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Irene Margery Whitfield Chisholm's Poems |
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These are the poems written by my mother Irene Chisholm.
Some of them were signed by her initials: IMWC (Irene Margery Whitfield Chisholm) or as Irene Chisholm or as Swex. Swex was her nickname as a child and it was short for "Sister".
I did not include all of them, only the best.
She was born 1909 in Fall City,Washington; lived in Washington state all of her life, most of it in Fall City, until her death in 1991.
They give me pretty rattles
To play with here in bed.
I wish they'd take my stockings off,
And give me toes, instead.
Remember to walk like a lady
And turn out your toes just a bit
Don't walk in front of the lady
And straighten your skirt when you sit.
Now, tell her you had a good time.
"But I didn't. Not one bit."
HUSH!
My lips are restrained by tradition
So I speak not as I would
But burn out my anger in action
So it's Crash! Crash! Crash!
On his thoughtless head, Oh plate!
But I wish that my lips could utter
One soul-felt hymn of hate.
For reasons often thought spurious
Our government claims it's penurious
When they boost up the tax
We should give them the ax
But we don't, for reasons quite curious!
The sun bowed low his heavy head
As wearily I dressed for bed
And said my prayers in sorrow.
"How long he has been gone!" I yearn
And wonder if he will return
On any fair tomorrow.
The gloomy shades of night are gone
And hope arises with the dawn
To light my way.
But he will wander on, I know.
But, oh he knows I want him, so,
Safe home, today.
Plant pansies for the chickens,
Plant roses for the cow
Protect them from slugs
From bugs
From jeep-driving lugs
And pre-school thugs
Grow them up big
Where puppies can't dig.
Plant flowers enough for the cow.
The ever hungry, ever lovin', flower-eatin' cow.
She'll get them, anyhow!
Food is great
But Love is better
My dog won't eat
Unless I pet her.
I'm feeling ill,
I told my spouse
So be as quiet as a mouse!
I'll clean the house
Said Darling Dear Hubby
And from my pillow
I can hear
Hurry-scurry, scuffle, bang,
Tramp, tramp, tramp.
Rattle, scuffle, bump and clang;
Rattle, squeak, stamp
Cuss Word! Cuss Word.
Reverberating Cuss word.
"Come and lend a hand"
Slam, bang, rattle, bump.
He works to beat the band.
Lay your head upon my heart
Then let your troubles cease
For folded softly in my love
You'll find a sweet release.
Then you will be my prisoner
Where I can care for thee.
I'll hold you here forever, dear,
But you shall keep the key.
Escape, then, if thou wist, my love.
The key dost fit the door.
But thou wouldst break the loving heart
That holds the prisoner.
Spring! Spring!
She praises Spring
Poor thing,
Don't believe her.
She suffers,
Alas
In the Spring
From hay fever.
I do not strive for riches
Nor do I long for fame
I only want an active part
In a life that's not too tame
When dew is sparkling in the grass,
I bathe me in my drinking glass.
I squat in dew drops to my chin
And drink them through my magic skin;
While catching bugs that try to pass.
Though often he reminds me
That it's my own job to boost
All the chickens in the henyard
Up onto their nice warm roost,
They elude me. They delude me,
And they fly most every where.
For all I care, they'll stay out there,
And be eaten by a bear!
If you hang it on the line
It will smell very fine
If you drop it on the floor,
It won't smell good any more.
If you leave it in the sink
It will stink and stink and stink.
All the day I hunted
And nothing did I see;
But a grouse a sitting
And hooting in a tree.
"Good evening Grouse,
I said to him,
And how are you today?"
"I'm wild and free and happy",
I thought I heard him say.
"I'm wild and free and happy,
And hope I stay that way."
"And so do I,"
I did reply
Before he flew away.
Though many a year I've hunted
In memory I still see
That same old grouse a sitting
And hooting in a tree.
Remember how I spoke to him?
And how he spoke to me?
In the land of scanty panty
With our skirts above our knees
In the summer time we're jolly
But when it's cold we freeze.
With our socks down to our ankles
And our skirts up to our hips
Though winter's chill gives us a thrill
That's why we paint our lips.
My charming young dog likes to bark
He barked all last night in the park
Tonight he is tied
But those slugs in his hide
He got in the park after dark.
He stands upon the precipice
And photographs the things I miss.
My reeling head, my shaking knee
Keep me here where I can't see.
Poison Ivy grows in patches.
Drinking water tastes like matches.
I wonder if the stuff is pure.
My husband blithely carols, "Sure!"
I drink, and panic damps my brow.
I'm sure that I am poisoned now.
Once I had a little turtle
And I thought I'd call him Myrtle
Because he was a turtle myrtle green
But I put him in the hot bed
And I surely hope he's not dead,
But since that day he never has been seen.
The sky was dark and writhed in pain
Telling the world "I'll cry again".
The farmer said, "It's gonna rain."
Slowly it opened one eye of blue
And let a beam of light come through.
The hills remained dark, faded blue.
They're not where the beam of light came through
My fruit tree smiled, "Its Spring again."
And turned all rose and cinnamon.
There is a black cat
And a white cat
And a spotted cat
And a yellow cat
And they come to see our cat
And they make a lot of noise
For Blackie is a lady cat
And the others are all Boys.
When children die and mothers cry
There is grief enough to spare.
When mothers die and children cry,
It is too much to bear.
I think that I shall never see
My Grandmaw climbing up a tree,
Or if she does, I know that she
Won't climb my Monkey Puzzle tree.
