Serious Stuff
Sometimes I feel in a more poignant frame of mind. These are poems I tend to perform at more literary events, or that I don't perform at all. They all work well off the page. I hope you like them. A word of warning - some of them are a bit happy, but some of them are really quite sad...
Hopefully soon I'll be getting some stuff recorded and then you'll be able to hear for yourself.
The performance pages are divided into three sections:
Funny poems can be found on the funny poems page and for all you budding Betjemen's out there check out the kid's poems page.
The Diswasher Man
He comes to my house
Not often, but enough
For me to know that I need him
He fixes my appliances
He siphons filthy stinking water
From the bottom of my dishwasher
He explains to me about blockages
Chicken bones, rice
'I should rinse stuff first,' I say
'Yes, not wash, but rinse, definitely.'
I make him a cup of tea
White no sugar
He is a hard man to pin down
All the ladies rely on him
To placate their
Disgruntled white goods
I always smile as I write my
Cheque to him
His company name is his surname
Spelled backwards
Okines
Seniko
I see that as a little insight
Into his psyche
He seems happy in his work
Smiling and chatting
I imagine a wife and family
With all their consumer durables
Purring efficiently
And then he leaves me
My dishwasher working again
But I'm slovenly and I know
I won't rinse my dishes
I know
He'll be back
© Kate Tym
The Horse called John
Up on the Downs
On a snow-sprinkled crunchy footed walk
A woman rides past us on a horse
The children ask the horse's name
'John,' she says
It seems strange
This brown-eyed beast
Magnificent in size and bearing
Should have such a simple name
So humble and plain
Month's later we drive past the spot
'Do you remember our walk in the snow?'
I ask the children
They do not
Then the eldest says
'Was it when we met the horse called John?'
'Yes,' I answer laughing
They laugh too
'Then we do remember it,' they say
They don't remember the crisp air
The view of the Downs
The ruddy cheeked freshness of the wind
But they do remember the horse called John
© Kate Tym
The Beach
The beach is our place
We walk there
The children complain before we go
But then in the face of water and stones
And seaweed and cuttle fish bones
They forget that they were angry
They submit to the power of the
Sun and the wind and the sea
And we come home with the beach
Stuffed into our pockets
Smelly treasures
Crabby bits, razor shells
Holey stones
And at unexpected times and
In unexpected places -
At the theatre rummaging in the
Treat bag in the interval
My fingers will reappear
Gritty with bits of sand under the nails
The beach is our place
And it is always with us
© Kate Tym
London
I lived in London for fifteen years
And then I left it
For the quiet coastal life
Home-making, children
Wife
And now when I leave
My rural idyll and go to London
My senses thrill
And I find I love it still
I am re-awakened
Snapped out of a domestic dream
My heart quickens
The pace changes
Lon-don, Lon-don, Lon-don
Speed - People - Buildings hemming me in
And the din of the traffic
I feel young - And reckless - And wild
Like a child on a cliff-top on a windy day
It carries me away with it
And I believe I am part of it still
Still a Londoner - not a tourist
I know which buses go where
Their numbers indelibly stamped
I know the tube lines
I walk the streets with confidence
Keeping step with the city's pulse
I have taken myself out of London
But London has not left me
© Kate Tym
The Stones In Our Garden
In our garden there is a row of stones
Each one collected from the beach
By the children
To me they all look the same
Dark
Smooth
Pebbles
But to the children
They are 'special' stones
Each one hand picked
Standing out from its neighbours
The children see
A certain glint
A shimmer
They make a connection with
Each stone
They understand why it is special
They aren't special to me
They are an irritant
Another thing to be carried
Stuffed into my beach bag
Crammed into the pockets of my shorts
I protest
"Can't we leave the stones behind?"
