Wendy Lennon

Wendy Lennon is a poet and writer who is working toward the publication of her first collection. Her poetry is beautiful, visceral and muscular.

‘The first few are about my early life.  Maestro is about the targeted racist comments teachers could get away with in the 80s.  Erase Mother’s Tongue is about my mum’s Jamaican accent.  Ultimatumand Blitz are about my parents’ split and the aftermath of my father’s death that led to my mum’s slow painful descent which culminates in the poems Fourteen and Sixteen.  These poems are even more poignant this year as my daughter is now the age I was, and this year also marks twenty years since I was sixteen and homeless.
Single Mum was a three-page rant about all I must hold together, but after rereading and heavily editing, I realise it comes down to the few simple words I’ve kept in the poem.  After working my ass off to get into and through university and teacher training (with my children) the final two poems, Sunlight and Display Board are about my experiences of being a secondary school English teacher.
I find it extremely frustrating that I have felt the need to hide my life experiences behind my professional role and persona, when I could really help these girls and women.  That’s why I write; for the girls and women I have been, and still am.  I have managed to go part time to teach three days a week, slowly edging my way out of institutionalised teaching that restricts rather than helps children and teachers.  I’m no longer willing to hide myself and my life, especially knowing that I can help people.’
All poem are copyright of Wendy Lennon 2018, and contact with her can be made via info@joelletaylor.co.uk

 

Maestro

 

Bobbing in a blank sea, corked,

conductor waves baton frantically

flowing electrical current

bolts through

iced assembly hall; melts

deluge engulfs me

“The pigment in some

people’sskin,”

maestro gestures

to wood winded me,

“makes them heavier,

so that when theyswim,”

I, saturated by blank sea,

flap front crawl doggy

paddle drenched

“they will drown.”

Flooded by

scales

weighed up

impaled by

brass strings

submerged by rhythm

of blank sea, blank sea waves

I sink

 

I sink

 

I sink

 

 

I sink.

 

Ultimatum

by Wendy Lennon

 

He, traces brown veins

encased in mustard lino squares

draws boundary line edges.

 

She, sits, slots, solders

resistors into motherboard

smoke singe

globules of warmed silver

wobble, bubble, harden, hold.

 

I, nibble nails and dead skin

bleeding erupts, thread of skin still clings

lingering flap skin.

 

“So, who do you want to live with then?”

 

Sickle of her question mark

splices my head

decapitated

finger bled.

 

“Daddy!”  outburst

cling to parent blind eye saw first

not final decision

derision.

Eyes curse my betrayal

screeching plea left her black skin pale.

 

Crow’s feet creases

frame his eyes

funnel tears down cheek

land in lino pools beneath my feet.

 

Blitz

 

Square scrubland

wastes away near garage,

stiff sway dry grasses

dented cans gather in their masses,

held to ransom

by forgotten seeds,

stifling weeds,

suffocating sugary drunk insects can’t breathe.

 

Butterflies hang heavy on purple buds

flick lick gold yellow laden anthers.

 

She slinks, slithers white web weave

damaged spider’s home

crowns her head, striding beside dusty garaged throne.

 

Garage haemorrhaged

throne, toys, dingy, mix tapes, fridge –

 

phut phut phut

phosphorous flints –

 

 

murder blankie baby bits

flame licks photo frame

trike buckles melts

doll eye lolls back

eye blink shut

eyelashes singe

flames catch, burn fringe

letters curl twist

childhood trinkets life built blitzed

chasm of ash smoulders near garage

infertile ground of their marriage

 

Fourteen

 

Nails sink in skin

pluck, unfurl her grip; desolate, desperate, grim.

Wrench, uncoil

spring from grip, defiant little girl,

attempts to keep me, I’m determined to foil.

Needs me;

need me too.

vodka, ciggies, arcade crew –

escape

run.

Daren’t turn, hear her sink to knees in defeat

I (defiantly, selfishly, self-preservingly) race down the street.

 

Ciggy pinch pulls my chest

fire tip burns

release clamp grip.

 

Couple snogging

ciggy haggling

machine lights flashing

under current swirling

threatens my unfurling

sinking under vodka’s blind grip

grab nearest boy

tongue down throat sure to soothe it

doctored coke swapped between lips,

swig, see nail imprint on skin

remind

unsoothe

remove.

 

Stumble on slope

elbow nudges shrub

disturb moth

flaps, disperses dusting

scurries, cowers under purple bud.

 

Tongue sticks to roof of mouth

hand on hip to steady myself

cloying coke ciggy breath

congeal in cupped air above

smudged lips

wince

fling head back in self disgust

smack skull on house red rust

 

lumped bruise

nape of neck

concealed by coily curls

always knotted, never be plaited

or straightened or curled

unless risk skin singe.

