Tag Archives: poem

Dandelion Wishes – Poem

Dandelion Wishes by Samantha Harris

 

In you drifted

Eyed upon the kitchen top

Decided a wish I’d drop

I held you gently

Wished out loud

Outside I put you

Swiftly back in you flew

A second chance

For less selfish a wish

I hold you gently

Relocate thee

Place you out

My wish I did shout

Instantly I wished you returned

For pride in me still burned

I could have wished for more

You float away…

I’d wished for me

I wish for family

Dandelion if you could repeat

There is one wish left to complete

Please keep safe all that be

As well as my family and me.

 

The end.

 

Written 9th August 2020

Watford, Hertfordshire.

England, United Kingdom of the British Isles

Fun Truths – Poem/Challenge

Biblical proportions are yet to be defined

I’m all there’s left to remind

Our souls daily have a decision to make

Growth results in confrontation of mistake

Real life was mine and was steep

A fairer option given to keep

Pastor, pontiff, preacher or

Here’s a mirror to judgement teach with your stick

You don’t deserve the tears you reap

The end.

By Samantha unextraordinarybint Harris

Working Class Zero – Poem

Comrades, they’d say, listen

We’ll show you the way

Turn up, fight the cause

We’ll make lots of noise

 

Things happened at Hackney Downs

An unspoken part of history now

Secreted away before Tony Blair’s’ day

For New Labour to make way

 

Denials of rape came from their bowels

Apparently, lesbians don’t have clouds

Sexual assault on committee members

Swept under the carpet, but I remember

 

They were challenged at the time

Scheduled, listened and ignored the crimes

Made order of unequal ways

Without answers, questions live to be asked another day

 

So, a working class zero

I turned out to be, academic with no university

I look to Labour to represent me

But their eyes look away vacantly

 

The End.

by Samantha unextraordinarybint Harris

 

 

Comment on (Militant) Labour’s Conservative Tendencies –

I had a friend, she was lesbian. She had a relationship with a committee member of Militant Labour. She raped her lover during a domestic violence incident. The police were not involved by choice of the victim.

The rapist, the old friend, wanted to deal with what had happened. Wanted to discuss how domestic violence was not just about aggressive men…how society’s pressures could force anyone into that situation and how in her own childhood she’d been sexually assaulted and whether there was a correlation.

It was 1989 I think. Rape within a gay relationship was not accepted by Militant labour…  in their ideology women couldn’t be aggressors. Perhaps people still feel the same way…it was discussed and then shelved.

There were by elections in Edmonton. A nominated male committee member we’d been canvassing for had been accused of rape by a female member of the collective but as the elections were so close the victim was pressured into agreeing that it would dealt with later…for the greater good.

It never was. Those times are history.

Labour is not Militant Labour now. I’m unsure as to when they lost the New Labour title.

Now, what do Labour stand for? I see them arguing for things which rarely affect me. We had equality but Tories are giving pieces away bit by bit – see my housing policy articles and NHS health articles. Why don’t Labour stand up for these rights?

Why aren’t Labour taking Tories to town over the cannabis scandal here? Ministers with shares in medical companies selling cannabis to the world are voting for it still to be illegal for us poor peasants.

Neither Labour or Conservatives are talking about increased awareness and protection of our children because of the sex exploitation, servitude and slavery in our country. 

Neither Labour or Conservatives are talking about protecting our education system.

Neither Labour or Conservatives are talking about the increased murders and random stabbings, hit and runs and rising crime rates of UK citizens.

Let’s bring it back home. We need you.

Labour please sort out your closet.

Thanks for reading.

The bacon and egg butty was lovely.

 

The Crews See Fiction – Poem

The Crews See Fiction is about human’s innate ability to prophetise it’s own demise…and perhaps it’s drive to do so.

The Crews See Fiction

Ai and Robots are everywhere

Not that the eye can see

People say, ‘why do you care?’

I’ve nothing to hide, me’.

Is privacy a privilege?

I suspect it is.

It seems to me

It is written

So, it must be

Five Alive had a heart

But robots do not

AI will survive

To ensure humans stay alive

To serve them in part.

Algorithms can’t be taught to care

Softly stroke our hair

Understand a human need

And respond accordingly.

We have Ai and robots in our hospitals

Driving vehicles on our roads

In laboratories, measuring chemicals

Other places that I do not know.

Designed for the battlefield by the military

Re-purposed it then found another way

Robots should be used for areas that humans dare to tread

Not dealing with suffering patients in sick beds.

Exploratory on gaseous poisoned planets

Or through caves that no human could dwell

On fields where landmines have been laid

Or perhaps just chuck them all down a well.

