We thought we'd manage on our own
A little trip not far from home
We got lost last time
Should have known!
We did not mean to take a tour
We don't admit that we were lost
We wasted too much time walking
Only one listed sight got crossed
We took the A tour
The nearby B tour
Lastly the C tour
And then our detour.
I wish this thought would go away
Do what I think, not do and say
Then you could read me every day.
They say that writing clears your mind
Of things which should be left behind
Unfortunately love is blind
Re-living past wrongs is unkind.
Some things are better left unsaid
Unwritten, buried with the dead
Will writing really clear your head?
Move on's what mother often said
So now I see what holds me back
The barrier, the will I lack
I have exposed that fatal fact
That child's ear thought holds my hand back.
My name is Angela Lansbury
And I write comic poetry
I hope that you'll remember me
My name is Angela Lansbury
Written and performed at Writers' Summer School, Swanwick, an annual event known for short as Swanwick.
My Phone
by Angela Lansbury
You are never alone
With a mobile phone
It's the link between
Yourself and your home
It's like a mother which minds your day
You panic when it goes astray
I might never find it again
My God - have I left it on the train!
I tell my family, "I think I've lost it!"
They snap, "Not again! Empty your pockets!"
No luck. "Then empty out your bag.
Why d'you have two tote bags, like an old hag!
"You do this to us, every time
Why don't you remember where you put it!
I'm not going to help you out again
This time you go back and look for it
I regret that the whole world would agree
That most of my troubles are caused by me
I make the whole world grumpty and cross
As I lurch through the day with loss after loss
But now I'm a granny so I can teach
And demonstrate, show, tell and preach
"Knot every knot, tie every lace
And make sure each item's in its home place
Don't live you live a crumpled mess
Know your phone number, your hotel's address
List what you packed in your suitcase
So you can win life's potholed race.
-ends-
Written at Swanwick, Writers Summer School.
