Glass Ceiling Speak your loud words Break your chains Nay! Shout your loud words Break life's chains Stop! Discrimination Hatred Cronyism Scream louder your words Smash! That glass ceiling. ©Carol Robson
Don Valley & Alice Springs
Short story written and narrated by Carol Robson.
Music David Fesliyan Fesliyan Studios
© Carol Robson
Govt tells older people with or without health problems to self-isolate. Sadly many of them have been doing it for years, it’s called Loneliness and Isolation.
Just Be You
You’ve endured a life of!
Told it will be this way
told it will be that way
told, told, told told,
from the earliest time.
Learn this, learn that
the right way
it has to be
use constructive argument
to be labelled,
We are not
all the same
your human rights,
just be you.
Told you cannot,
ask why not
they’re your mistakes
learn from them
make a difference
true to yourself
just be you
not what others,
want you to be.
You don’t need,
Loneliness and Isolation
You gazed through your window
watching the world passing by
sadly this was not your world
as you gazed from your void.
Your years so full of family and friends
now seemed such a distant memory
a memory that became far less vivid
only framed memories were your companions.
You didn’t want to bother your family
they didn’t seem to listen, always so busy
just a phone call would have brightened your day
taken you out, have a treat, just a visit, please.
A few hours a week your visitors appeared
a cleaner and a person with your meals
quickly gone with barely a word or smile
again long hours devoid of any other presence.
Hours, days and weeks seemed to merge into one
broken by those fleeting visitors into your prison
a prison with a view to a world that was no longer yours
a life on your own, should never have been endured.
Now family and friends are here for you
talking of bygone days, relived memories
your loneliness and isolation is now over
sadly, it took your passing to bring them here.
© Carol Robson 2012
An Untimely Death
Older people are easy targets
relying on their pension,
pension day to look forward to
then, start looking forward to the next.
They want you to work until you die
attacked, suffer cutbacks
again and again
those now living in fear
many with various disabilities
now fear their advancing years.
The extra money helps so many,
it isn’t about their luxuries
as they sit in their coats and hats,
scarves, gloves, wrapped in blankets
here in their homes.
Another cold winter shackles them,
confined by disability or age.
Fears for so many,
they will not see another year,
this will be an untimely death.
© Carol Robson 2015
(This is a revised version of a poem I wrote a few years back for an anti-valentine poetry slam)
My Valentine Bad Luck
just another Hallmark day,
commercial hype to pluck your pockets.
Chaucers fault, with his love birds,
verse after verse cards
finger down throat words.
I’ve loved and lost all year round
doesn’t make it anymore special
A lover can fuck it up, on any day,
it happens to us all, straight or gay.
Valentine gifts arrive in different ways
Yet! Do they really know you?
Sometimes so clueless,
with chocs or other delicacies.
I’m on a bloody diet,
or they set off, my fucking allergies.
Then the one, who always buys flowers,
every significant date, a dozen of the best
Time to tell them, you really hate the rose,
especially if they get on one knee,
about to propose.
Once I received the perfect Valentine gift,
Perfect gift, the most beautiful rabbit
Valentine bad luck, was to continue,
the rabbit died, went out like a light.
Suddenly realised, batteries included,
were really Shite.
If like me you’re on your own,
do spare a thought,
for those in love
For you still have choice and freewill.
Just grow old disgracefully,
before it all goes, downhill.
© Carol Robson 2015
Troubled With a Gun
They have a gun
shall they have fun?
here comes the strop.
time to be mean
an outsider driven by pain
going down the drain.
Spat on, put down,
Parents – peers
will be gunned.
my hatred fuelled campaign.
Who takes blame?
Media and Films,
an untimely hunting season.
clues are there,
out of childhood,
lack of love
no one listened.
Clock runs its course
now in force
blood stained hellhole.
Their final act,
another troubled soul
© Carol Robson 2014