She
She washes the grime from their worlds.
Too many hours in a day,
No more soap to clean,
The chains hold her down.
She used to be fresh, young.
Now she’s turgid, weighty.
Life’s uncontrollable – lost.
No more strength.
His shirt collars - must be white,
She has no white,
She sees patchy,
Beige, cream, grey.
She cleans the palace,
Every chamber must be diamond in the sun.
The grasses must be meadow fresh,
With the softness of a morning dew.
Silver must be silver, for him.
She has no silver,
Not even bronze;
Copper, she is copper;
Tarnished, old, used – copper.
He cares,
Tells her so many times;
He must tarnish her white,
Coat her silver,
Forget her O’s.
She needs him,
He brings gifts.
White roses with red.
She oozes,
Red over white,
Clear over red.
Purple skin,
Green under sockets.
Reek at the mouth,
Covered with rouge.
Her boat lies under her meadow,
Hidden from sight.
Just out of reach,
Lost as her white, silver, O’s.
He holds the key.
By Becky Clemett - 3rd June 1997
Him
All day long, the house is dusted;
Dishes are washed free of grime.
Carpets hovered, to rid them of him.
The drone of a car’s engine,
Pierces every ear.
Are the cups in place?
Is the rug clear of dust?
He storms in,
Bearing his gifts,
Thinking his thoughts,
Living his life.
The dishes are slimy,
The rugs are burnt with his every step,
His haze of rage settles on every surface.
She holds onto her life.
Stays out of harms way,
Grimy crockery – broken.
Words so foul,
Burn her ears.
There are no scars,
No bruising to be seen;
He is clever,
Plays mind games,
Attacks her only sane defences.
“Stupid”, “Lazy”,
what more can she do?
Body squashed by society.
So hard, to stand tall.
Life? Impossible!
She must carry on – she can not,
She loses herself.
He has just walked over her,
Now standing tall.
Squashing the last breath from her frail frame,
She is in his control.
By Becky Clemett - 9th June 1997
Why?
So many times, strings have been torn,
Broken hearted and lacking love.
Why do so many people,
Enjoy ruing her youth?
Talk of love and marriage,
The perfect romance.
Why can’t everything be simple,
There always had to be hate.
Eyes clouded with years,
Of unfulfilled dreams.
Lacking faith in her soul,
Why is she easily lead from the truth.
Many people tried to tell,
False love can never be.
Why does she have to deny,
When she can clearly sense.
It’s easier for her to believe,
His false tongue.
Why can’t she see;
Past the lingering odour from a foul mouth?
His scorpion’s body moves,
His snake eyes stare.
With words so cruel and crushing,
Why does he have to be so cruel?
By Becky Clemett - 6th September 1997
Depression
Pressure builds inside.
The release valve so close,
Yet he fills the way out.
Crushing her life, smashing her being,
He is supreme.
Standing tall on her flattened form.
Ordering impossible tasks,
That must be carried out, somehow.
Words so bitter,
Roll off his split tongue.
Knowingly he fires the poisoned arrows,
Each one hits the heart, every time.
Taking pride in his work,
He has perfect aim.
So many years,
He has now perfected it.
The bitter art of true hate,
Inflicted on his, own flesh and blood.
Always pushed away,
They have never been good enough.
He is so much better than them,
How can they ever live up to his expectations?
Flesh thickened by years of praise.,
He has risen to heights,
He does not deserve to be so high.
There is no way to get through to his mind.
Thick skull, metres high,
He does not seem to care.
They will have to escape,
Via the darkened tunnel.
By Becky Clemett - 14th October 1997
Unsuited?
Separate sides of the spectrum,
One calm the other wild,
Why did their path’s cross?
The truth was buried deep.
She wanders through life,
Without a solitary care.
Stress flows over her brow,
Never penetrating the humble exterior.
He lives on strain,
Frustration collects in the tunnelled verges.
On this waterlogged aching head,
The buzz of nicotine still lingers.
When the two meet in security,
No words pass tender lips.
Knowingly she smiles through her rouge.
He grinds through his bleeding mouth,
A smile would crack,
His tense muscles.
