" is one of my recent favourites because it opened up my eyes to a whole new way of viewing the
world. I love poetry and its neverending possibilities. When I write I discover freedom and personal acceptance.
Angry Girl
Angry girl
Why you so angry girl
You need to take a chill pill girl
Leave my words alone hey girl
Your really hurt their feelings girl
Exposed them to your anger girl
Cos they are shy to speak hey girl
You made them feel real ugly girl
When they were made for beauty girl
You need to take a chill pill girl
The world dont spin round you yeah girl
Your judgments really threw me girl
Cos you dont have a clue hey girl
Hey
Ugly, ugly
Angry girl
I've got something to show you
It's real cool
Are you angry now girl?
The Chick Whisperer
Imagine if you will
That there is such a thing as a chick whisperer
He could read your mind
Not bend it to his will
His male interpretation
Would parallel castration
a saline solution
The red sea would part
As femininity entered
She would take charge
She would take the upper hand
And bend it to her will
She would not say
take a chill pill and dont smoke that filthy weed and dont eat the caramel slice at foodtown I checked your receipts and dont be a
bad girl
unless
it benefits me
The chick whisperer would not make femininity a deficit
The chick whisperer would not use your mind as a cognitive device
The chick whisperer would just nod
and take it
with a
grain of
salt
Conversation With a Flatmate
He spoke of death
or
near death
She nodded,
almost imperceptibly
a half smile reminiscent of a wrinkly mcdonalds chip slapped across her face
Perception reality altered
her arrowed eyebrow bows to its target
He spoke of how the world changed shape and colours became luminescent and things appeared in 3D as he strolled down the street and life became a meaning or had a meaning or was a meaning
She nodded,
almost imperceptibly
He spoke of a friend who was depressed,
she repressed
He spoke of a time in his life when life was uncertain and death was close by and he lived through the pain and the hurt and the blame
And
it left a watermark behind,
a visible caesura,
a crack in the paint,
She thought of a time in her life when her skin would break and the scrubbed leather would lift off and the dirty freckles would disappear and a porcelain veneer would shine through
He spoke of physical imperfection,
She spoke of physical violation,
They stopped speaking
When they knew
That their words
Had ears.
