I've Got Eyes in the Back of My Head

My Mum said that.

She meant we kids better not

do anything naughty

because she would see.

When I was little

I thought they were real,

those eyes, and I didn't

know how they stayed hidden.

Did the lids blend

perfectly with the skin behind

her hair, as if invisible?

How was it possible?

Why weren't they exposed?

Did she keep them closed

except when checking on us? 

It was most mysterious.

If they were really there,

under her hair,

didn't her hair spoil the view?

How did she look through?

I never solved these mysteries

but I still believe she could see us

doing what we didn't ought.

We always got caught!

Poetic Asides November Poem A Day Chapbook Challenge: day 24, response to a statement.

Also linking to dVerse Poetics, 1 March 2014, on invisibility. (Mum's extra eyes may have been invisible; our misdeeds were not!)

I Shouldn't Be Here

But I am,

in the gap between 

the back of the couch

and the wall.

This is my secret place.

Now I mustn't move.

There are voices

and I know whose.

They are saying

grown-up things. 

I don’t understand, but I know 

I’m not supposed to hear.

I’m listening

with wide-open ears

and keeping 

very quiet.

Poetic Asides November Poem A Day Chapbook Challenge: day 23, 'I shouldn't be here'.

Secret Messages

We wrote them in lemon juice

on white paper.

The juice faded quickly

to invisible. We children knew —

When you received

a blank sheet of paper,

it was a secret message

from one of the gang.

To read it, you had to

iron it — yes, like laundry.

The heat made the letters appear,

turning them rusty brown.

But it all depended on

having a wooden pen

with a steel nib — as we did —

to dip in the lemon juice.

What do kids do now

when pens like that

are never seen?

Now they use computers.

Now, to make 

a secret message,

hit ‘Select All’

and turn the text white.

The person on the other end

has to know. They re-select, 

turn it back to black,

read it. Perhaps reply.

But that’s the problem

with secret messages.

Sooner or later you do have to

read them. And if you can ...

In my day you burnt the paper, 

or chewed it up in little bits 

and swallowed it. You can't do 
things like that to a computer. 

Poetic Asides November Poem A Day Chapbook Challenge: day 21, Secret messages, second attempt.

Always and Never

Always and Never

are sister and brother.

You can't have one

without the other.

If you always drink coffee,

you never drink tea.

If you're never imprisoned

you'll always be free.

If you always worked

you'd never get to play.

If you never went home

you'd always be away.

But to do something never

can't always be good.

And to do something always —

I'm sure I never could. 

I often like sometimes;

I sometimes like often.

Always and never

are too hard. Let's soften!

But if you leave one,

you must leave both together.

They travel in tandem,

always and never.

Should I bid them goodbye

forever and ever?

No! I often like always

and sometimes like never.

So though I won't always

say always, that's true,

I don't think I'll never 
say never, do you?

Poetic Asides November Poem A Day Chapbook Challenge: day 20, ‘Always …’

Forget What I Said Earlier

Forget what I said,

it was only a joke.

Don't snigger and point;

forget I spoke.

Don't be mean, don't be nasty,

don't be rude and don't be bad!

Put it out of your mind:

just ignore what I said.

If fairies seem scary,

I can pretend

they never existed,

and still be your friend.

So forget what I said,

forget what you thought.

I'll say what you want

and I'll act as I ought.

But deep in my heart

I know how I feel.

I know what I saw

and I know what is real.

The fairies can be

my secret. I tried,

but you just aren't ready,

so the fairies will hide.

And you'll never see them

flash in the sun

sparkling like rainbows —

not even one. 

Poetic Asides November Poem A Day Cha[book Challenge: day 18, ‘Forget what I said earlier …’

Exploring My Childhood Garden

The garden of my childhood

was green jungle.

I crawled underneath 

the berry bushes,

behind pittosporum hedge 

and massed bamboo,

and deep inside the geraniums.

The wild creatures 

I met in this jungle

were fierce ants

that fought each other:

orange-bodied and long-legged,

caterpillars with furry spikes,

and secretive spiders 

hiding in curled leaves.

The fairies, whirling points of light,

would sometimes stop

and show me their tiny faces.

Mostly they flitted about 

in and out of the plants,

quick flashes of colour.

I could tell that they liked me. 

November Poem A Day Chapbook Challenge 2013 day 14: exploration

Take One Sheet

Drape it over the table,

sides hanging down to the floor.

Instant cubby-house! 

A safe, secret place,

for reading or resting 

or listening.

Drop it over my head

and I'm a ghost,

scary. 

Must be careful not to trip.

I want to cut eyeholes out,
but no, I'd better not.

The best books tell me:

make large knots at intervals, 

nail one end to the window-sill,

climb down as on rungs of a ladder.

My cousin might do it —

I’m scared of heights.

Take one sheet. Double it.

Two on the bed

clean and smooth,

make bed feel like sanctuary,
my power place

for dreams of adventure.

Poetic Asides November Poem A Day Chapbook Challenge: (fill in the blank) sheet. 

Last Time I Was Here

Last time I was here, I was maybe eleven

but I’d lived here since I was very small.

The lawn stretched, vast, down the back

to the summerhouse and a stand of bamboo,

and there were two willows.

In the front were roses my Dad planted.

I felt as if I was living in Heaven.

In bed at night I could hear the bell

chiming from the Town Hall clock

across the still air. It does now, too.

I hug the motel pillows,

and remember listening with my Dad.

Sometimes we’d hear it striking seven:

he sat up till morning if I wasn’t well,

telling me stories — not from a book

but his own inventions. (He did read to me too.)

Then he would breakfast, get into his clothes

and go to work sleepless — what a Dad!

Last time I was here, I was not alone.

Fairies were my friends. I only had to call

and they would surround me. I knew where to look

and how to look. No-one taught me; I just knew.

There was one in each willow and every rose.
‘You’ve got such imagination!’ my Mum said.

November Poem A Day Chapbook Challenge from Poetic Asides: Last time I was here

(The form is rimas dissolutas — not part of the PA prompt; I wanted to try it after reading Diane Lockward's latest Poetry Newsletter, so I combined the two prompts.)

The Bees' Knees

They bend with ease,
they stretch and flex,
the bees’ knees
on skinny legs.

Bees have no feet;
did you ever look?
No toes, how neat!
No soles, how crook!

But bees have knees
that bend in the middle.
I bet they could dance
if you struck up a fiddle.

They can hop and skip
and do highland flings.
You wonder why
they really need wings.

And when they fly,
their long legs trailing,
their knees scrape the sky
while their wings go sailing.

Submitted 20 October 2013 for a dVerse Poetics prompt to write a poem for children — which is what I always thought this must be, even though it just arrived like any other poem, with no particular audience in mind.