Clubs and Pubs and Eyebrows


couldn’t be part of a harem

couldn’t be part of a gang

couldn’t lie down where other folks lie

couldn’t, for fear I’d do harm

couldn’t be part of a co-op

couldn’t be part of the tests

couldn’t imagine a club I could join

where I would be at my best

have always been part of a union

as long as they aren’t too dense

don’t fight both corners, betray or deny

cause common, with some common sense

couldn’t contribute to cliques where

niche means crawling or worse

couldn’t just fib to fit in there

expressive face too frank of a curse

couldn’t be bothered kow-towing

couldn’t reveal all I know

alphas or kappas, whatevers

couldn’t just put on a show

tho’, have been tempted by acting

oh, woe, with a sigh and a swoon

melodramatic, quite catching

alas, yorick, he passed on too soon

briefly joined brownies and girl guides

but uniforms, rules and the likes

gave me the creeps and right eyebrow

gave away that I thought it all shite

always got on with most folk

but never, well, rarely, in clubs

much preferred ordinary wisdom

found on most benches in pubs

carry folk forward I love best

connections all made through brief life

but give me a one onto one folks

I’ll follow like obedient wife


I have no idea why my husband is laughing so hard.




They can lend confusion to illusion,

Fill their bucket up with acid rain,

Erode the hope with holes, always half-empty,

Then whinge the whine to hear themselves complain.

They can take, from distance, and from closer,

Syphon off my positivity,

Tell me I’m a dreamer, they’re a realist,

Well, shucks, that’s rich, I feel their negativity.

So, yeah, it’s hard, ’cause life is hard, no karma,

No luck, no change, ‘no nuthin’, their war cry.

So, suck it up, the train’s the same for all of us,

Just do it, this is life, just do or die.

I’m seeking out the people who have patter,

Some humour with my daily dose of politics,

Poets who encapsulate ideas, without depressing,

Essayists who rarely miss a trick.

I’m looking to the loving and the hopeful,

The serious, the humans in my midst,

Who can argue for a cause and give their reasons

And can do so without always sounding pissed.

I’m looking to the pictures that inspire me,

The photo journalists who see all life

Through lenses, filtered to advantage,

Depicting the beautiful that’s rife.

I’m topping up my bucket, mainly half-full,

Filling it to flowing with fresh hope,

Negating all the negative surrounding

Before I cut myself a length of rope.

I’m finished with the suction they enjoy so,

The leeching from my spirit for their fight,

I’m complaining here and then I’m through, for nothing

I can say or do is ever really wrong but never right.

Unfollowing, ’cause I am done with whiners,

Not the hurt who try and stoically march on!

But the people who can only peddle sorrow,

And share their pain as salve to ego torn.

My own fault, I guess, why did I follow,

Believing somehow I could ease their pain,

I’ve learned that only selves can change their own selves,

My presence there is futile, no one gains.

I must confess a luxury in dissing,

In doling out the lessons hardily won,

I’ve been there, no wish to recreate it,

Embraced a different mindset. Now I’m done.