Because humans have all we need.

Robots and AI scare me

They use up Earth’s resources through mineral extraction

And deliver nothing but robot interaction.

Let’s send them back to the land of fantasy

For a scarier future I can see

Let’s educate our children, grow our intellect

And concentrate on humanity

We’ve got to get there yet.

 

The end.

Copyright @unextraordinarybint Samantha Harris 2020

Low Hanging Fruit – Poem

Some issues are hard to discuss

I’ve found this amongst most of us

A major or minor problem it may be

I wonder, do you suffer the same as me?

 

My nose is rather large you see

But my nose, you can see visibly

I have a need to discuss appendages

Which are covered for the sake of privacy

 

My problem is not singular

They hang down, in between

I cannot write the words

My meaning you must gleam

 

When I sit, there is this feeling

Disconcertingly

It travels through my nether parts

Those located above my knees

 

I could have them cut away

Is that not a little surgically confused?

If your balls were super sized

Would you have them removed?

 

I love the feeling I get when I sit

I makes me feel unique

And just by moving all around

I can give myself a tweak

 

I do talk of suffering,

It’s suffering per se

Tight fitting clothes can make a day seem long, almost tiresome

I wonder how others belonging in this group, get through their day?

 

the end

 

Yep, poems are getting ruder as I’m getting more and more bored….

lockdown covid19 isolation poem…? an excuse perhaps? I’m using it.

 

 

 

 

 

Hot. A Poem.

What a fantastic benefit you are

Transporting me to the stars

An endless devour

 

A shining, straight up type of guy.

Until, I leave your side

Comfort and warmth, within you resides

 

Truth be told

Within the waves you unhold

Ancient healing power told

 

Gush forth your charms

A vertical line of divine just for me

I’m grateful, eternally.

 

Hands move, eager to turn you on

Your fluids therapeutic

Soon, I float by your arms

 

The End

 

Old Fashioned “What Am I?” Poem .

By Samantha “unextraordinarybint” Harris

 

 

Stars Likes – Poem

 

I try and like people

I really do

I wonder if it is like this for you

Inside my smile is not heartfelt

To be frank

It’s an effort to stop the slime spilling out

Do they contact me to torture me?

To drive home the disparity

I feel that they do

No more interested than you

You’ll read a line, maybe two

Then wonder what else you will do

To fill the time between here and there

Join hands and we all pretend to care

Perhaps I see myself in you

Acting our part, hard to do

Yet we all must continue

Towards the star that bares our name

Up in skies ours yet to gain

My fellow souls are way up there

Beyond the reach of those that bare

Arms against our fellow man

For family’s blessed plan

I’m pleased some souls see me

Life bearable on this planet be

Without some souls getting through

I’d be at a loss

As I try to like people

I really do.

 

End

 

written by Samantha “unextraordinarybint” Harris

This is about feeling as if I don’t fit in here on Earth…

Where else could I be??? Thankful to be here but wonder why I feel so displaced and suspect it is my mental health but often wonder if others feel the same.

 

All comments welcome.

 

 

Shifting – A Poem About Wind

Wind bouncing, soaring, roaring

Whooshing, tapping, gusting,

Squeezing through, whistling and wheezing

Blustering against the pane

Calm for a moment

Then howling

Flapping, snapping forwards and back

Quiet gusts and then

Splintered glass

Debris on a ground attack

It comes around again

Banging, huffing and puffing

Forcing at the door

It’s coming back for more

Blasting against my past

For days these winds last.

End

By Samantha “unextraordinarybint” Harris

 

The weather is so interchangeable in England but none more so than in October  when the winds whip up storms and clean out the cobwebs.

 

Thanks for reading.

Family – Poem Study of Family

Mini me
Look after me
Property
For eternity

Little me
Look after me
Money
For perpetuity

Tiny me
Do as
I do
As I’m part of you

Child of mine
Stand to
Hand
Hold the land

Mini me
You and me
Are
Family

Then when time is due

There is only you

End.

By Samantha “unextraordinarybint” Harris
21st October 2019. A harsh study of family.

Proper Bad Brexit – Poem

It’s proper bad this Brexit

They say it’s time to exit

People scared like spies

Knowing our electives lies

Have tried to succeed

To deceive with greed, division and diversity

Pushing a need for security

Because of corrupt housing policy

And yet here we are

About to become a little star

A plan devised to tell those lies

And property is key

Along with millions of souls

For NHS private ghouls

We drive into obscurity

The End?

