Janet Budd

31st December 1919 – 6th March 2005

Don’t know where to find him.
How can I truly care?
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Come
Sofia.
Come listen to me.
Come, snuggle up close on Grandma’s knee.
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I did not want to taste the salty sea
Just sample cool thrills on a far off beach
To celebrate a school trip nearly done
A tale I could relate once back at home
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These pews don’t lend themselves to private grief.
A well of tears leaks down my cold, cold cheeks.
Her family must be wondering who we are.
Strangers treading on their private sorrow.
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Love Lost

Found Poem from The Times, November 17,2007
From 'All you need is hate: the killing of John Lennon
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I’m not supposed to say it
But let’s face it, it’s true
I can think of loads of people
Who should be dead instead of you.
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I do so want to be desired by you.
I’d love to be desired for some small time
By someone who provokes a smile, and who
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I wonder to be blonde. What signifies
That fair Madonna of the nativity
Playing before parental beaming eyes?
The paragon dark urchins fail to be.
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Fitzgerald flooded in to end my night
Cradle song that put my dreams to flight.
A waking spell was cast, my visions caught
By sun bright arrows through a bow of light.
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It is not there, this star I watch tonight.
Neither was it, when Mesopotamian sages
Scored clay tablets with epic myths of time.
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Your flat familiar vowels curl my toes.
I nestle on the settee, hold my breath,
watch planets burst from embryonic glow.
I wonder at your wonder and feel blessed
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DEMETER MOURNING

The dust I breathe is anger from earth’s shell
It fights and bites inside my heaving chest.
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I dash to get to B & Q
By eleven
That’s the time
The opening of the temple
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LOVER, COME AND RISE BEFORE ME
BATHE ME, STIR ME WITH YOUR GLORY.
DRAW ME TO YOU, DRINK MY MEASURE.
LOVER, COME AND TAKE YOUR PLEASURE
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Today I’m lying in the dentist chair
Wondering how to seem relaxed, my scheme
Is to by thought transport myself elsewhere.
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I enfold her as if I hold in my hands
A diaphanous shawl woven loosely
From silken skeins of hope and fear. I feel
Strongly, she’s so much part of me. Obliviously
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November bomb-fires refuse to take light
Like sultry splutters of a lazy passion.
And drowsy hedgehogs under dead, damp wood
Dream snail’s trail filaments of kiss and touch.
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And butterflies do not land, they alight.
I know, I’ve had one land on me. So light
At first I didn’t notice she was there.
Her curled, unfurling wings disgorging bright.
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The storm falls on the tar like coloured glass
Bouncing. Shining rubber boots sheath small feet.
A tartan umbrella shields my head.
The drab school Mac makes my outfit complete.
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I was given a dancing gown,
woven by the dew drops just for me.
Each thread, it was untangled from a dream.
The warp and weft were loose. In between
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