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Poems By Mary
The Survival of the Fittest
There is an undercurrent of rage
Smouldering within the belly of society
It’s not fair ‘ says the voice within many
My social rights are not being recognised.
I need , l want , l must have , says the voice
within
I smoke , l vape , l drink , l shun the voice of reason
Food is not what l crave ?
Sitting on the streets begging ? Food is not what l crave
It is to be recognised that l am a person
With a heart beating within
A Soul that is longing for love and attention
Mutual respect
I sit there surrounded by my sole possessions
The chill of the pavement, the cold stare of contempt
Softened by the warmth of the stranger who does not pass by
Into the pocket searching for change
Deed done to pacify within
a pang of guilt
There is no room at the Inn?
Money will not be a passport to bed and breakfast
The clothes that determine entrance
Are not the clothes of the hand that begs for a bed that night
The hotel with a welcome for only those who wear attire that fits the bill ?
The mantle of shame upon society
Them and us
Self survival with eyes averted
We cannot be held responsible for survival of all who crave to be so
In the windows of restaurants and cafes
Placards advertising for staff
The youngster who reaches age 16 yrs
The care home environment is now out of bounds
Given a sum of money and an awareness
The world does not stop at the door of the interior of the “ care home “
on the other side is the reality faced on reaching the age of sixteen
A choice between paying up front ‘ one months rent in advance for accommodation
What then?
Like a horse and cart ‘ a room with a view
nourishes the Soul ‘ needs food and drink
to nourish the body
The streets of city life of cars buses and trams
The loneliness within
Sitting on discarded newspapers or the rags of yesterdays clothing now having lost its splendour
The harsh winds from the East with no shelter except a doorway that leads to nowhere
The spirit within broken, the heart filled with pain
The mind dulled with the Reality of a journey ahead
Years of sitting on the streets with the wall of division
The them and the us
Seeing yet unseen by those who pass by
The coals of resentment lying dormant within
One spark to ignite is all that is required
Fire in one ‘s belly flared into action ?
A small gathering of disenchantment
Enough is enough
The flames of passion for change ignited by the chill of the winds from the East
Civil unrest not dampened
Lessons from centuries past
Have not taught us in the Modern World
Bread alone does not feed ‘ giving solace
The iPhone is the door that has opened us all to the World at home and abroad
A World of Dreams for what could be
Them and Us ? Which “Them” are we? Which “Us “ are we ?
The unseen wall of division has no beginning
nor ending
Miracles can happen to the Few
A ‘ Voice heard ‘ that opens a door to a world of possibilities and change
Reality for the many is not the “ Workhouse “ of yesteryear
Only the walls and doorways of City Life at our back with the winds of change left and right
Survival of the fittest of “ Them and Us “
Mary G. Douglas
The Planet Earth
I awake from my slumber ‘
It is early morning ‘ middle of the night
Now there is a conundrum ?
When is it early morning ?
When is it the middle of the night ?
During the day ‘ it is precise
Morning ‘ noon and evening ‘ then it is night
Midday at 12:00’ midnight at 12:00
Giving us the order ‘ of a time to sleep
A time to be at rest ‘ a time to be alert
The pattern of Time ‘ is controlling
Thoughts and ideas ‘ in my head
Fluttering around ‘ only resting for a second
Not like bees ‘ darting hither and thither
When at rest ‘ they are busy ‘ not at rest
Their task ‘ to collect ‘ and deposit
Pollination of the planet ‘ giving us beauty
The Hive ‘ the centre of their universe
The honey ‘ spread on our toast’
sweetening all ‘ nourishment for us all
Pollution of the Planet ‘ on the other hand
When at rest on a beautiful summer ‘s day
Having a picnic ‘ all laid out ‘ on a cloth
After all ‘ not wishing our food to be polluted
The caring human ‘ at the point of leaving.
