Bunny

I'm just a bunny

A bunny, say I 

I look so cute 

With just one eye

I wander through

A land so dry

I wonder why

I make you cry!

Your world has gone

You silly folk

Your leaders did that

When they "mis-spoke"

I have ten tickles

They're not to choke

If I wrap round you 

It's just a joke

Be glad I'm here

Bunny so sweet

Look at my little bunny feet! 

A taste of home 

The countryside

Where rabbits roam

And foxes hide. 

We'll be so happy

In this toasty world

Where dust is smoky

And green fumes swirl

So take my "hand"

My human friend

Be with your Bunny

Until the end.

Boronavirus

Boris boris where are you?

Boris oh Boris what should we do?

"Go out or don't, maybe wear masks, or leave them at home and wipe down your phone."

You gone red to green does this mean the virus has gone and been?

"Well no but let's open things up old bean!"

Boris please tell us, please tell us, do? How many shall die before this is through?"

"That's not my concern dear I work for the banks. For you and your family I give not two w**ks.  "

We're glad you have bred while we haven't got bread. But whilst we love babies....why must ours be dead? Why our mums,  siblings grandparents and dads? While you sit so safe in your no 10 pad?

"Well I'm the PM and my word is the law. So go fight the virus folks! That's what you're for!"

Die, Die Dementia, a poem by Joanne Oliver

Die, Die Dementia

There’s one true path they say

No: a maze of paths with no clear way

I like the grass, the sand and mud

The random walking does me good

Hard pavements hurts my feet and soul

I get no closer to my goal

By staying on the well worn street

There'd be fixed challenges I'd meet

Neurones lose their links and wither

If I don’t digress and dither

Embrace the new, and drop the old

Watch as stories new unfold

My brain’s in danger this I know

If I don’t force it to grow

New links and circuits every day

To keep the ATD at bay

It may be futile what I’m trying

But it’s better than sitting crying

Thinking I’m going like she did

While from the truth my family hid.

Heard the words from her “who’s that”

As she spied me in my wedding hat.

I  hope my son never hears that from me.

I know I’ll write some poetry!

Wind Ya Neck In Missis.

I see a lot of things go on

In music theatre, things going wrong.

I try to keep my nose quite clean

And turn a blind eye to what's seen

It's hard though as a know-it-all

To ignore the stories, blank the falls

Feeling a duty to forewarn the others

As if I'm the culture fairy godmother

That's what I'm not no matter what I've seen

I'm just someone who's in the scene.

I need to stop being a keyboard junkie

It's not my circus, they're not my monkeys.

So time it is to take a break

From social media, mind's at stake.

If I'm not workin' I'll just sometimes check in

And at last, oh joy, I'll wind my neck in.

After all the hoo-har about young female poets I wrote this. Proper Poet #poetry #femalepoets #snobbery

I must be a proper poet because I'm old.

I can't be berated for all the books I've sold.

I'm not popular or even infamous

-You wouldn't notice me on a Gateshead local bus.

A proper poet I'm not that young.

No rapping rhythm upon my tongue.

Not popular in the local scene.

Not on the radio, not that keen.

I must be proper my stuff's not lauded 

By young hipster journos or applauded

In expensive cafes in London town

I don't spit words with an intense frown.

I must be proper. You haven't heard of me.

To talk of, write about, spout hyperbole.

I just write stuff I'll keep my head in sonnets

Poetry gets radgy with a bee in its bonnet!

The Colliery Baths #bigpitmuseum #coalmining #poetry

The Colliery Baths

The shouts of harsh friendship and rude songs of love.

The faces all soaped up as steam rises above

The coal dust not shifting from those ingrained backs

The feet sore and aching, the muscle it knacks

With hope for a hot tea two veg and some meat

And at last some warm comfort from her arms, so sweet.

poem 2: How Cows Die

How Cows Die

Cows die in strange ways

And in numbers you wouldn't believe

Freak accidents involving trains

And diseases would make you heave

All this stuff must be written down

To keep the records straight

There's people have to read these tales

Of bovine ladies' fates

Potatoes can be lethal when lodged in Daisy's throat

Running too fast down a hill, can drown you in a moat

Sometimes a cow can fester for weeks

And trust me dead old cow can really reek.

At times a cow can be a danger

To the man who runs the farm

And so that cow is put to sleep

To save farmers from harm.

Cows can have a hard life 

To hang themselves they have been known,

Not sure how they do it

Do they tie the noose on their own?

Its the numbers that astound me

Thousands peg it each day

Why I never see dead beasts around me

When I'm out on a walk in May?

The one case in particular worried me 

The record said something odd

The cow had been "Killed by ET"

This was no act of God.

© Joanne Oliver

Poem 1 : The Allotment

The Allotment

Its taken 18 years for me to find my peace with you

The weeds the dirt the damned hard work

You seldom give me food.

Dandelions don't taste bad or nettles in a stew

But why can't I get brassicas

or carrots to come though?

Greens feel the teeth of caterpillars

Radishes get munched by slug

Carrots, even if I plant them high

get fly in the soil I dug.

Potatoes, they've had goodish years

I got a bowl not lots.

But why bother with onions

When they're cheaper down the shops?

Fruit has worked out better

Some years a glut of jam

Without that I would jack it in.

Does mole meat taste like Spam?

Yes moles I grow plenty of those

And large and  muscular snails

I think they might taste quite divine

Cooked with garlic, served with ale.

©Joanne Oliver 2015