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Six Poems
by Joyce Walker




A Jack The Lad To His Mrs

(After Marlowe)


Come live with me and be my love

Though we’re not wed, we’re hand in glove.

There’s a new estate close to South Shields,

The Council built it on some fields.


I’ve got some keys that fit the locks

To one of them, don’t look so shocked,

Just tell the inspector when he calls

That our six kids need roof and walls.


It’s all he needs, ’cause he supposes

They live in damp, have runny noses,

The tale I told, for the last hurdle.

Oh and put some padding in your girdle.


Sit knitting bootees in white wool,

That way they’ll think your belly’s full

And know that hardship will unfold

When the landlord throws us in the cold.


Don’t let on the kids are borrowed,

Will go back home to Sis tomorrow,

Or they will never let us move.

Come live with me and be my love



a line, (a short blue one)



A New Me


How slim I was at twenty,

But I fear those days are gone,

I carry fat aplenty.


Fond memories live on

Of a waist no longer there,

Before I weighed a ton.


My days of long dark hair,

Without a hint of grey,

That made the men-folk stare.


Those days, now far away

Still fill me with regret,

Too bad, they didn’t stay


I miss them so, and yet

I’m sure that I can change

And a better figure get.


I’ll gladly rearrange,

To how slim I was at twenty,

And once more I’ll think it’s strange,

To carry fat aplenty.



a line, (a short blue one)



Census at Bethlehem


Census At Bethlehem – Pieter Bruegel the elder


How well you transferred to canvas

The night there was no room at the inn.

How cold and bleak, yet full of crowds

The place, as Joseph led the pregnant Mary

On an ass, to be counted by oppressors.


Did Mary, I wonder, know the birth was imminent?

Certainly, she wouldn’t know the stir her baby caused.

Worshipped equally by shepherds and by kings,

By man and beast and worshipped still today.



a line, (a short blue one)



The City


The city is a busy place,

Theatres, shops and bars

Line its bustling streets.


Men in suits hurry to and from

The railway stations to offices,

Where world trade is carried out.


But while for some the streets

Are paved with gold, for others

It’s a hellish place to be.


Ask the old man in the park,

A cardboard box his only home,

The girl who sells her body,


Not for pleasure, not for fun,

But because she’s an illegal, trafficked,

Needs to pay the man who brought her here.


So, as you walk its pavements,

Sit in theatres, drink in bars,

Spare a thought for the man


Whose cardboard box, is home,

For the girl who prostitutes herself.



a line, (a short blue one)



Incy Wincie Spider


Incy wincie spider,

Ran round and round the garden.

Burping very loudly,

He said, “I beg your pardon.”


Incy wincie spider

Couldn’t find the spout,

He knew there was a drought on,

So he wouldn’t get washed out.


Incy wincie spider,

Asked a teddy-bear,

Who said, “You must be blind, old man,

The drain-pipe’s over there.”


Incie wincie spider

Climbed the spout, so steep.

Curled up in his favourite spot

And promptly fell asleep.



a line, (a short blue one)



She Takes The Floor


She takes the floor and plans to dance till morn

Watching her gyrate, her partners ask for more,

While women view her moves with envied scorn,

She takes the floor.


My envy of her seeps through every pore.

I cannot help but wish she’d not been born.

Her conquests now are drawn from every shore.


The hearts of men, she now from them, has torn,

They love her as they’ve never loved before,

Too bad she’ll join her husband, come the dawn,

She takes the floor.




a line, (a blue one)


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