The Poetry of Ann Margetson

I was talking to my daughter on the telephone today,
She said something funny, it gave me a smile anyway,
She said that her hurting foot was a pain in the neck,
I said I thought it was funny, but she was rather a wreck.
I am normally very empathetic and always show my concern
But surely this comment a little humour should earn.
Anyway cruel judgement this afternoon came swiftly my way
I knocked my funny bone and the door and needless to say,
That was a pain in the neck, and I really must admit outright
Then I laughed at that humour , but told no one of my plight.

So when you hurt somewhere and a pain in the neck it seems,
Smile at how funny it sounds and then in your sweetest dreams
Think of other funny saying that can take some hurt away
And maybe you can wipe with a laugh all your hurts away.

M Ann Margetson April 17, 2010

pain

Mooses is not good English, but I really do not care,
For in the city of Toronto, there are hundreds everywhere,
One wears a suit, others covered in flags, one towns,
One with city buildings, some with pretty gowns.
The city has been invaded by many mighty moose
Some have been found wandering, mooses on the loose!
One was on the airport grounds near the four o one,
He’s vanished somewhere, can you tell me where he’s gone?
I saw one in Mississauga maybe a quick visit to make,
She was near a bake shop, perhaps she fancied a slice of cake.
I love to see the many moose all around down town,
Some are at York university, gaining a cap and gown!
An educated moose, what a concept that would be
When he went back to the forest would he hang it on a tree!
You can buy one of your very own and paint him as you will,
You’d have to have a big house to put him on the window sill.
I think I’ll ask dear Santa to put one in my stocking small,
But he wouldn’t be able to get him in the house at all.
So I’ll just go and visit them over the Christmas season
And wonder who started the influx of mooses and for what reason.

M. Ann Margetson
© November 21, 2000
2000/1011Mooses

Note: For those who didn’t live in Toronto at the end of the twentieth century, the mayor had heard about an effort to raise money for charity in Chicago using fibreglass cows, and decided to do the same thing with fibreglass moose. You could buy a moose, with the money going to charity, and dress it up. The Toronto Maple Leafs did theirs in their team colours, and many businesses did too.
The charity drive has long been over, but you still see fibreglass moose all over southern Ontario, in yards, on buildings, brightly painted, and proud.

If you do not write or work on the things that you know,
And your brain gets too full, where does the knowledge go?
When the brain chambers are crowded, do they overflow?
These questions I ask, have for long puzzled me so.

Have you ever seen words coming out of folks ears?
No, even if they never anything create for many years.
It’s like electricity when the plug is not covered,
Has the current found some safe hide-away cupboard?

But now on a little more serious note I think,
If we do not always use our talents they will sink
So deep into the vaults of our unused brain
They will be lost forever, never found again.

So share your knowledge, keep the brain working well,
And as knowledge pours out, more will come I can tell,
T’will take the place of the gems you have given with care,
And an increase of wisdom with abundance to share.

M. Ann Margetson
© October 27, 2000
2000/ Canknowledge

Of a painful, yet funny tale, I am going to tell.
One that some of you may know quite well,
When your back is painful and it’s hard to move
And your body is stuck in a certain groove,
One thing when dressing is almost impossible to do,
But causes laughter when in pain right through,
It putting on panty-hose, that’s the task I mean.
Your antics to reach feet is a sight to be seen,
Your hands and your feet seem so many miles apart,
Though you struggle and squirm with all your heart,
But I do not give up, my feet I will try to lasso,
Those far away feet are at last caught, Yahoo!
Now start the painful pull till the hose are in place,
And then struggle to stand with a smile on your face.
But woe is me, for now all my joy in undone
There, right up the front, a long endless fat run.

M. Ann Margetson
© April 23, 2000
POEMS 2000/Apainful

I know I parked by purple ten, or may be purple nine,
I can’t tell by the colour, it’s covered in dirt and grime.
I’ve looked where it ought to be but it’s not to be found,
It could have been stolen, or swallowed by the ground.

The wind is cold, my parcels heavy, where can my car be?
It was by a big grey van, they could have moved you see.
It’s too long to wait till all cars are gone, mine left alone,
I could catch the bus, at least I would soon be home.

Car, where are you hiding? I’ll take one more look,
For I am frozen through, want to get home to my book,
Ha, there you are! I’ve gone past here a dozen times,
You must have just come back from warmer climes.

M. Ann Margetson
© January 24, 2000
poems 2000/Lostcar