WOMAN GODDESS, FLOWER OF THE GODS

For my friend Jill, on her 60th Birthday

I met you when you were most vulnerable,
Held together by nature’s resin,
A pink peony, all fluffed up and fluttering
In the wind of catastrophe,
But you were saved
By an unmoveable resilience to change,
And bolstered by friendship,
Turning the past into a beautiful album
That you kept close enough to be a comfort,
Yet far enough away to remain untouched,

And you became the woman goddess that
Was not afraid to say:
This is how I feel,
This is who I am,
A multi-petalled peony with hidden nymphs,
Enjoying the fragrance of the sunshine,
Enjoying the magic of the moon,

And taking all those broken pieces of heart,
You glued them together again,
Not wanting to discard a lifetime of love,
Not wanting to throw away
Remembrances of heartache,
Knowing what a heart was for,

Unbridled you galloped through the meadow
Freeing yourself from life’s bonds
A flash of glass on a sun-lit mountain,
Shining at the edges like the afterglow of day
Knowing that your fingers touched the stars,

Now, serene and brightening our presence
You sit amongst friends, almost too many to count,
In celebration of being that child of the universe,
That you and we, know you are,
That goddess woman, who has traveled life’s journey,
And learned life’s secret lore,

And, like the nymphs of the peony,
Your mischief continues to delight the Gods,
Bringing them to the brink of laughter, the brink of tears,
Filling their hearts with wonder at your power,
As they hold and protect their irreplaceable flower

© Jane Sharp 2010

VERSE FOR FUN!

TOUR BUS DRIVERS IN CRETE

When bus drivers trough their spaghetti
They don’t use much etiquetti,
They shovel it in, dribbling oil over chin,
And grow more obese and more sweaty.

While looking for no-show slips
I came across other odd bits,
And to my surprise they were quite a large size,
Now I wonder which driver they fits.

There’s a driver, we all call him Elvis,
His head is much bigger than pelvis,
But if inches you seek, though it may take a week,
His wick, they do say, more than 12 is.

When a driver is ready for action,
He proves to be quite an attraction,
For he has the right gear with an exit to rear,
And firestone with just the right traction

There once was a driver called John,
Who polished his bus till it shone,
He rubbed it each day, and some they do say,
That its lustre is second to none

Most drivers I know are quite calm,
They wouldn’t do anyone harm,
But the language they spout when they curse and they shout
Reminds me of Animal Farm

Some drivers with long legs you’ll find,
Are usually most courteous and kind,
And, truth to tell they’re as sexy as hell
Especially where legs meet behind

Some drivers they drive with no fear,
The highway they’ve made their career,
Like knights of the road they ferry their load
As though on some far planisphere.

When a driver says ‘taka-taka,’
I think of a man with on knacker,
He’s usually Greek and unwashed for a week
And the answer I give is, ‘Malaka.’

There once was a driver called Josh,
Who said jolly-dee golly-gosh,
I’m sporting a tash and I’m ready to flash,
But I can’t find my old mackintosh.

O Manolis offered a bed,
In the rear of his bus, he said,
But I looked at his kecks and I knew he meant sex,
So I told him I’d rather be dead.

At the water park drivers will drool
At teenagers just out of school,
And some of them long for a tart in a thong,
Even though it’s against the rule

A tart with a bare posterior,
Thought she was oh so superior,
But her pink cellulite was a terrible sight,
And it moved like an old spring interior

Have a good summer all you reps out there. I've done that, got the T-shirt!