Page Three
In our current
Celebrity obsessed culture
Many people establish
A symbiotic relationship
With popular dailies.
A snapshot on page three
Is also the ambition of
Many a wannabe
The skimpier the outfit
The flashier the jewelry
The greater the impact
Is the general belief
Many a cute young thing
Sporting a little black number
Would be delighted to
Feature on page three
For if she does succeed
All her dreams would be
Fulfilled
As there is nothing more
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poem by Sandra Martyres
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My humble abode
Money, money, money
In a rich man’s world
Honey, honey, honey
I don’t belong there
You have to understand
I won’t do anything underhanded
Even if it means losing you
To one of the spoilt and rich few
True it will break my heart
And perhaps I will never make a new start
But I have my principles and taboos
And you need to respect them too
I prefer having less but staying peaceful
Rather than being rich and feeling miserable
If you think you can share my views
I will be more than willing to welcome you
To share my humble abode
Located on the next parallel road
poem by Sandra Martyres
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She dared to be different
She dared to be different
She packed her bags
And walked away quietly
From the familiar scene
The family looked on
Shocked and dismayed
As she caught a bus and
Disappeared into the night
No message did she send
No calls did she take
As she wanted anonymity
She destroyed her identity
She went on to change
Her appearance and her name
These were her first steps
Towards her own independence
The family finally stopped
Trying to track her down
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poem by Sandra Martyres
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God will find a way
My son, these are a few lines that I want to share with you
Remember God is there, even though with life, I am through
My son, even if you have no money you do not have to stray
No matter what, never lose hope or trust God will find a way
My son, even if it is a question of mind over matter
Remember, God takes care of the odd mad hatter
My son, even if it seems so, this is not the end of the world
Keep the faith, God has his own plans which he will unfurl
My son, with these few humble words of advice I leave you
Remember the values we have shared and you will sail through.
May God bless you always........
poem by Sandra Martyres
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Pink Slippers
She always wore pink slippers
They were her signature footwear
When one pair wore out completely
She quietly produced another
The neighbours thought it strange
But no one dared comment on them
If pink slippers were what she wanted
Then who were they to question her
Then one day realisation dawned
She had made it her goal in life
To make women aware of their rights
Pink slippers were the right reminder
When she died the female population
Of the town was seen sporting them
They believed that it was the only way
To pay tribute to her who had just died
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poem by Sandra Martyres
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On that Fateful Picnic Day
On that fateful picnic day, when
To prove that we were different
We bravely plunged into the dam
To exchange wedding wows
Amid a cheering group of friends
We held hands and sent up a prayer
Sealing our union with a kiss
The glorious moments unfortunately
Did not last very long, we were struck
With the awful feeling of being
Caught in a whirlpool with
The angel of death hovering close by
Terror was writ large on the faces
Of all our friends and witnesses
As they faced the prospect of having
To dive into the water to save us
Eventually they did brave it and we
Were all fortunate to come out alive
To celebrate our wedding in a church
With all the traditions - white dress
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poem by Sandra Martyres
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An Ode to Paul
A soothe- saying invertebrate
Takes the world stage by storm
By accurately predicting winners
And by deduction the losers too
The ecstatic winners are thrilled
To offer him goodies and publish
Eulogies about his stunning feat
In accurately predicting their wins
The losers of course have their guns
Trained on the poor psychic octopus
Some onlookers observe the scene
With a quiet sense of amusement
As the creature hogs the headlines
“Preserve him, give him 24/7 security”
Shout the soccer tournament winners
“Get your pans ready for fried octopus
Hopefully Paul will make a tasty dish”
Shout the more distraught losers
The muse in me, sits back and wonders
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poem by Sandra Martyres
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The Big Fat Wedding
The half-naked street children
Were totally awe-struck as they
Watched the bride-groom
Mount a gaily caparisoned pachyderm
Right in the middle of the city
A brightly coloured sunshade
Was also part of the paraphernalia
Along with the procession of friends
And close relatives who followed
Dressed in their wedding finery
Carrying trays of sweets and gifts
It was the usual ostentatious ceremony
Totally in keeping with the tradition
Of the big fat local Wedding
At the time I stood by and wondered
What went on in the minds
Of the poor children and of course
The other ordinary passers by
Was it one of disgust or resentment
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poem by Sandra Martyres
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A Banker's Prayer
Dear God,
Let our borrowers pay us back
We can take no more flack
We have to remain on track
Or face the inevitable sack
Governments, tax payers, citizens
You name them
They are watching us
With focussed eagle eyes
We are literally surrounded by spies
Any whiff about a distressed asset
Or a loan turning toxic
Even if it is only an empty rumour
Is enough to send our stocks south ward
And of course provide the usual fodder
For dinner time conversations
Which continue to dwell unendingly
On the familiar greed narrative
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poem by Sandra Martyres
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Reminiscing on Mother’s Day
Torn between my Blackberry
And my little baby
Is already a tough call
But that is not all
As a working Mom
My cup of woes
Often overflows
A sulking husband
A whining baby
And to top it all
A very demanding Boss
Leaving me at a total loss
My head spins not knowing
On whom I should focus my attention
Indeed I must admit
It is to my baby that I generally submit
He who makes the loudest sound
Is bound to make me turn around
Between husband and boss
It is often the lucky toss
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poem by Sandra Martyres
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