Ruth Walters Poems

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

Recycled teenager

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

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

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 told me things would get better,
swore he'd make life okay,
pledged to toss out his errant ways
and stay home from the pub for a change,
...

I bought a tiny, dainty clock,
(tick tock, tick tock goes my little clock)
but it doesn't tell the time a lot
though it gives my hall a tiny heart
...

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.
...

The green socks always
looked cute,
were always together,
neat and paired.
...