The wails of dismay provide my answer
And now I have a cold
It is snowing
I feel forlorn
I look out at the snow
Covering the row of stones
And I remember summer days on the beach
With the children
A smile sneaks up on me
Catches me off-guard
It is the trickery of the stones
They are magic
The children were right all along
© Kate Tym 2009
Grandpa Arnie
We go and visit him in his little room
It's too hot and the TV is too loud
The talk is false, forced, cheerful
A manic monologue
His jaw opens and shuts
Slack
His false teeth jump out at us
Then retreat just as fast
Surprised at their own bold bid to escape his mouth
He looks smaller each time
The incredible shrinking man
His arm is a bone draped in crepey skin
Lotti holds his 'bad' hand
Unphased by his decrepitude
One day we will come and
He will have disappeared altogether
Just a quiet 'aye aye' echoing
In the hot hospital air
© Kate Tym 2009
Emotionless Man
Emotionless man
How do you get through life?
How do you negotiate
Get to dealing
Without feeling
Anything?
What's it like
To be a block - A rock
A creature from the
Planet Granite
When I come from a watery world
Built by girls
We inhabit the same space
But my head and heart are in a different place
You are grounded - pragmatic
I'm erratic
Guided by my senses
Led astray by
Day to day events
'Things' make me upset
and you don't get it
Don't let it in
Under your skin
Your man shield
Force field
Is set to stun
People live, suffer and die
No need to cry
It will change nothing
And yet I know you feel love
You tell me so
And you have taught me to interpret
Your acts of support
As substitutes for the things you cannot say
You don't have a way
With words
And I know it
And why should you?
You are a plasterer
And I am a poet
© Kate Tym 2009
Uncle Graham
If I were to list
All the words that sum him up
The list would be in danger
of appearing bland
And maybe even mawkish
Could anybody be that nice
Without being unspeakably dull?
And yet he could
There's something about
A mild-mannered gentle man
Of another age
It brings out the best in people
He was the one all the children loved
He knew how to be funny with us
Without trying too hard
And then my girls in their turn loved him too
Tallulah bounced off his tummy for over half and hour
And he didn't seem to mind
In fact, he loved it
Loved the warmth that little people bring
Hot faced and hair sticking
Laughing and shrieking
Uncle Graham whipping them up
Into a crucible of excitement
Whilst the women-folk tutted
But secretly smiled
And he was the only one that still
Talked to me about Dad
How proud he'd be
How funny he was
How terrible it was that he died
So young
And I was grateful for that
Little moments of bringing my father back to life
And now he's gone
And Dad has died again with him
And I am doubly sad
© Kate Tym 2009
The Oldest One
The oldest one stresses me out
She SHOUTS
Loudly
Her voice slicing through me
She questions
EVERYTHING
She is
Exhausting
She battles
Rails against me
Fights for independence
Competes with her sisters
Constantly
But in the end
She is my daughter
And there is love
Enough
She brings me things she has made
Little offerings
I put them on the kitchen windowsill
My maternal shrine
A temple of treasures
Won at the penny arcade
I look at them as I do the washing up
And wonder if I am deserving
Of these bits of tat
Rendered precious by my child's touch
Instilled with her longing to be loved
By me
I vow to try harder
To be more patient
And then she bursts into the room
SHOUTING
And
I
shout
back
© Kate Tym 2009
Fridge Art
We went to an "open studio" Art exhibition In the studio On the counter There was a little brown fridge. It was shabby And its door was open. "Is this art or is it a fridge? " I asked the man. "It's a fridge, " he said. But there was something about it. Small. Square. Broken. Little fridge In my heart You will always be Art
© Kate Tym 2009
Take Off Your Boots
One of life's small luxuries Taking off your boots at the end of the day Wriggling your toes Feeling the damp cling of socks long worn Slipping into slippers Moulded A foam friend for your feet A treat Escaping from the laced-up bondage Of the day's pacing Unlacing And succumbing To the evening's peace A release For your feet And a brain-change too From suited and booted To slouchy slipper girl Maybe an old cardi creeps on Over an office scented Arm-pitted blouse And the final touch A large glass Misted from the chill of its contents Oh yes, Sister! You go I say Take off those boots And shake off the day
© Kate Tym 2009
