FROM THE POET

This is a series of poems written by John Svododa over a number of years. There are times of peak-where numerous poems were written & there are also times of lows where there are long periods between each poem. As the author is trying to reach a goal of 1001 (and then retire!!) it was never envisaged that this would be done over a short period of time. Poems can be humorous, ridiculing someone or something, show a meaning of hurt or love or even project feelings that not necessarily be directed to the same person/thing, can be a reflection of life or to be life. Most poems are trying to send a message to the reader be it not understandable or nonsense.

The idea of this poet is not to have any ill feelings against anyone but to be read by young whom can learn about life – and by the elderly look back at what could have been. Some are very personal- but who cares when you are currently living in a life that has total enjoyment. Suggestion is not to criticize but to take in the enjoyment of creative poetry make it meaningful and thus may be you can be an author.

SO NOW:

Please Read On!

Saturday, 18 February 1984

Poem Number 45 - Telephone Call For Someone Else - 18/2/1984

I take two mattresses out of the spare room,
To the room, “Debbie” was going to clean: The lounge room.
Then I’m accused of making a mess, all over the place,
And make some space, while with other guys Michelle screws around.

I tidied up, this room to the best I could,
Then “Debbie” goes to her room to catch up on her sleep.
I am doing my own housework, as I have the time,
I then watch the TV and have a little rest.
Suddenly, there is a telephone call for someone else!

I’m told to do or not to do, by a nineteen year old,
As she has the high to say, “ That she doesn’t like to be told!”
Immature as she shows her temper, throughout the rest of the day,
She told me off, for not waking her when the phone rang.

Speaking to her friend “Dot” over the phone,
I know I did something that was completely wrong.
I interrupted her conversation…
As I couldn’t stand what Debbie had to say about me.

As Debbie was not just criticizing, myself and my girl,
But the whole house as well.
My girl was coming home, from an extended time,
I could feel there was something unusual and tense.

As I did not lose my cool,
And had in tact, my sense,
Is it right for us to boil,
Over something that is beneath the soil?

I have given up on being called a liar, from everyone,
As my years are young and I am really having fun
If my poems are so called, “Rubbish?”
Then why is told to me, at the end?

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