She dances on the harsh wooden floor,
Gliding to the rhythm so gracefully.
He swings at the annoying little object,
That cowers with his every breath.
At stroke of ten, she floats to the stairs,
Then climbs with such ease.
Dragging himself from the sagging blue sofa,
He pulls himself up the ‘damn stairs’
Opposite poles never repel,
They attract, match like pieces of a puzzle.
North and south, right and wrong,
Man and wife.
By Becky Clemett - 24th January 1999
Living again
My love for you,
Flows like a tarmac drive.
It’s never ending,
While I’m alive.
Worse for me,
Is the constant thought;
That all my life,
I’ve been distraught.
You look at me,
And now I know;
You really want me,
Just to go!
I wish you would,
Just say ‘Piss off!’
Instead of acting,
Like a toff!
We really shouldn’t,
Stay together.
Our lives would be,
Like hell forever.
Your pride prevents you,
Letting me go.
I no longer love you,
I think you know!
We argue now,
Both day and night;
I hit your eye,
Oh, what a sight.
With bluey gaze,
And snarling jaw,
You shouted loud,
(You’re such a boar!)
You don’t scare me,
At all you see,
So bugger off,
And let me be!
I’ve had enough,
I’m getting out.
So let me go,
I have no doubt!
You’re think and stupid,
You used to say.
Well just look here,
A brand new day.
Now I’m on top, you’re gonna lose.
You can’t go out,
With that great bruise.
What will you say?
“I’ve hit the door”
Or fallen again,
Upon the floor?
You’re such a state,
I must confess.
I’ve seen the day,
When you’re a mess.
I never thought,
I’d say to you;
You stupid man,
I hope you stew.
In your own juice,
Filled to the top;
Keep on swimming,
Until I stop.
Then you can,
Just fade away.
I’m having fun,
I’ll have my say.
No longer will,
You bully me,
I’ll lose you now
Beneath the sea.
Wondrous voices,
Yet to be seen.
I’ll enter the world,
A little less green.
I’ve let you go,
Leave me alone.
I’ve changed my life,
My love, my home.
Nothing will ever,
Hurt me as much.
As your unloving,
Venomous touch.
Deposit now,
Your belittling way,
Save it for,
Another day.
You’ll bowl over,
A woman fair.
With long and flowing,
Blonde / brown hair.
She will say,
“Oh love me true”
But that is so,
Impossible for you.
Love me false,
Is more like it,
You horrible man,
You stupid shit!
I’ve said enough,
It’s time to go,
Please don’t forget,
‘cos now I know.
She may be thin,
And oh, so pretty.
Then when she talks,
She is so witty.
She is a woman,
Like I am now;
Not a gullible,
Little cow.
She’ll not put up,
With your mood swings.
Or crocodile tears,
Like mountain springs.
She’ll slap you down,
As quick as that.
Then you will,
Look like a prat.
From round the corner,
I will appear.
To congratulate her,
“Well done my dear!”
“Oh ye you’re right,
He is a bastard.
Oh good idea,
We’ll go get plastered!”
Then off you’ll go,
Two ex’s in toe.
To hide your face,
That’s full of woe.
So go on now,
Have so much fun.
Just remember when the day is done.
You’ll not come crawling,
Back to me.
For I have changed,
As all can see.
I’m smart again,
No more the fool.
I’ve graduated,
From your school.
leave you now,
With a few thoughts.
To share with her,
And all her sorts.
You’re not a man,
You are a mouse;
So sod off now,
Leave this house.
Leave me behind,
To face the day.
So fresh of face,
And so less grey.
I live again,
Unlike you said.
No longer do I,
Lie in bed.
To sick to even,
Look at me.
But now I am
A wannabe!
I’ll be so good,
At looking swell,
So you my dear,
Can go to hell!
Goodbye at last,
It’s time to part;
Don’t try to stop me,
You stupid fart!
If ever I want,
To see you again,
I’ll step into,
The Lion’s den.
At London Zoo,
Where you emerged.
Look there you are,
A little turd.
By Becky Clemett - 22nd November 1999
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