Ruth Walters Poems

Who's there?
walking among my memories
tripping over cells of humour
falling on old war wounds.
...

Miss Jeffries was cold,
like a dry, stale turkey sandwich.
She was always in a foul mood,
curling up at the edges.
...

Recycled teenager

The teenager was looking jaded,
all those late nights and
...

The perfect day sits in old photographs
on mantlepieces and console tables
but it was never really perfect.
Moments of it may have been,
...

I don't like cabbages,
despise lumpy mattresses
and men that wield control with glee,
or cats that purloin my favourite seat,
...

He lived next door, so quietly,
with sour face and manners,
always pottering about
at dark, unearthly hours.
...

I watch my grand-daughter
as she looks up at the sky.
'Tiny aer-o-p'anes' she squeals.
...

If you were to strip the canvass away,
scrape the surface a little,
you may see a different picture.
Errant parents, drinking, gambling,
...

The table was messy, dirty, and annoying.
I didn't want to clean the table
and the table didn't want to be cleaned.
The table and I stared at each other.
...

1st hour
.
In the hour before work,
she bathes her children,
...