'Why Dorothy Wordsworth is not as famous as her brother and other poems' 

Available on Amazon:    Amazon.co.uk: Lynn Peters: 9781726498234: Books

 

 'People always ask, "Why aren't there more great female painters, authors or poets?" Lynn Peters' [poem] answers this stupid question.'

Broadcaster Dame Jenni Murray on 'Why Dorothy Wordsworth is not as famous as her brother'

 

'Lynn has a great ability to harness humour to drive home social commentary. Thought provoking yet cheeky, her poetry is a joy to read.'

Joe Hart, England goalkeeper

 

Why Dorothy Wordsworth is not as famous as her brother

"I wandered lonely as a...

They're in the top drawer, William,

Under your socks -

I wandered lonely as a -

No not that drawer, the top one.

I wandered by myself -

Well wear the ones you can find.

No, don't get overwrought my dear, I'm coming.

  

"I wandered lonely as a -

Lonely as a cloud when -

Soft-boiled egg, yes my dear,

As usual, three minutes -

As a cloud which floats -

Look, I said I'll cook it,

Just hold on will you -

All right, I'm coming.

 

"One day I was out for a walk

When I saw this flock -

It can't be too hard, it had three minutes.

Well put some butter in it. -

This host of golden daffodils

As I was out for a stroll one -

"Oh you fancy a stroll, do you?

Yes all right, William, I'm coming.

It's on the peg. Under your hat.

I'll bring my pad, shall I, in case

You want to jot something down?"

 

 

I Suspect

I suspect

There would be more poems

About sex

If it rhymed with more than

Pecks, Necks,

Erects and ejects...

This begins to sound promising.

I may write one.

 

 

Immaculate Misconception

The new dress that I bought for the occasion

Ironed with care, fits so flattering at the hips

You'd think I had a waist.

My make-up, thirty-minutes worth, which

On any other day'd take thirty seconds

Is immaculate.  My legs do not do justice

To these sheer seamed stockings and

What I paid for them but all the same

My mirror, who hardly ever lies, reports:

"This, baby, is as good as it gets."

The phone, who also never lies (though callers do)

Rings five minutes after I should have left

To tell me something unforeseen's cropped up.

He knows I'll understand. And

Sure enough I do. For after all,

It's not entirely unforeseen.

He's cancelled dates before

And I'm my own person, need not look to any

Special guy for entertainment.

Catching my image in the mirror (lying swine), I see

The new dress makes my shoulders seem to droop.

I think I'll take it back.

 

 

On the edge

We should be five at these meetings

But Bob is ill, Jill has cancelled,

Pete said he’d be late. Very late.

So now there’s me and you,

Separated only by three feet of desk

And our own uncertainty.

You tell me what’s on today’s agenda

Omitting what is really on the agenda

Which is why you lean back in your chair

As though I threaten you

Yet look at me, narrow-eyed

Through long-lashed eyes

Heavy with longing (or is it lack of sleep) 

You rock backwards on your chair

Half smiling, lick your lips. I speak.

Your head goes back,

Your Adam’s apple prominent

(I know what they say about

Men’s Adam’s apples).

You shake your head, smiling,

Still looking.  Your skin

Is blushed with gold, I never

Noticed that before.

We can smell the tension, taste it.

The air crackles and sparks

Which of us is scared the most?

The door opens.

Pete, guilty, apologetic,

Is astonished by the warmth

Of our welcome.

 

 

Hold me tight, he said

"Hold me tight," he said,

And as I held him I thought

Was it three bottles or four

Of the white that I bought?

And if it was three, would that be enough

And should I get some whisky and stuff?

"Kiss me," he said,

And as I kissed him I was thinking

That if Jack was serious

About giving up drinking,

 I'd need tonics and Perrier and such

Which with the wine would come to - how much?

"Turn over", he said,

And as I turned I thought

That if the chicken went in about six then it ought

To have plenty of time, but what of the rice?

"Do that again," he said, "that's really nice."

 "Do you love me?" he said,

And as I replied I was thinking

That making love is as easy as winking.

But dinner for eight, without a doubt,

Takes a bit of thinking about.

 

 

See Mick Jagger

See Mick Jagger, watch him swagger

Strutting up and down the stage.

His voice is so raunchy

And he's not a bit paunchy

Which is good when you think of his age.

 

 

Kissing Cyclops

He doesn't close his eyes to kiss

And drawing near I notice this:

That two eyes merge as lovers close

Into one large, above the nose.

Our eyeballs meet, he also stops.

He doesn't want to kiss Cyclops.

We didn't click. I wonder why.

We saw so clearly eye to eye.

 

 

If intelligence is sexy

If intelligence is sexy

As I have heard it said

Then what great tomes of wisdom

Must be whizzing round your head.

 

Why don't you come round Sunday

And we'll read books in bed

And if your eyes get tired

We'll do something else instead.