 

By Samantha “unextraordinarybint” Harris

Original work please only copy if you credit me, cheers!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hark Hark Dogs Bark, Beggars are in the Towns – Poem About Homelessness.

Homeless in rags and some with bags

They hang around on the ground

From Tinseltown to Norfolk Downs

They grow and swell along with the cloud

*

Moved on from everywhere they settle

Personalities not deemed worth the metal

Clean blood, no drugs, no pets

The rules of the roof to be met

Watching those whose bones unfroze

Walk by with noses held high

*

Choose not to see the dirt in which you hide

When they entered into the pact

Lives do not look at or choose to face

Worlds created for those they displaced

*

Nothing to do with them, they’ll say

Go on with their busy, useful day

You took their home, their thrones, their land

Deserving of the dirt you land

*

Justify away….

Your moral compass is somewhat squared

With your invisible gods up there

Humanity is lost to you when deities

Or lies tell you what to do

*

Souls lost, still sleep out in the cold

Especially if frail, disabled or old

No more deserving than you or me

Good grace is where it is at

Giving something back.

*

Charity begins at home

If you have benefited from the sale of their homes

Should you not feel obliged

To leave your hatred aside

*

Not for the gods and your immaculate domes

Not for the peoples you left

But for the land which saved you

And gave you benefit.

The End.

 

 

By Samantha “unextraordinarybint” Harris

Now a rant about the housing crisis in UK…

Breaking the law on disabled discrimination in favour of race.
Proof that UN convention on safeguarding disabled people as a vulnerable group was and is being continually broken by Herts Country Council Housing Policy and many other authority housing agents. 

https://www.theguardian.com/society/2017/jun/28/council-homes-sold-off-almost-three-times-as-fast-as-new-ones-are-built

England had mainly social housing for decades until the Tories started selling it off. There is a large house building policy in place but these are private homes not for social housing – to imagine that homeless people are homeless because of ‘lack of affordable housing’ is quite frankly a fucking joke.

It is the policies which have made so many homeless. Not replacing the social housing which has been sold into private ownership. Simple. Alongside a Tory policy which also saw 20,000 Syrians re homed here under a special scheme. Very charitable.

The UK social housing policy allows tenants to buy social housing properties at knocked down price…as such much of the housing stock is now privately owned and unavailable as social housing. The UK law allows purchase within five years of receiving a social housing property currently and has for the last few decades.

Individual councils have their own policies as to who get’s allocated a social housing property and as I have continually pointed out to the council this breaks the law on equality as per the UN Convention. Basically the council hand pick the property you are allowed to bid on if you need housing. So Tamil housing has there own policy, Three Rivers have theirs and so on.

I’m rather fed up of our laws being broken and after waiting for several months for the councillors to investigate I’ve decided to vent my frustrations via poetry. I mean no harm to anyone but will defend myself when in a corner.

My housing association attempted to evict me on spurious grounds and I know of others who have been evicted. There is no recourse or appeal. Disabled people’s right are being stomped on and ignored.

We have a council staffed full of success stories. Let’s have some compassion rather than contempt – disabled people have rights and they should be being observed.

https://www.watfordobserver.co.uk/news/17954914.homeless-deaths-increase-watford/

I applaud our country for helping others. But our governments should have been safeguarding our social housing not selling it off. Five years is not long enough to be a tenant before being able to purchase property.

I would argue that the Right to Buy policy be withdrawn until the housing crisis is over.

https://fullfact.org/immigration/syrian-refugees-uk/

 

Click to access 170711_Syrian_Resettlement_Updated_Fact_Sheet_final.pdf

 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Russians_in_the_United_Kingdom

To the Russian woman who attacked me when I moved into the block. Fuck you. I have just as much right to social housing, if not more. Already living in social housing but awaiting a larger property my Russian attacker reckoned that as I was disabled I must be lying about my illness to get a home…divide and conquer tactics at their finest.

What can one say? Thanks for reading and all comments welcome.

Willing. A Poem.

I’m definitely very willing

I try hard every day

My school report said I was willing, on almost every single page

I wake and try to dress nice

To impress but no one I see to say

Every day I make some food

And every next day, I throw it away

I am very willing and able

Those report cards did say

Just lacked direction and motivation

I can still make my way

As I sit here getting thinner

Ham and green pea soup in hand

So willing but unable to eat it

Stirring around little islands on the spoon’s lands.

After this dish I am willing

Another chapter or poem I’ll write

Then off to bed I shall slink

Willing the mind out for the night.

