Biography of Janet Budd
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.
Janet Budd Poems
From Arthur To Zen
31st December 1919 – 6th March 2005 Don’t know where to find him. How can I truly care?
Come Sofia. 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.
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.
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
Love Lost, Love Found
Love Lost Found Poem from The Times, November 17,2007 From 'All you need is hate: the killing of John Lennon
Kath - Who Echoes Still
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.
A Wonder Of The Universe
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
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.
DEMETER MOURNING 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
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
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.
I ponder on the sad sadistic Myra
Mixed up Marilyn, mysterious Marlene.
Iconic blondes exude peroxide fire
Out-do the dull plethora in between.
My brown, unwieldy curls are turning grey