May contain Rants · Uncategorized

DRESS LIKE SPIDERMAN …

SOME PEOPLE WISH FOR RICHES

TO DRIVE IN FLASH CARS

MERCEDES OR PORCHE TO NAME BUT TWO

SOME PEOPLE WISH FOR EXPENSIVE THREADS

TO ADORN THEIR BACK

BY WEARING  DESIGNER SUITS

SOME  LIKE TO FLASH THEIR CASH

TO GO SHOPPING IN EXPENSIVE STORES

THESE ARE THE PEOPLE WHO FORGET TO REMEMBER

ME I’D LIKE TO GO BACK TO 1971

REMEMBER HOW COOL IT IS WAS TO BE A CHILD BACK THEN

TO BE  5 YEARS OLD

DRESS IN YOUR SPIDERMAN COSTUME

YOU GOT FOR CHRISTMAS 1970

TO BE RIDING YOUR BICYCLE

WHILST YOU PEDDLE DOWN THE ROAD

OF  POPPING BLACK TAR BUBBLES ON WARM SUNNY DAYS

MAKING BIRDS NEST OUT FRESHLY CUT GRASS

OH TO BE A CHILD A AGAIN IN 1971

COPYRIGHT JUNE BOLLAND 2014

May contain Rants

In a sea shell…

Shell1

Is it possible to feel like a child again

To view the world through the innocence of their eyes

To play those games where you count to ten

(Coming ready or not!)

Or to spend summer days lying in long grass

Making shapes out of clouds that float across the blue skies

(Look there’s the shape of a dog!)

The sound of the school bells rings out loud

And you’d smile ear from ear as you ran out of class

(Cheering as we see mothers waiting to greet!)

Being read bedtime stories at night

Fairy tales, Roald Dahl and Dr Seuss

Drifting off as they slowly retreated turning off the light

(To dream of Green Eggs and Ham!)

Adventures at the seaside

Climbing rocks as big as boulders

To collect sea shells and take they home in a bag

(Listen you can hear the sea in this shell!)

But childhood all to quickly floats away

Like a balloon it carries ours dream away

And we are left here with adulthood bearing down on our shoulders

Search out that shell you once collected

Place to your ear, hear the sea roar

And the innocence of childhood is recaptured once more

©Copyright 2014 by June Bolland

May contain Rants

I’m the land of words

books

“Child hide!” my inner voice would say

As the voices boomed from the kitchen

And I would run as fast as my tiny feet would carry me

Behind the sofa I would hide

But as the noise began to

Ricochet off the walls and the ceiling

Crouched I’d sit

And

Hide my face away

Deep in the blackness

Of my cotton and acrylic cave

I would stay

Until the noise would cease

And they would come and  find me

And with remorseful hugs

They would hold me

On those days when my parents needed to talk

I was given refuge with my grandfather

His house was a refuge for people

And for books

Rows of musty smelling

Hard backed books

Treasure Island

Robinson Crusoe

Little women

And book with words that didn’t have chapters

But with words that dance beautifully across the page

 Betjeman, Yeats, Woolf and T.S Elliot to name but a few

I listened as he would recite stories of far off lands

And hang on to every word

Of those of verses of love he would recite

I remember his heart danced

But his voice would quiver

I now realise he was thinking of my grandmother

As I grew I would search for those words he read

And lock them away inside my head

  So for those times when my thoughts are dark

And those demons come a knocking

I no longer hide behind seated barricades

I no longer hide away in my cotton and acrylic cave

I escape to the land of words

Where demons  are not welcome.