The weirdest Gram that I did see
Was climbing up my willow tree,
And picking pussies by the peck.
I bet she'll break her stupid neck.
When I'm tired of being Grandmaw
I pretend I'm just sixteen.
I remember well those early days.
What happened in between?
What matters if my hair is white
Or if my head's on straight
I never climbed a tree before
And I am sixty-eight.
The dandelion's an awful pest.
I like it.
It grows and blooms with carefree zest.
I like it.
It moves in where the grass should be
And multiplies in spite of me.
I like it.
It's classed among the blank blank weeds.
It parachutes its tiny seeds.
It's sunny smile this old world needs.
I like it.
The flower in her shady nook
Would stretch a stem to have a look
At anyone who came that way,
And gave a shy but friendly nod
To everyone, including God,
Who smiled, or said, "Good day."
The Garden Buff with spade so cruel
Has lifted her from shade and cool
And set her near a sunny wall,
Convinced that there she'd grow up tall,
And be admired by friends who call.
A violet tall?
Alas, her stems now grow too small.
But slyly Violet fights him;
He thinks there is a bee about,
For when he comes, she reachest out
And bites him!
Sometimes I'm in love
With the Ocean.
Sometimes I'm in love
With the Sky.
And I think I would climb
Every mountain
If my old legs would
Take me that high.
When the fog
curls up from the valley
And the cloud
curls down from the hill,
The world is
Chock full of magic
And the laughter
And rush of the rill.
Listen! I hear someone talking!
Voices are deep,
Quick and low.
A chuckle - but no one comes walking,
And I know it's the creek
Far below.
I drink from a chattering streamlet
The crystal drops hang in my hair
And I drink with eyes, dewy mosses
And flowers and ferns shining there.
A bird with his eerie cadence
Stretches my heart strings thin.
He stops; and I stop my breathing
Until he begins again.
I think I'm in love with the mountains
And their treasure of flowers and tree
I think I'm a part of the mountains
Or are they a part of me?
Poetry is often writ
About a hen that likes to sit.
You've never heard of one, I bet,
About a hen that ain't born yet.
So, thoughtfully I take pen
To sing the praise of unborn hen.
Oh, Hen-to-be, within your shell,
I like you very, very well.
I cannot wait
'Til you're a roast!
I want you now!
With buttered toast.
Way down upon the Swanee River
Water snakes are weaving to and fro.
There's where the water is brown and sludgy.
There's where the alligators grow.
#2
Dry leaves are brown; all curly-crunchy.
Swimming snakes make ripples on the pond.
Moccasin lies lazy on a shady limb,
And a frog sits singing out beyond.
#3
Little Girl runs gayly through the dry brown leaves.
Stop! Ho! My baby, Oh!
A rustly sort of stillness comes
Sneaking through the trees.
Stop! Ho! My Baby, Oh!
I heard it then, I hear it now!
It may be a 'gator or only a cow.
Stop! Ho! My Baby!
I think that I shall never see
A mountain climbing up a tree,
Or, if I did, I think I'd think,
That mountain had too much to drink,
Or else he's livelier than me.
Oh! Oh! Oh!
My aching tooth does hurt me so!
To the blacksmith I must go,
The dentist wants too darn much dough.
I fix a little cup of tea
To see if it will comfort me;
It always has, before, you see.
But now I scream, "Oh ouch, oh e-e-e-e-e-e-e
What that hot tea has done to me!"
I once was fond of eating stuff,
Now, eating things is just too rough.
For if its hot or cold or touch,
One bite, my teeth have had enough,
And I am weeping on my cuff.
The edibles they view with pride
Taste mildly of insecticide
The fruits we used to like so well
Are with us yet, and they look swell;
But eating them seems such a waste
Remembering how they used to taste.
There were two boys lived on the hill
Bachelor Pete and Bachelor Bill;
And sure as the sun came up each day,
When they awoke, each one would say,
"Good morning, Pete," "Good morning, Bill"
Bachelor Neal, who lived there, too,
Spoke only when he said, "Kerchoo!"
In a pile of manure he was born and was fed,
On garbage and offal he searched for his bread.
He like his meat raw, either fresh or quite rotten.
In filth and decay were his children begotten.
Unbidden he came, then, this dirty wee beast
To partake of our family out-of-door feast.
On six dirty feet he caroused right across
The sandwiches? Yes, and the meat and the sauce.
He dallied and played on a lovely white cake,
While virus, unseen, simply swarmed in his wake!
A big sip of juice and his meal was complete,
So he sat there, this fly, while he washed all his feet.
We stood there in wonder. Then me and my spouse
Left the feast for the wildlife, and ate in the house.
If the Queen should drop in for tea today
I really would not know what to say
Ah, me!
Let's see -
How is your majesty today?
Would you care for some cream in your tea?
I'd say
It's only condensed milk, but help yourself
And here are some cookies from high on the shelf
Where the kids can't get them.
But you are a queen! So you can have some.
There's chocolate between.
Now would you care for a game of ball?
Well, good-bye Queen, I enjoyed your call.
"Irene Chisholm, the vitamin poet, take one a day. (Poem not poet) One poet is quite enough"
Drawing: Irene Margery Whitfield Chisholm (blacksmith drawing on "Toothache" poem)
Photographer: Jack Chisholm
Author/artist/designer/programmer of page: Rowan Ainslie Chisholm
This website and all contents copyright 2009 Penelope Chisholm aka Rowan Ainslie Chisholm
This page first posted 28 March 2007
Latest update: 23 January 2011
