5 poems by featured poet Kate Ennals

    5 poems by featured poet Kate Ennals

    My Parents Wedding Photo


    I gaze at this photograph as a child
    feel that something is not quite right

    They (is that really you?) stand, arched
    Before a church door
    Slid shut but for a three-inch black gap

    (letting monsters out?)

    Unaware of such, they (you) stare down at their wedding certs
    Both dressed in beige (how do I know, it’s a black and white photo)
    Single breasted suit for Da
    Waisted jacket, matching pleat skirt for Ma

    (Not at all like what you wear now)

    You told me

    In front – unseen – stand your parents

    One from Saffron Walden
    One from Walsall
    One from Paris
    One from South Wales

    Mistaken pairings, you said with a sigh

    You, the Groom and Bride
    Stand, side by side
    Looking down
    Not touching

    On my wedding day, I will kiss my husband with gay abandon
    fling my arms around him, hoping to break with tradition
    and keep the monsters away. I decide. With certainty.


    It’s all Relative


    His hair is diarrhoea from the arse of a gull
    That he blow dries into corn doll drills
    In his hamster cheeks he stores cake
    Dolly mixtures swimming in soft poached egg
    He has the look of Abe, a whiff of Dave, the feel
    Of Hades. He wanks with divine precision
    In an obsequious manner

    He wears Ralph Lauren in bed, Paul Smith in the kitchen

    His aniseed eye reeks a lofty derision

    “Of what rhyme you now?” he sits back with a sigh
    “Of you, my dear,” I say in reply.


    Baby daughter                       


    Slowly she drank in my innocence and youth
    Supped at my strength, tasted my truth.
    With vigour, she gorged on my intelligence and wit
    Tiny fingers grabbing my tit.

    She enjoyed my humour, gagged on my pride
    Vomited my inertia, savoured my style
    She relished my passion, dribbled my cries
    She gazed at me with wide open blue eyes.

    She imbibed my loyalty in fits and starts
    Spat out my cruelty, at my love she laughed
    And when finally she milked me dry
    I fed her motherhood and apple pie.


    To My Grown Up Daughter


    Plucked strings of panic fret your voice
    As if you have gulped a botched B flat
    And ripped it back from a constricted chest
    I don’t understand what you gabble, but I hear
    The clink of fear, stilt and stress
    Hiccups of violence. Sharps of anguish.

    I am sad I have no lullaby to sing
    But, I know you are too old to listen
    And I too unfamiliar with modern grieving
    For, with age has come ignorance of youth
    Instead, I’d like to be a poem for you
    to show, not tell, the gift of living.

    Sweet Mirror

    My eyes squint like bulls eye sweets
    My nose has the shape of a chocolate flake
    My ear is fashioned like a pink jelly bean
    I have hula hooped cheeks
    A chin that peaks like swirled ice cream

    When I look in a mirror and see my reflection
    I see a crumpled bag of delectable confection

    My neck quavers over jubbly boobs
    Nipples like gob stoppers, over chewed
    My bazooka bubble-gum tum is a grand old joke
    Wriggled with ‘sweet and sour’ jelly worms
    My thighs have the consistency of soft caramel toffee
    My knees are twisted like aniseed drops
    My shins are gnawed sticks of pink seaside rock
    My ankles are sharp like extra strong mints
    I have feet to be sucked like a sherbet fountain
    My middle toe is long like a string of black liquorice
    My body is sweet heaven, yours to be cherished



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