 

Beyond open door                                          jumble of furniture

 

scattered across floor

 

tangled wood, splintered mirror, unrecognisable

(though within the same perimeter)

 

step into calmed mess

chaos flung flew during her distress

 

see chink of light                                               across scatter tip toe

 

Yellow boxes smashed open

 

crushed tablets filled grooves

on bread board, where knife once methodically moved

put herself in deep

end of life sleep

not even for me

not because of me

no me,

for six voices, not one of them me.

 

Candy striped sheets

covered in sick

breathe tick

breathe tock.

 

Cries, moan

police bash door, so she’s not alone

bathroom suite (avocado gold)

clings to basin stand, strong hold

straight jacket forces flaying limbs hug body

blankets wrapped hide jacketed body

discretion in village always been shoddy.

 

Faked being sane

fooled white doctors again and again

although she let me see her secret pain

between the split in her heart broken brain.

 

Erase Mother’s Tongue

 

Lilt of grandma’s voice, dance,

roll hips, reggae entrance.

Pop, pop, pop of shelling peas,

thrive with ease;

rooted in Jamaican soil,

despite fifty years of Midland toil.

Mother Tongue not soiled,

community voices simmer, boil.

 

My mother’s tongue forced to rot.

Speak English English or shut up.

 

Dad corrected,

Truth infected,

dead lips, stand corrected.

 

Wanted to fit in,

dead ears if Truth she spoke in.

Fear of her black skin,

country folk fiercely delicate kin,

won’t twist ears to listen in.

Erased lilt

no need to tilt

too much to ask

cover voice in standard English mask

cover in disgrace

voice displaced

home misplaced

watched it fly away

whipped up by hurricane

watched it on the news one day;

tears,

blinded for years.

Dismay;

their home dead

Truth dead

coffin in her head.

 

 

Sixteen i

 

Yellow boxes forces

oxidised enzymes

turns injured

flesh colourless

precursor brown,

shrivelled, kicked, clutching

plastic bag that contains

me,

saved

from fire, frantic

nights, death

wrecking.

 

Clung against metal,

even the lady in the

fruit and veg shop will

no longer devour

me, scours now at

what I’ve become

disgusted by bites

chomped, the

mmmmmmmmm

wwwwwwwwww

of teeth marks

clomped out, linger

I walk towards –

 

 

Single Mum

 

Hold;

never

held.

  

Sunlight 

 

Elbow refusal

to bow to rules

almost admire ability

to do whatever he may choose

until his desire

inverts

perverse

Elbow blocks blind

refuses to allow me to unwind

SLT peer in

‘Is Miss being unkind?

I’ll let you off your detention,

good boy pay attention’

I bow to him and them

schlepped through uni             alone          with babies at my hem

can’t give up just yet

Twists

wrists

just so

positioned carefully where the light will flow

from window to watch to my cheek

won’t admit defeat

scurry to my left a few feet

turn, twist, tilt

just so

where the sunlight flows

from my cheek to my neck to my breast

peals of laughter

at me being lightly undressed

by fifteen-year-old boy

who treats SLT like toys

Issue C3s

try to calm whipped up sea

‘Nah Miss, it weren’t me I didn’t do nuffin’

Tilt

direct hit

belly button

sunlight slices line

gut hook zipper

down to top of knicker

line, some kids snicker

unaware, I continue to deliver

spotlight on pubic area

causes class mass hysteria

victory

over me

dismiss class, admit defeat

working class white boy on data target sheet

boy like him free to roam corridors and street.

Display Board

by Wendy Lennon

 

Peeling borders

expose bloodied staple disorder

crack

mismatched

s  t  r e  t  c  h  e  d, can’t reach that

gap

between

need           and             education

(that’s expensively free)

cost of deadening soul

children’s need can’t console

controlled

by borders

limits cause disorders

nothing fits

wherever I stick it

used to be

consistently

for hard work and care

now, it’s for tick box

wage paid

hungry bills cling to board

balancing

(health and safety illegally)

stretch roll of backing

that’ll have to do –

really, it’s a job for two –

cover with quotes, images, held by wordy glue

all complete, functional, paid, defeat

displayed deceit

captive borders stop

womb children seeing me

staple plucked from family

time cost

of teaching within corrugated perimeters

exams insufficient barometers

exams mean fuck all, soul’s downfall

forced to pin grade boundaries to wall

ambiguous measure can’t measure how tall

how high reach beyond sky.

 

Day three:  Little Jimmy peeled border

slaughtered quotes

leaving me frustratingly provoked

until I see that little Jimmy

wasn’t trying to annoy me

he was showing me

escape route of the free, unchained, uncorrugated me.