Gathers all ‘ the remains’ down to the crumbs
On our merry way’ to enjoy the scenery
The aim ‘ is to walk a few miles ‘ fresh air
exercise for the limbs’ a goal in sight
The hills and the valleys ‘ in their splendour
as we trek ‘ onwards and upwards ‘
to the summit ‘ wooded area to our left
on our right ‘ the sloping carpet of flowers
Prickly bushes ‘ hidden rock ‘ ready to trip
the unsuspecting ‘ hiking boots a must
As we three ‘ carefully ‘ with a steady gait
The Freedom to put ‘ one foot in front of the other
Strength in our limbs ‘ a beating heart ‘
lungs ‘ an exchange of gases ‘ in & out
the fit and the unfit ‘ a goal in sight ‘
to climb ‘ all the way to the summit ‘
freedom to roam ‘ a joy ‘ yet at a price
carrying our burden ‘ on our backs ‘
the flask’ the bottle of water ‘ the food
Bits and bobs ‘ the tools of our needs ‘
Nature provides ‘ but toil we must ‘ for survival
In factories ‘ on acres of land ‘ with back bent
the food on the table ‘ does not grow on trees
it takes money ‘ and hard work ‘ enterprise
On looking upwards ‘ resting for a few minutes
With a back cloth ‘ there he sat ‘ a buck hare
Us looking up at him ‘ in silence ‘ we gaze
He looking down ‘ in silence ‘ wary ‘
Ears pointing high ‘ rigid ‘ eyes ‘ staring
At the ready to take flight ‘ intruders not visitors
The wonder of nature ‘ it’s beauty
An artists palette could replicate on canvas
The wind and rain ‘ sleet or snow ‘
Within minutes ‘. would erase the scene ‘
Forty years on ‘ as l sit ‘ within my head
and thoughts’ a memory savoured ‘
Of the friendship of companions ‘ that day
Standing motionless ‘ holding our breaths ‘
Silence is golden ‘ on such an occasion
The azure blue of the sky ‘ clouds pink ‘
the buck hare ‘ with a look ‘ this is my patch
Who are you ?‘ not welcomed ‘ intruders ‘
Knowing ‘ within a few minutes ‘ and it did !!
Out from the woods on our left ‘ a pounding
the noise was filling the still of the moment
Our eyes ‘ did not see ‘ nor our mind register
The speed of movement ‘ as the buck hare
took off ‘ we know not where ‘ sensing danger
thoughts racing through ‘ thankful on high ground ‘ safe ‘ staying still ‘ holding our breath ‘Not in the valley below ‘ with a herd of deer
The Hare had speed ‘ with pack on our backs ‘
Clothing’ heavy hiking boots ‘ the vulnerable
Out of our comfort zone ‘ we were the enemy
The deer at speed ‘ disappeared from sight
40 years later ‘ this memorable moment
The camera can ‘ with a click ‘ take a snap ‘
The sight and the sounds ‘ not ‘ a still
The wonder of the moment ‘ decades hence
unseen ‘ yet seen ‘ forever there ‘ in one’s bank of memory ‘
The bees and the butterflies ‘ their beauty
A fleeting moment ‘ when seen ‘ busy ‘
Not at rest ‘
Idling our day ‘ thinking of what to do ?
On that beautiful day ‘ with two companions
A day not to be forgotten ‘ etched forever
The day spent idling ‘ here today and gone tomorrow .
Toil is welcoming ‘ at work ‘ or when at leisure
Giving us memories to bank ‘ when in future
We change our goals ‘ tempered ‘ with the
passing of time ‘
Nature is still out there ‘ a walk in the park
Meeting friends ‘ a visit to the library or the local?
Why oh why ‘ in this modern world ‘ litter ?
the scourge of the times we live in ‘
A lack of appreciation of those who drop’
the pizza box ‘ crisp packet’ the wrappings ‘
on the highways and byways ‘ streets and parks .
The bees’ butterflies ‘ insects and creatures
who add beauty to the hills ‘ valleys and rivers
giving and taking ‘ maintaining a balance ‘
We are the keepers ‘ yet users of what nature provides . Mutual respect ‘ appreciation ‘
There is an awakening ‘ of the next generation
Nurture it ‘ use it with care ‘ or we will lose it
Planet earth on its axis ‘ we don’t own it ‘
we owe it ‘ for our existence and future generations to inherit .
