Mermaid on the Continent

The rose-water orchid bearer

Is doing all he can

To fill your world with oceans enough

To make up the distance between you

But there you lie

Naked and soft on the hard, dry ground

With your ear cupped, 
You listen hard but

Songs dry up on the continent

Yet she still remains your heroine,

Stuck there and utterly put upon as she is

With her history of border wars 
And socialized concrete walls

Her soul stale, 
Her poetry panic-stricken

It’s no wonder

She loses all reason

It is only the sea

You yearn
You must forgive her that

Still, if only she had a sea, then

You’d raise a naval fleet

Especially for her

You’d have the muse at 
Both your feet in no time flat

And in her name
You cry out to no-where in particular...

...If only the sea

© Rennie 2008

Strange Texts

strange message

are u executing me? in text?

the gossip mongers on the corner

they too have so much

to talk about.

phones phones.

just becase u’re the

birthday girl darlin’

that don’t mean u

got the right to

spit on my night

… my song

punishin' me

just a wee bit?

for my own good perhaps?

go right ahead

im not fallin’ for the tricks

you play.  

im too hard

im too bold

and u don’t get me

any more.

i think u’re missing the point

in any case

where do i stand?

i hear you asking

how do i stand it?

that’s the question

when you are constantly

pressing me me over

and out

© Rebecca Rennie 2008

The Put On

hootenanny daisy mae

in denim shorts

and sprouting hay

from over-polished tulip-lips

she wows the crowd

and swings her hips

hottenanny daisy mae

takes th’ bumpy bus to

tanglewood

to lay down there

and jangle up

on jacobs’s pillow and buttercup

yeah make a move now

you go boyo!

she’ll come of age our

way girl-mystery

and what i know which you can’t tell

is that girl, joni, is making history

your’e writing the lives and living our dreams

we are only tomorrow’s children

you are the dream-makers who did

all that suffragette stuff we

claim

for our own

there were you girls

living it

carving it

etching it

out of raw stone

and here we are

forty years on

sitting on your rock

writing up new lines

digging out new tunes

and knowin’ all too well

we’ll never do it like you

© 2008 Rebecca Rennie (inspired by girls like us p257)

The Come-Out Kid

I create car accidents

then stand back and

watch the semi jack-

knife, at any crossroad I

know will bring the

mayhem on.

My favourite is back home

corner of the park

angles of the turn

means they can’t win.

I make the cars and trucks from scraps

I set the lights just so

no-one ever dies, the

thrill is on the go.

These two big blokes Jeff B and Harri Ford

Sling mud in the yard

Strike out and miss each other

every time

(all thanks to me).

Yeah there I am again

this little girl with her big way

charging the grownups down

as they distract themselves from the tasks ahead.

We have to find a little boy

who’s hiding in the world

we got a call from Montreal

he may be hiding inside th’ piano

he’ll be in one somewhere

hiding, that’s for sure.

I think he may be here for

there is a 1 at the head of the number

which indicates the states

but I’m convinced it is Canada,

no other place.

Where the snows drift

the bears amble freely

where little boys and such

can lose themselves away from

grown up things to be.

I am Godmother now and

On the scene

Making things

come

true

like little girl one moment

and spell-toker the next

living in imaginary houses full of magic

and antiques chests.

But not even money can

save this little boy

he’s running from the things which make him scared

he’s got us all destroying ourselves

while he goes off, right off.

All the time

(until we get the call from afar)

he’ll be inside a piano some day

that is sure

but not on this continent

nor where we are.

Hey little boy

there’re two men, a girl and a Godmother

Racing round lifting the lid on

all kinds of music just to find you.

Checking the death toll and

what’s padding the strings

come out kid!

Someone regrets stuff soon enough

or the trailer jack-knifes and

it ain’t no game no more.

Come out kid! The game’s over.

© Rebecca Rennie 2008 Dream