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
Speak your loud words
Break your chains
Shout your loud words
Break life’s chains
Scream louder your words
That fucking glass ceiling.
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
Women’s Space in Spoken Word.
I’m here to challenge
for you to listen
hear my voice
hear my inner soul.
you need to see me
you need to hear me.
My voice is valuable
my space is valuable
this space is genderless
value the voice
value my words.
My right to occupy
my right to share
my voice is to be heard
my words are priceless
value the person
I’m an equal person
I’m an equal voice.
We gave you a voice
© Carol Robson 2013
Poem from the revised/edited 2nd edition of Words of Darkness and Light published by Thynks Publications.
A Love Nurtured in Blood (Sapphic)
And now my life is flashing by,
Four hundred years upon this earth.
My ancient love, the reason why
You gave to me immortality.
Made me your bride in ancient times,
Spent together, living on.
We sucked blood, we bit new flesh.
We drained life force and felt refreshed.
Creatures nightly moved in shadows,
Centuries of blood-fueled lust;
All societies, all fair game.
Folklore and legends we became.
I’ve seen wars and cruel destruction.
I’ve seen horrors – genocide.
I’ve seen torture, men and women.
I’ve seen little children slain.
My love’s now gone and I grow weary,
My body weak with skin now scarred,
Flashes of sunlight drive me to twilight,
Retreating to my shadowy home.
No longer I yearn for fresh, warm blood.
I’ve been here for far too long.
Alone without you, longing for you.
Peace invites me as I come home.
©Carol Robson 2014
A long day
of lesser function.
running on adrenalin.
Coffee and tablets
the diet of function
working in a cloud,
out of sorts
out of place.
Makes the effort
heavy weather day
wanes to brightness
soul and spirit
Copyright: Carol Robson 2014
PIP Implant Scandal, A Mess.
PIP implant scandal,
did affect me.
Both were ruptured,
silicon ran free.
My health, fractured,
suffering and pain
no one could explain.
went higher and higher,
then they made you feel,
like a pariah.
It became newsworthy
helping the cause.
PIP campaign women
earned my applause.
hearing many a story,
hoping they would help
not looking for glory.
Many women, still need advice and aid,
only a little, is coming their way.
Toxic implants as they degrade,
really must, be taken away.
This must never happen again
causing so much pain,
causing so much heartache,
from a company, that was a fake.
PIP implant scandal,
caused so much stress,
so never again,
should we suffer,
such a mess.
©Carol Robson 2014
(Poem about Iphis and Ianthe from the story in Ovid’s Metamorphoses Book 9)
(Iphis and Ianthe)
A raging fire burned
loves flames kindled
elicited by your beauty
innocence in despair
knowing this love
betrothed in ignorance
by a loving father
unaware of deceit
by a loving mother
accepting the truth
of the prophecy of Isis.
The Gods frowning
a Sapphic love
not yet countenanced
there should not be
girl with girl.
my beautiful Ianthe
that you be man
or even I
to bring purity
for our love desires.
True love triumphs
above all foolishness
love is much more
of who has
madness to love
or to lie with
their desired bride.
Decreed by Isis
our troth fulfilled
I’m now man
rendered by Goddess
of the Gods
Yet! my beautiful Ianthe
our love transcends
Gods, Goddess and Gender.
©Carol Robson 2013
Poem about experiencing the cycle of Domestic Abuse/Violence.
I Don’t Recognise Me
A shadow of my former self
once strong in soul and spirit
now a shaking quivering husk
how the hell, did I allow this.
I loved you with all my soul
an eternity together, so I thought
sharing a burning desire of love and lust
together, we were as one.
I should have seen the signs
little things at first, so subtle
mind games, controlling, never any trust.
I was no longer a free spirit.
What am I doing wrong, I feared
I’m driving you away, losing you.
It is my fault, I’ll do better
anything, just to please you.
Never realising, this was your control cycle
making me feel so worthless
you loved me, because no one else would
my soul broken, now so afraid.
Living in fear, constantly having to please
everything perfect for your homecomings
hiding my alcohol and drug crutches
just my means of getting through, another day.
Time passes by as in slow motion
always hoping, it will be better
my false hopes and dreams
soon to be completely shattered.
A little slap at first, then it begins
my fear of violence, committed
my life as a punch bag, began,
how did you become this monster.
Black and blue, the blood shows
hiding away so no one can see
a quivering wreck, not so pretty
cowered, by this coward, that I once loved.
Cut and bruised after all these years,
I crawled away to a safer place
a haven for me to heal and repair,
I was wrong, I’m not alone.
Self-confidence and spirit destroyed
a love of life teetering on the edge
time will heal, so they say,
alas, I’m long gone,
I don’t recognise me.
© Carol Robson 2011
Let me just say before you read this poem, there are estimated to be 40 -50 thousand women in the UK who were given the toxic PIP breast implants. This poem is just about one small group of women coming together wanting to help each other but also wanting to help others. I hope there are other similar groups out there supporting each other. However, at the end of the day it needs the voices of all women with PIP implants to come together and make the UK Government and Dept of Health see sense, there is a duty of care, because we are seeing lives destroyed through ill-health caused by the toxins leaking from these implants. I certainly do not want to see another beautiful young woman take her life, because no one would help her 😦
Nine women with no connection
living their lives, blissfully unaware
that news would send them in another direction
panic and cries for help, for nobody seemed to care.
Nine women told, you have PIP breast implants
created en Mas, and given to you without regard
consequences for your health, feeling like pants
body, mind and soul now in torment and scarred.
Nine women searching for answers in despair
who will help? For some of you the clinics don’t listen
days full of tears and heartache, does anybody care?
Hopes and dreams in shreds, as your lives are rewritten.
Nine women needing help, decide to do something about it
savings now gone, as you’re asked to pay again
to be rid of toxic implants that make you feel like shit
as you realise you’re not alone, your life enters a new domain.
Nine women finding each other, coming together as one
not sitting on their backsides, a purpose of lives to enhance
together to help each other, until the PIP’s are gone
wanting your lives back, despite your problems of finance.
Nine women inspired by a tenth, your Guardian Angel
a friend guiding you, with help and advice to reach new highs.
Inspiring you as one to get you through this living hell
an angel, side by side with the Nine, as they reach for the skies .
Nine women with their angel and wonderful allies
standing tall, rising above all to help each friend
always there for each other, through lows and highs
together raising funds, until the bitter end.
Marching onwards, to do whatever it takes, they will troop
A force to be reckoned with, are this PIP friends group.
© Carol Robson 2012