©Copyright 2014 by June Bolland

May contain Rants

I'm the land of words

books

“Child hide!” my inner voice would say

As the voices boomed from the kitchen

And I would run as fast as my tiny feet would carry me

Behind the sofa I would hide

But as the noise began to

Ricochet off the walls and the ceiling

Crouched I’d sit

And

Hide my face away

Deep in the blackness

Of my cotton and acrylic cave

I would stay

Until the noise would cease

And they would come and  find me

And with remorseful hugs

They would hold me

On those days when my parents needed to talk

I was given refuge with my grandfather

His house was a refuge for people

And for books

Rows of musty smelling

Hard backed books

Treasure Island

Robinson Crusoe

Little women

And book with words that didn’t have chapters

But with words that dance beautifully across the page

 Betjeman, Yeats, Woolf and T.S Elliot to name but a few

I listened as he would recite stories of far off lands

And hang on to every word

Of those of verses of love he would recite

I remember his heart danced

But his voice would quiver

I now realise he was thinking of my grandmother

As I grew I would search for those words he read

And lock them away inside my head

  So for those times when my thoughts are dark

And those demons come a knocking

I no longer hide behind seated barricades

I no longer hide away in my cotton and acrylic cave

I escape to the land of words

Where demons  are not welcome.

©Copyright 2014 by June Bolland

May contain Rants

Sticks and stones

Sticks and stonessticks and stones

but the names did hurt me

they resonated in my head

for whole three decades

I carried your words around with me

Every vowel , and syllable

was shackled to my being

my heart had etched the names you called me

my seIf esteem cruelly snatched

I hated the way I looked

I resigned myself to never be loved

to accept a life of solitude

to never be worthy to witness the brightest days

or the moonlights sky’s

because of the names you called me

then your words were broken

because I began to believe in myself

love myself and be loved

to cherish everyday

to  bask in the moonlight

to know its ok to be alone once in a while

after all your sticks and stones

That all they are

Your words are meaningless now

So may I thank you because your

Sticks and stones and names didn’t

Just hurt me, they taught me humility

and to never be like you.

©Copyright 2013 by June Bolland.
All rights reserved

May contain Rants

Timelines

mom dad

At five I thought I had the best toy box ever, it didn’t have a lid, or painted motifs

Mine had handles and a zip.  I remember taking it on overnight trips when we stayed with my mother’s family

At six I thought all daddies could be Jekyll and Hyde

and needed to drink in order to survive

At seven I thought people kept ornaments’ in houses to throw

I look at objects of the past now and think why would you throw something

so beautiful with all the intensions of hate

At eight I realised there was a fine between love and hate

kisses meant love and slaps, kicks punches equalled hate

At nine and ten I remember how much I despised you but

how I craved your love

Then came my teens, well I never gave a thought of you

I was going through enough shit, thanks to you

At twenty I pitied you, your need for solace from the bottle

I could see in your eyes how much you wanted to rid yourself of your demons

At twenty one I admired you, your demons gone, you’d asked for help

you became the man my mother knew was always there.

That’s why she never gave up on you

At twenty two until I was twenty three I came to forgive you because you couldn’t forgive yourself.

Then came twenty four until

you died  we finally achieved the relationship we should have always had

Then in my thirties you were gone

and now here I am in my forties and I miss more than ever before

©Copyright 2013 by June Bolland.
All rights reserved.

May contain Rants

The Battle

I cowered curled hiding behind the couchteddy

I was a child when you began ravaging my haven

The  gallery for the  pictures that I drew

They’d been hung with love and wonder

But you didn’t care if they became your casualties

You were hungry looking for your next feast

Searching for demonic bottle or the ransom to barter for it

I heard raised voices,

the loudness ,

the screams ,

the shouts of your demands

it was violent noise

I screwed my eyes so tight, as if the dark would plunge me into another land

But it didn’t , then came the slap,

I heard it ricochet off her skin

I knew I had to come from behind my parapet

Like David you were my Goliath

I stood before you my creator

I would  not allow my habour of love be destroyed by you

I did not need stones to break you

A look into  your eyes, into your soul is all it took

I witness the demons leave

With a fall to the knees you cried

Whilst my mother held you

©Copyright 2013 by June Bolland.
All rights reserved.