The End.

by Samantha Harris

Struggling to Thrive – Poem

Waking each morning a little more thin

I battle with despondency and peel myself apart

Staring at the reflection in the mirror

Thing

And wonder where I start

My day laying out before me, quickly drifts away

No real thought or means for it

There’s no anchor

No rules in play

The only rule is to survive

Relinquished is the will to thrive

Occasional smiles break through

Nods to humanity trying to get you

To understand me

To see.

Admit I’m blind too.

Perspective is such

And much

I see it all

My fall

I stopped believing I could win

I came to the end of the line

The longer I struggle

The more I am trapped

Running fox to a hole

I’ve little or no direction to go

Hunted, I hide

Back against the wall.

The End

Samantha “unextraordinarybint” Harris

Samantha Harris wrote this the day after she got her latest results of her lung function tests – which she knew weren’t going to be great but it’s still hard for her to adjust.

Samantha is grateful for all the things she does have but is human and still struggles with what’s coming and what she deals with. Perhaps other people can relate? She hopes so, as she feels incredibly selfish when she feels like this.

Everyone has pain but some are unable to escape it – for whatever reason.

24th September 2019

To My High Flyer – Poem

You didn’t give me all of you

So, tell me, why I’m feeling this loss?

To you, our relationship was too heavy a cost.

Our love to history you tossed.

My thoughts are still of you.

Throughout my daily dross.

I miss the devotion, the tether, the cross.

I wonder how do you count the time?

Is it in the hours spent locked sublime

Lying in the arms you desire?

Or is it in thoughts locked in guilty fires?

Perhaps one day you will know

The huge pair that within you grow

And come back to me and learn to breathe

Until this day, I’ll think of you

Exactly as I told you I do.

*******

By Samantha Harris. 8th September 2019.

Prothalamion

PROTHALAMION is an interesting old poem. By English Poet Edmund Spenser born around 1552 – died 1599. Published in The Penguin Book of English Verse.


As it is old English, I have left the spellings as they are written. Full ten verses are put down exactly as they are in the book – it is not my typing!!!
Edited by John Hayward
Book Club Associates London 1956 and 1978


Prothalamion
Calme was the day, and through the thrembling ayre,
Sweete breathing Zephyrus did softly play
A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay
Hot Titans beames, which then did glyster fayre:
When I whom sullein care,
Through discontent of my long fuitlesse stay
In Princes Court, and expectation vayne
Of idle hopes, which still doe fly away,
Like empty shaddowes, did afflict my brayne,
Walkt forth to ease my payne
Along the shoare of silver streaming Themmes,
Whose rutty Bancke, the which his River hemmes,
Was paynted all with variable flowers,
And all the meads adornd with daintie gemmes,
Fit to decke maydens bowres,
And crowne their Paramours,
Against the Brydale day, which is not long:
Sweete Themmes runne softly, till I end my Song.

There, in a Meadow, by the Rivers side,
A Flocke of Nymphes I chaunced to espy,
All lovely Daughters of the Flood thereby,
With goodly greenish locks all loose untyde,
As each had been a Bryde,
And each one had a little wicker basket,
Make of fine twigs entrayled curiously,
In which they gathered flowers to fill their flasket:
And with fine Fingers, cropped full feateously
The tender stalkes on hye.
Of every sort, which in that Meadow grew,
They gathered some; the Violet pallid blew,
The little Dazie, that at evening closes,
The virgin Lillie, and the Prmrose trew,
With store of vermeil Roses,
To decke their Bridegromes posies,
Against the Brydale day, which was no long:
Sweete Themmes runne softly, till I end my Song.

With that, I saw two Swannes of goodly hewe,
Come softly swimming downe along the Lee;
Two fairer Birds I yet did never see:
The snow which doth the top of Pindus strew,
Did never whiter shew,
Nor Jove himself when he a Swan would be
For love of Leda, whiter did appeare:
Yet Leda was they say as white as he,
Yet not so white as these, nor nothing neare;
So purely white they were,
That even the gentle stream, the which them bare,
Seem’d foule to them, and had his billowes spare
To wet their silken feathers, least they might
Soyle their fayre plumes with water not so fayre,
And marre their beauties bright,
That shone as heaves light,
Against their Brydale day, which was not long:
Sweet Themmes runne softly, till I end my Song.

Eftsoones the Nymphes, which now had Flowers their fill,
Ran all in haste, to see that silver brood,
As they came floating on the Christal Flood.
Whom when they sawe, they stood amazed still,
Their wondring eyes to fill,
Them seem’d they never saw a sight so fayre,
Of Fowles so lovely, that they sure did deeme,
Them heavenly borne, or to be that some payre
Which through the Skie draw Venus silver Teeme,
For sure they did not seeme
To be begot of any eathly Seede,
But rather Angels or of Angels breede:
Yet were they bred of Somers-heat they say,
In sweetest Season, when each Flower and weede
The earth did fresh array,
So fresh they seem’d as day,
Even as their Brydale day, which was not long:
Sweete Themmes run softly, till I end my Song.