Mary G. Douglas
Fact & Fiction
Fact and Fiction walk side by side
Fact ‘ aware of the fickle nature
Fiction cannot be replied upon
Fact by nature ‘ keeps records ‘
Fiction my nature ‘ can be distorted
Professional assessment with documentation
Fiction aware of the nature of Fact
Compassion for those ‘ with persuasion
Fact weighs up the Pros and Cons
The old Maxim ‘ least said ‘ the better
the better for whom ? the big picture
Fact is aware of the repercussions’
Fiction by nature ‘ can be distorted
Fully aware ‘ of how Time ‘ softens Fact
Fact by nature ‘ keeps records ‘
Fiction by nature ‘ cannot be relied upon
Fact by nature ‘ can move forward
As documentation’ frees the mind
Giving room for growth’ with a thought
The past ‘ can be disabling ‘ a new beginning
Fact ‘ with an eye on the future ‘
Fiction ‘ with its fickle nature ‘
Has no room for growth ‘ enabling
The past is disabling ‘
The years roll by ‘ each step on the ladder
Fact keeps climbing ‘ onwards and upwards
One’s error of judgement’ likened to a misstep
A pavement slab ‘ out of alignment
With an eye on the ‘ potential of a mishap
Life trains the mind ‘ and the eye ‘
To watch out for the pavement ‘
out of alignment’ found in all streets of life
Fiction lurking ‘ to look for Fact ‘
not keeping an eye ‘ on what is Fact or Fiction
The years roll on ‘ each step on the ladder
Fact keeps climbing ‘ free of Fiction
Fact by nature ‘ keeps documentation
Frees the mind ‘ for being creative ‘
On completion of an achievement ‘ modest
in comparison’ with those scientific’
Breaking down barriers ‘for growth of knowledge ‘ cures for ailments ‘ affecting mankind
The next assignment ‘ spanning two years
The goal achieved ‘
Working with people and for people
A sense of giving ‘ to others ‘ has a warmth
On leaving school ‘ Aged 15 yrs .
Shorthand and Typing ‘ with Bookkeeping
Cold with precision ‘ mind ‘ stifled with boredom
Working got people and with people
No two days ‘ are the same ‘
Fact and Fiction walk side by side
Fiction cannot be relied upon ‘ in all walks of Life
Fact by nature ‘ keeps records
Giving room for growth ‘ with a thought
Wise words ‘ by College Tutor
On arriving at work ‘ leave your private life
at home
On leaving for home ‘ leave work behind
A metaphor surely ‘ a lesson for life
Leave one ‘s past behind ‘ as the years go by
the yesterday of today ‘ with a tomorrow
Fact by nature ‘ cam move onwards snd upwards
Fiction by nature ‘ cannot move forward
if the past is disabling ‘ prevention of
enabling ‘ room for growth
Throughout one’s journey ‘ the odd pavement
with a loose slab ‘ can trip one up ‘
Fact and Fiction walks side by side
Fiction by nature ‘ cannot be relied upon
Fact by nature ‘ keeps records
Fiction by nature ‘ can be distorted
Senior years can be disabled ‘ with memories
Fiction with no closure ‘ looking to trip
Fact by nature ‘ keeps records
Fact ‘ is faced ‘ with an option ‘ for peace of mind
Fact is left with a Fact of Life
Fact walks one step ahead ‘ leaving
Fiction to walk ‘ one step behind
Mary G. Douglas
Closed minds
A door ‘ it can look inviting ‘ yet not
A door ‘ it can make one shiver ‘ the
spine tingles ‘ what lies behind ?
It is not the door’ it is the sixth sense
A door ‘ into the mind of another
That is another matter ‘
Sitting outside ‘ waiting for the command
The door is a barrier ‘ one’s fate determined
discussed at length ‘ on the other side
The door of the office ‘ opens wide
A smiling face ‘ the CEO sitting behind his desk
With composure ‘ one’s heart beating loudly
The CEO will see you now ‘ coffee or tea ?
Coffee ‘ Thankyou ‘
The room was large ‘ why so large ?
The CEO was short in stature ‘ his voice
welcoming ‘ as invited to take a seat ‘
Outcome ‘ given the position ‘ shorthand typist
Not all doors ‘ give solace ‘ the dentist ‘
As one walks over the threshold
The sight of all those instruments’ aligned
The smiling face ‘ of the dentist ‘
Half hour later ‘ grateful thanks ‘ all is well
Doors ‘ are a part of life ‘ one’s own home
On the other side ‘ can be heaven or hell
A door can be inviting ‘ one’ senses with foreboding
One’s home is one’s castle ‘
One can pull up the drawbridge ‘
An atmosphere ‘ not a good place to be ‘
The eruption is unexpected ‘
Working in a caring role ‘ or making a private visit
Everyone has had this experience ‘ part of life
Difference being ‘ one makes a polite exit
There are many paths ‘ leading to a door ‘
It is what is on the other side ‘
Officialdom’ what is it about a door ‘
When it has a brass plate ‘ the door takes on
a personality ‘
A consulting room ‘ knees go weak ‘
What if ? bad news ‘ the two most unpopular
GP or one’s bank manager
One thing all have in common’ a part of life
The door that is unseen ‘ likened to a shutter
a door ‘ in the minds of another
A frozen smile ‘ an underlying meaning attached to a comment ‘ out of the blue
not subtle ‘ but not worth ‘ going down a path
that leads to nowhere ‘ not worth owning
those encounters are few and far between’
the mistake ‘ one makes ‘ is to go back for more
Learn the lesson ‘ don’t self doubt ‘ and ‘ get
out the kitchen.
