Growing up

Growing up I often had thoughts about death and dying. I was a morbid kid.

Here’s one of the poems I wrote at the time:

Live while you can

For our time isn’t long

Fill each hungry moment

With laughter and song.

When I was sixteen I wrote this:

Not a trace of me you’ll find

When I leave this earth behind

Perhaps a poem here or there

Left behind for those who care

But nothing important

Or little to say

Why I came or went away

As I said, I was a morbid kid.

When I wasn’t thinking about death, I was thinking about love:

What I need

What I need is a shoulder to lean on

One that fits my head.

I need a phone that rings for me

A voice I know without asking its name

I need someone to fight my way

for me in the rush hour

who’ll buy me tickets for the

train taking me to nowhere.

 Here’s another  poem, written in my teens, about a girl I saw on the Piccadilly line.  The poem was published in “Seventeen” magazine in the USA.

Everyone at the ad agency where I was then working as a copywriter, clustered around my desk to have a look.  The creative director asked what all the excitement was about. ‘Andrea has had one of her poems published in an American magazine,’ someone told him.

‘Let me know when you have an advertisement published in an American magazine,’ he replied. And walked away.

There she sits

the flashy blonde

with Rimmel eyes

and woolworth hair

legs crossed

slip showing

sitting there

so we may stare

But who cares

or wants to stare

at a washed-out blonde

with bluey

tinted

peroxide hair?

 

© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems

 

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