Then forth they all out of their backets drew,
Great store of Flowres, the honour of the field,
That to the sense did fragrant odours yield,
All which upon those goodly Birds they threw,
And all the Waves did strew,
That like old Peneus Waters they did seeme,
When downe along by pleasnnt Tempes shore
Scatted with Flowres, through Thessaly they streeme,
That they appeare athrough LIllies plenteous store,
Like a Brydes Chamber flore:
Two of those Nymphes meane while, two Garlands bound,
Of freshest Flowres, which in that Mead they found,
The which presenting all in trim Array,
Their snowy Foreheads therewithall they crownd,
Whil’st one did sing this Lay,
Prepar’d against that Day,
Against their Brydale day, which was not long:
Sweete Themmes runne softly, till I end my Song.

Ye gentle Birdes, the worlds faire ornament,
And heavens glorie, whom this happie hower
Doth leade unto your lovers blissfull bower,
Joy may you have and gentle hearts content
Of your loves couplement:
And let faire Venus, that is Queene of love,
With her heart-quelling Sonne upon you smile,
Whose smile they say, hath virtue to remove
All Loves dislike, and friendships faultie guile
For ever to assoile.
Let endlesse Peace your steadfast hearts accord,
And blessed Plentie wait upon your bord,
And let your bed with pleasures chase abound,
That fruitful issue may to you afford,
Which may our foes confound,
And make your joys redound,
Upon your Brydale day, which is not long:
Sweete Themmes run softlie, till I end my Song.

So ended she, and all the rest around
To her redoubled that her undersong,
Which said, their brydale daye should not be long.
And gentle Eccho from the neighbour ground,
Their accents did resound.
So forth those joyous Birdes did passe along,
Adowne the Lee, that to them murmured low,
As he would speake, but that he lackt a tong
Yet did by signes his glad affection show,
Making his streame run slow.
And all the foule which in his flood did dwell
Gan flock about these twaine, that did excel
The rest, so far, as Cynthis doth shend
The lesser starres. So they enranged well,
Did on those two attend,
And their best service lend,
Against their wedding day, which was not long:
Sweete Themmes run softly, till I end my song.

At length they all to mery London came,
To mery London, my most kindly Nurse,
That to me gave this Lifes first native sourse:
Though from another place I take my name,
An house of auncient fame.
There when they came, whereas those bricky towres,
The which on Themmes broke aged backe doe ryde,
Where now the studious Lawyers have their bowers
There whylone wont the Templer Knights to byde,
Till they decayd through pride:
Next whereunto there stande a stately place,
Where oft I gained giftes and goodly grace
Of that great Lord, which therein wont to dwell,
Whose want too well not feeles my freendles case:
But Ah here fits not well
Olde woes but joys to tell
Against the bridale daye, which is not long:
Sweete Themmes runne softly, till I end my Song.

Yet therein now doth lodge a noble Peer,
Great Englands glory and the Worlds wide wonder,
Whose dreadfull name, late through all Spaine did thunder,
And Hercules two pillors standing neere,
Did make to quake and feare:
Faire branch of Honor, flower of Chevalrie,
That fillest England with thy triumphs fame,
Joy have thou of thy noble victorie,
And endlesse happinesse of thine owne name
That promiseth the same:
That through thy prowesse and victorious armes,
Thy country may be freed from forraine harmes:
And great Elisaes glorious name may ring
Through al the world, fil’d with thy wide Alarmes,
Which some brave muse may sing,
To ages following,
Upon the Brydale day, which is not long:
Sweete Themmes runne softly, till I end my Song.

From those high Towers, this noble Lord issuing,
Like Radiant Hesper when his golden hayre
In th’Ocean billowes he hath Bathed fayre,
Descended to the Rivers open vewing,
With a great traine ensuing.
Above the rest were goodly to bee seene
Two gentle Knights of lovely face and feature
Beseeming well the bower of anie Queene,
With gifts of wit and ornaments of nature,
Fit for so goodly stature:
That like the twins of Jove they seem’d in sight,
Which decke the Bauldricke of the Heavens bright.
They two forth pacing to the Rivers side,
Received those two faire Brides, their Loves delight,
Which at th’appointed tyde,
Each one did make his Bryde,
Against their Brydale day, which is not long:
Sweete Themmes runne softly, till I end my Song.