Poetry Circle

Poetry Circle


White suit, walked into the poetry reading, grinning white teeth,
Smart, good looking, with the charm of a cockroach.
Five middle aged ladies, two elderly men sat in a circle,
The man reading, paused, coughed, glanced up at his approach.

He edged his way between ladies, blue rinse and pink hair
He sat himself centre circle, someone had placed a chair there.
He apologised for being late for reasons he wouldn’t indicate.
The man with the cough continued his poem, not to do so would be unfair.

His growing prostate played up as he ended his verse, he’d never felt worse.
Seven ardent listeners mumbled appreciation.
White suit smirked, clapped slowly and said the timbre hadn’t worked,
Even though he’d missed most of it, he felt no interrelation.

A lady, who, due to chemo, was very thin, no hair and looked like ET, (forgive me)
Snapped ferociously at white suit and said – he was no judge.
White suit smiled broadly, replied that he was a published author,
Hissed that he hadn’t taken offence and would hold no grudge.

This lady, who was a complete wreck and had the brightest of eyes,
Died within. She slouched as she began to read her poem – Life is Endless.
White Suit brushed dust from his arms, examined his finger nails.
The circle was enrapt, attention wrapped, this lady was matchless, timeless.

Life is Endless went thus:

I was born in depression, Father killed at war, Mother lost, forlorn.
But my birth was praised and I was raised. Mother and I.
I was duly schooled but never fooled about my right to life
At twenty I cried and cried when Mother died. Dried my eyes, said goodbye.

I married a man a lot older, an old soldier, sad and kind old Dan.
He lived for me but not for long, he was a soldier, he was a man.
I couldn’t have children, I was barren.
He died when I was thiry, he was my lover, my Superman.

Through all this **** I wrote verse, deep and meaningful, at least to me.
Then I settled into widowhood and caught what Mum gave to me.
Pink hair and blue rinse sobbed into silk hankies.
Then I went into chemo-therapy.

The good news is, although I look like ET, the chemo is over.
The bad news is it didn’t work and I will die soon.
The fifth lady, who’d had a positive breast test, cried.
My life and your life is filled with fortune.


White suit, the judge, was chewing nails and weeping.
He was mad. He was sad. He knew about stanzas but he was a jerk.
My life continued – she adjusted her frail collar around her frail neck.
I understand that my life is part of God’s handy work.



Prostate man coughed, suggested ET go on: -
Life is endless, life is happyless and sadless,
I love you all, including the judge, White suit.
I have never harmed anyone and that surely makes me badless.

The circle applauded
White suit crumpled and fell.
ET slumped.
Blue rinse and pink hair were distraught
ET was dead, yet they were all under her spell.