Intruders – Poem (Based On A True Story)

**(PLEASE NOTE: This poem is based on a true experience, apart from verse five, which uses a bit of poetic licence. All other facts are totally genuine).

I went to my drumming the night before last
Our group was small, but the beat was fast
I played on the bass and the conga drum
It’s a casual group, and we have so much fun

Someone on cymbals; another played chimes
The latter helps us to play in time
The tambourines made a jangling sound
We played together; the music profound

Passion abounded as we played out our hearts
And before we knew it, an hour had passed
Time to stop for some snacks and a brew*
Then, in walked three men that none of us knew

I was really frightened; who were these men?
Walking amongst us like familiar friends
They sat themselves down like they belonged there
I wanted to run, but I was too full of fear

**They said not to move as they carried knives
So there was no way we were risking our lives
Sitting silently, hoping they would go
Was this a nightmare or a horror show?

They started to damage our instruments
Our fear and anxiety were so immense
Drunk off their faces but high on cocaine
We thought we’d never get out again

One of our group took out their phone
It got grabbed and onto the floor it was thrown
Then they suddenly left; every single one
It was over as quickly as it had begun

We called the police but they couldn’t come
Too busy, they said; we sat feeling numb
They’d call round to see us the following day
Asked if we were hurt and were we okay

We picked up the pieces; couldn’t wait to get out
What the hell was that all about?
I came home still shocked and went straight to bed
Will this ordeal ever leave my head?


*A brew is a common British word for a pot or mug of tea.



(Image – Google free images)

Busy, Busy, Busy

I’m suddenly so busy; I don’t know where to start
I decided last week to try my hand at art
Monday morning came, and I trotted off to town
Got soaked on the way as the rain thundered down

The art group was crowded, taking turns with the paint
and I really do not have the patience of a saint
I left rather early as I didn’t want to wait
with half a piece of work that I didn’t think was great

Tuesday morning is my own; perhaps time to write
I’m short on ideas, so will my piece be trite?
My imagination frazzled; do I really want to try,
or shall I stop here and now and simply say goodbye?

Tuesday afternoon, I’m at the gardening group
It gets pretty chilly; I was glad I’d taken soup
But nothing’s really growing, and the flowers are dead
I’ll wait till the spring and do something else instead

Wednesday night, I’m drumming; I have a brilliant time
I’m really in my element and feeling quite sublime
Thursday afternoons, I pick litter in the park
We walk around in twos like the creatures in the Ark

Friday comes around, and I have time for myself
I just cannot settle like the Elf on the Shelf*
I ought to read or write, but my concentration’s poor
not helped by the postman who is knocking at my door

Saturday at last, and I am seeing my best friend
I hope that our relationship will never, ever end
We’ll have lunch together; dip our biscuits in our tea
We think so similarly, and we rarely disagree

And finally, Sunday comes, and I’m free to lie in bed
I sleep too heavily and wake up with a sore head
The shopping comes from Tesco; now there’s food to eat
I snuck a bar of chocolate in; my happiness complete!


*Elf on the Shelf (for those who don’t know it) is a classic game that children get involved in at Christmas. There is a toy elf, and the parents/carers place it in different places around the home every night, so delighted children think the elf is moving around itself. My youngest grandchildren are sure that the elf is magic because of this!

Image by Brian Merrill from Pixabay


Filling Holes

I feel lost without the space where I once sat
And the easy way I used to be able to chat
About so much that was bothering me
Dealing with it all in my now absent therapy

I’m now on a waiting list; I hope a place comes soon
Feelings and sentiments are confusingly strewn
What to do with all this time that goes so slowly by
Waiting for a new assessment; I hope I qualify

I miss the reassurance that I could cope
I like to think I can, and I still have that hope
I must find other means with which to fill my days
Emotion, when choked back, finds other ways

I’ve found myself with lots of empty holes to fill
I somehow have the energy; I need to find the will
Thought I’d visit a workshop to try my hand at art
A brand new shiny hobby I could possibly start

Wednesday night, I’m going to circle drumming
Listen to guitars in the next room gently strumming
Beating the drums will get pent-up feelings out
Dispelling anxious tension, I have no doubt

I don’t need to be perfect; just try to keep the beat
It’s easy to catch on to; no need to be discreet
It’s about celebrating life and having lots of fun
I’m passionate about it, and I’m not the only one

Thursday afternoons, I’ll go out picking litter
Even when the weather is absolutely bitter
I’m with a group of people; wouldn’t dare to go alone
Filling council bags with rubbish that’s been thrown

Papers, tickets, fag ends scattered in the park
It keeps us very busy until it’s almost dark
Doing something positive to while away the time
As out of my despair, I’m slowly learning to climb.


Photo by Markus Winkler on Unsplash