A door we all encounter’ once bitten ‘ twice shy ‘ returning to hoping ‘ this door will be welcoming ‘ is in itself ‘ a dish served cold ‘
why go back for more ‘
Choose well ‘ one’s companions
Behind the door of the mind of others
Better one friend true ‘ than have many ‘
Closed minds are difficult to open ‘ as with a door ‘ with padlock ‘
The key to contentment is to call it a day ‘
and move on with one’s life .
Mary G. Douglas .
I have an opinion says Know it All
I have an opinion says know it all
Have you ? based on what ‘ says his friend
Well ‘ you know ‘ it is my opinion ‘
Do you read books ‘ newspapers or listen
Not really ‘ but l have an opinion
As said ‘ says his friend ‘ based on what ?
Well ‘ you know ‘ it doesn’t take much to know
Know what ‘says his friend ‘ do tell me
Well ‘ it’s obvious is it not ?
What is obvious ? according to what ?
Well ‘ you know ‘ it is my opinion’ says know it all
I won’t know ‘ know it all ‘ until you tell me
Well ‘ in my opinion ‘ it’s obvious is it not ?
Well ‘ it must be true ‘ the way l see it
See what ? Know it all ‘ says his friend
Well ‘ l enjoy the company of this person
Known them for years’ says know it all
What difference does that make ‘ know it all
Well ‘ it is obvious is it not? says know it all
It is my opinion ‘ they know what they know
Do you read books ‘ newspapers or listen
Read books ? What kind of books ?
Newspapers ? waste of time ‘ why bother
nothing but gossip ‘ in newspapers ‘
and not the type ‘ says ‘ know it all
and for tittle tattle ‘ no time for that ‘
For what it’s worth ‘ it is my opinion
Only thing ‘ nowadays ‘ in my opinion
To trust your own judgement ‘ says know it all
Based on what ? Know it all ‘ says his friend
Well ‘ says know it all ‘ it’s what l know ‘
Stands to reason ‘ says know it all
Know what? Know it all ‘ says his friend
It’s clear to see ‘ says know it all
What is clear to see? Know it all ‘ says his friend
It is obvious is it not ‘ says know it all
it’s the talk of the village ‘ says know it all
what is the talk of the village ‘ says his friend
Well ‘ in my opinion ‘ says know it all
There is no smoke without fire ‘says know it all
In my opinion ‘ there must be truth in it ‘
Truth in what ? Know it all ‘ says his friend
In my opinion says know it all ‘ to his friend
There is no smoke without fire ‘ let it rest
In my opinion says ‘ know it all ‘ to his friend
Not one for listening to gossip’ says know it all
It is my opinion ‘ for what it’s worth ‘ says know it all.
Best left to rest ‘ says know it all ‘ to his friend
Mary G. Douglas
Them thar days of “ The Fifties
A year and a day ‘ seems far away
Time waits for no one ‘ more the pity
A day without toil ‘ is a stretch too far
Time is a bore ‘ if idled away’
Yet when the night ‘ beckons
Sleep overcomes us ‘ time plays tricks
No sooner eyes close ‘ Dawn is upon us
The piercing cry ‘ a ringing in one’s ear
Time waits for no one ‘ a day of toil ahead
If a Monday ‘ one gets the blues
A day of toil ‘ is a stretch too far
Five more sleeps ‘ before the weekend
Mondays are the days one can count
A year and a day ‘ not so far away
Never off work ‘ until one reflects
Three Mondays ‘ the favourite unwell days
Not for l ‘ but yet for a colleague ‘ a
regular occurrence’ doubling up pressure
On those who turn up ‘
Time is a strange companion ‘
Can look upon you’ with compassion
Yet can be cruel ‘ when on arrival
The car won’t start ‘ the bus too early
The commuter’ who lives in the Styx
The train to London ‘ it’s tail disappearing
Always on a Monday ‘ becomes an unwell day
A strange phenomenon’ this is a day
A day of toil ‘ on things neglected
Time waits for no one ‘ not stretched enough
Sleep is welcomed ‘ the day not long enough
Tomorrow is Tuesday ‘ must be up early
A pile of work ‘ awaits ‘ lying on one’s desk
No one at work ‘ will have shown compassion
The invoice tray ‘ piled high to the sky
I worked in an office ‘ out in the yard
The ladies ‘ with muslin bonnets ‘
From my pedestal chair’ perched high
I could see them plodding ‘ the chasm ahead
The dark interior ‘ beckons ‘ in they go
Swallowed up’ the conveyor belts ‘ awaiting
with chocolates shaped like whirlpools
The walnut embedded ‘ sitting on the base
The chocolate factory our ‘ famous for its brand
As one sat perched high ‘ on the pedestal stool
Typewriter set ‘ all one had to do ‘
Fast and furious ‘ with fingers clicking
Eyes to the left ‘ scanning the invoices
Yesterday’s count ‘ had to be topped
The profit margin set ‘ had to be reached
Speed was off the essence ‘ no larking about
The window to the street below ‘ on my left
Early morning dog walkers ‘ on route to the Links.
