Understanding Women
Grassfly didn’t understand women;
Never quite grasped their fundamental
Psychology; never quite knew the trick
To get them on his side. His mother was
A matriarch who ruled the home with a
Big stick and a tongue like a viper’s spit.
Got to understand women, son, she’d say,
Else your limp life’ll be worth shit. He loved
To play piano; it gave him an outlet playing
His Schubert or Chopin pieces against the
Backdropp of his mother’s tongue. His woman
Friend, Big Bess, who wore outlandish clothes
And an XXL dress, was a mystery to him, like
Some character from Finnegan’s Wake, who
Loved to dance and say, Look Boy, see my big
Ass shake. Grassfly thought women an enigma;
God’s afterthought; the proverbial eater of
Apples, the talker with snakes. He played his
Piano pieces, watched with dulled disinterest,
Big Bess’s breasts and broad ass shake.
poem by Terry Collett
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At The High Lodge.
Auntie played the accordion
While others sang Goodnight
Irene in a discordant chorus
And the gas lamps had been lit
And you sat there amidst it all
Remembering the sound of crickets
On the way up to the high lodge
In the evening darkness with only
Uncle’s torch and the glow-worms
To cut through the blanket sky
Of black and London a long way
Off now and the sound of traffic
And bright lights and the smell
Of coal dust and fumes and sitting
There watching Auntie play and sing
And her fingers moving over the
Keyboard and the sense of tiredness
And the countryside smell entering
Into you and dreams of Jolly Rogers
And cowboy shootouts waiting for
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poem by Terry Collett
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By Starlight.
She'd tell you
which group of stars
were what
in the evening sky
as you stood outside
the church after
choir practice
of a Friday night
and her finger
would lift up
and point it all out
and her words
would drift
on the night air
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poem by Terry Collett
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Edna's Asthma
Edna had asthma
And she used to put
This big black mask
Over her face
To help her breathe
And she talked
In short gasps
And wheezed
Between words
And had the best eyes
You could remember
And a smile that lingered
Long after she turned back
To shove the mask back on
And stood with one hand
On the table to steady herself
And the other gripping the mask
And it seemed death stood
In the wings of the house
Biding his time
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poem by Terry Collett
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The Girl Who Held Your Hand
You got on the coach
for the day trip
organized by the chapel people
for kids who were poor
and this girl
sat next to you
and said
you can be my boyfriend
for the day
and she took hold
of your hand
and gave it a squeeze
and you looked out
of the window
at your mother
standing there
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poem by Terry Collett
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Musing over Latte.
Floptin sits outside
the cafe on the mall
and watches the three
plump dames sitting nearby
one slightly plumper
than the others
and as he stares
it reminds him
of his first lady
the one who showed him
the ropes of sexuality
who sucked away
his innocence one night
and he recalls
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poem by Terry Collett
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Mrs Tinkledrip's Demise
Mr Alfreds was saddened
by Mrs Tinkledrip's demise.
She had the two rooms
along the hall from his.
She had music playing
from some old gramophone
most of the day, old dance music,
foxtrots, tangos, waltzes and all
and he was sure he could hear
her footsteps some days
along the floor, tap taping
and soft shuffling.
Mr Alfreds went
and painted her kitchen
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poem by Terry Collett
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So Extraordinary.
So extraordinary
that each time you saw her
it was like the first time
as if you had been new born
to the vision of her
even that last time
when she went across your view
with her husband
to the grocery store
and looking over at you
she smiled that smile of hers
and her eyes had that same sparkle
and even though
you had not seen her
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poem by Terry Collett
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After The Concert
After the concert you went
around the back and there
was the bus with John Lewis
talking to some guy by the
door and having got by them
you climbed aboard the bus
and saw the other members
of the MJQ and having made
your way towards them Percy
Heath gave you a big smile and
you said who you were and he
gave you the low down on his
double bass and signed your
programme and so did Connie
Kay although he didn’t have a
lot to say and then there was
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poem by Terry Collett
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Nothing To Say.
Auntie took you to the hut
where the wives of the soldiers
met up to chat and drink tea
and eat cakes and you sat in
the chair looking at each of
them in turn wishing time
would go and you could go
back home to your few toys
and play but no Auntie carried
on the talking and the long
conversations were way over
your head and now and then
they’d break into laughter and
some woman’s kid would cry
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poem by Terry Collett
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