Words
I hear that words are very easy said
by others, but they stick inside my head.
I struggle, wrestle, grapple for some order—
they slink away, then slip across the border.
I have them lined up ready for my speech—
they disappear, then head off for the beach.
I often wonder how the others do it,
my words will turn around and say, you blew it.
To get my own back there’s an easy way.
It’s simple really, I can have my say.
I find that I can grab whole words and throw ‘em
to pin them down on paper in a poem.
by others, but they stick inside my head.
I struggle, wrestle, grapple for some order—
they slink away, then slip across the border.
I have them lined up ready for my speech—
they disappear, then head off for the beach.
I often wonder how the others do it,
my words will turn around and say, you blew it.
To get my own back there’s an easy way.
It’s simple really, I can have my say.
I find that I can grab whole words and throw ‘em
to pin them down on paper in a poem.
This poem is copyright (©) Janet Hatherley 2024
About the Writer
Janet Hatherley
Janet grew up loving poems from an early age and would often carry them around in her head. She still does. She has taught in many London schools and one in Turkey. As a poet she enjoys writing for both adults and children. Her pamphlet, What Rita Tells Me, was published in 2022 and her collection, On the road to Cadianda, was published in April 2024, both by Dempsey & Windle/Vole.