As one sat perched high ‘ on a pedestal chair
Do people choose ‘ a pet that looks like them ?
Memory serves me well, as l sat at break
A cup of tea ‘ off the trolley ‘ trundling by
Myself and Janice ‘ who worked alongside
Having a giggle ‘ as each passer ‘ by
Resembled their pooch ‘ same nose ‘ and chin
Footwork ‘ and paws ‘ all four ‘ walking ‘
The rhythm’ precise ‘ no background music
Marching along ‘ military style ‘ on a mission
The Lochee Park ‘ stretching far and wide
The restraint of the leash ‘ free at last
The pooches ‘ all shapes and sizes
Took off like rockets ‘ all of one mind
To find their favoured spot ‘ with a sniff or two
Ah ‘ here we are ‘ once this ritual over
With leaps and bounds ‘ pooches big and small
A sight to behold ‘ a joy to watch
Our necks craned ‘ with noses pressed hard
Whistle blowing sharply ‘ in one’s ear
Tea break over ‘ in regimental style
All ‘ as one ‘ on the typing pool ‘ twirled around
Sitting high on our pedestal stool ‘ at the ready
Typewriter set’ all one had to do ‘ with
Fast and furious ‘ with fingers clicking ‘
Eyes to the left ‘ scanning the invoices
Yesterday’s count had to be topped ‘
The profit margin set ‘ had to be reached ‘
Speed was off the essence ‘ no larking about
The whistle blowing sharply ‘in one’s ear
Arthur ‘ the man in charge ‘ gave the nod
A cheery smile ‘ used to be a paratrooper ‘
With precision we all ‘ covered our typewriters
Leaving the office ‘ as one’
On reflection ‘ 60 years later. ‘ robots today
thinking ‘ we had freedom ‘ the modern world
Is a mirror image ‘ of the days ‘ when aged 20
Robots then ‘ marching to the tune of Time
Only difference’ not the clicking of fingers ‘
clicking in unison ‘ a room full of order ‘
The whistle blowing sharply ‘ in unison
The clicking of fingers ‘ silenced as one ‘
The modern world ‘ has a blanket of silence
From Dawn to dusk ‘ one cannot ‘ chatter
To the tune of the keyboard of yesteryear’
It was a skill ‘ the clicking of fingers’
Eyes to the left ‘ scanning the invoices ‘
tongues busy ‘ along row upon row
A massive room ‘ full of noise ‘
the clicking of fingers ‘ the wagging of tongues
Outside each morning ‘ when having a break
The March of the pooches ‘ with lookalike owners
As one ‘ with the daily ritual ‘
no wonder Lochee Park so green’ well manured’ no plastic bag ‘ as now order of the day
On reflection ‘ robots ‘ all ‘ our daily chore
A profit margin ‘ each day ‘ had to be proven
If smart ‘ one collected off the pile ‘
A keen eye ‘ recognising ‘ more can be less
Less can be more ‘ arriving sharp at eight ‘
one’s profit margin guaranteed’ to be more ‘
than one’s colleagues’ who were stragglers ‘
left with the ‘ thought ‘ profit margin today
will not reach the target ‘ of less can be more ‘
On reflection ‘ all have one thing in common’
Ants on the hill ‘ all marching ‘with a burden light ‘ or heavy ‘ to the Tune of Time ‘
Happy days remembered
Mary G. Douglas .
