Janet Budd

Janet Budd Poems

31st December 1919 – 6th March 2005

Don’t know where to find him.
How can I truly care?

Come listen to me.
Come, snuggle up close on Grandma’s knee.

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

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.

Love Lost

Found Poem from The Times, November 17,2007
From 'All you need is hate: the killing of John Lennon

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.


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

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.


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.

It is not there, this star I watch tonight.
Neither was it, when Mesopotamian sages
Scored clay tablets with epic myths of time.

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


The dust I breathe is anger from earth’s shell
It fights and bites inside my heaving chest.

I dash to get to B & Q
By eleven
That’s the time
The opening of the temple



Today I’m lying in the dentist chair
Wondering how to seem relaxed, my scheme
Is to by thought transport myself elsewhere.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

Janet Budd Biography

Family, Faith (Wiccan) and Friends in that order, are my priorities. I write poetry and short stories. Retired from work a couple of years' ago. Now studying for an MA in Script-writing.)

The Best Poem Of Janet Budd

From Arthur To Zen

31st December 1919 – 6th March 2005

Don’t know where to find him.
How can I truly care?
He left nothing behind him.

Tokens that would remind him
He’d scattered, who knows where.
Don’t know where to find him.

Where was the link to bind him
To his child? Should I care
He left nothing behind him?

I found a note signed by him.
Familiar yet rare.
Don’t know where to find him.

I wrote to define him
In curls and loops we share.
He left nothing behind him.

Maybe life resigned him
To desire but not to dare.
Don’t know where to find him
He left nothing behind him.

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