Julie Rosenfield

My journal

Archive for the category “POEMS”

The Breakfast Club

The long, long winter,

The hard, frosted ground,

A handful of kindness,

A scatter of breadcrumbs,

Breakfast club is open.

* * * * *

In the kitchen, with the washing up,

Standing poised, I wait.

It’s not long till the first guest,

The shy wren, hops back and forth,

Considers the menu,

Unsure of approach.

* * * * *

Not so shy, a bold magpie,

Swoops down,


Crams its beak, once then twice,

Until with a flutter of feathers,

A band of brothers swoop down,

Scattering feathered fellows at the feast

* * * * *

Yet all is not lost,

Crumbs of comfort still,

For the thoughtful squirrel,

Nibbling delicately,

Like a seasoned connoisseur,

And two hopping robins,

Their blazing red chests illuminating

This frozen, white scene.

* * * * *

Just a brief pause, while I dry my plates,

And consider how this picture came to be.

Wheat growers in distant lands,

The work of the harvest,

The kneading, the baking,

   One thoughtful purchase

   And a kind winter’s deed.

* * * * *

And now my dishes are dried,

The garden empty, save frost,

Breakfast club is ended

As another day flies by.



I loved that man to distraction

To inaction, to the traction of my soul

Whatever he wanted, there I was

But however hard I tried

My love was not returned.

* * *

“Put up a barrier,” my friends urged

“A cold wall.”

Tired of broken arrangements

Cancelled dates

Trips to the Shard not shared

I concurred.

* * *

I would erect a barrier, they were right

But not a stone wall, a barbed wire fence,

An invisible, electric repelling beam

But a big, shiny mirror

A large, reflecting pool

That would be my border control.

* * *

So that when I send out beams of needful love

Instead of desiring arrows bouncing off his cold shell

And draining my being of a loving birthright

My love would, through the mirror, be reflected back at me


   And all the desire, the burning,

The yearning and the care

Would reflect back at me

Showering love

On one who deserves it more.

* * *

For he doesn’t need my love

But I surely do

Have craved long and hard for it

Suffered many a year for it

But now through the mirror I see

I am love.


I thought Eddie and I were so rock

Steady, he was my guy, I his girl.

His quiff and sideburns, glossy and black

He would take my hand, lead me to dance

As we whirled and jived around the floor

Just moving together in the dark.

 * * *

Every girl’s dream, he was tall and dark

With his film star looks, he was like Rock

Hudson, when he strode onto the floor.

Said I was his very special girl

The only one he wanted to dance

With, but that was before Susie Black.

* * *

  They called her Little Miss Susie Black

      With her figure slim, hair long and dark.

She led all the men a merry dance

    She knew how to make them roll and rock

It seems she was a predatory girl.

Their tales made my jaw fall to the floor.

 * * *

Then I heard rumours – left me quite floored

About Eddie and Miss Susie Black.

They couldn’t be true, I was his girl.

It turned out I’d been left in the dark

And before long my whole world was rocked

On the night of the Valentine’s dance.

 * * *

I walked in that night into the dance

And spotted them entwined on the floor.

I ran outside and picked up a rock

The largest I could – my heart was black

And came back under cover of dark

   Then aimed and threw it hard at the girl.

 * * *

A doctor ran in to help the girl

And called everyone to stop the dance.

He shouted as she lay in the dark

“Wake up little Susie.” On the floor,

He lifted her lids – her eyes were black

Turned to stone, she lay still as a rock.

 * * *

With candles on the floor, dressed in black

They sing Rock of Ages for the girl

Who will now dance in the dark no more.




Look at you, words

Scowling in corners

Hiding in cupboards

Why don’t you come when I call?

 * * *

How many of you would it take

20,40, maybe more

To say what he says in notes

To tell what his fingers convey

Dancing lightly across the piano keyboard

 * * *

You words, how quickly you run out.

You know who you are

Amazing, incredible, unbelievable

Astounding, and then what?

Exhausted so soon.

 * * *

His notes don’t tire like you

His quavers, crotchets, semi-breves

Whether soaring with elation

Meandering with melancholy

Or crashing down with a mighty boom

Effortlessly, they glide, weaving magic as they go.

* * *

Whereas you, words, are always hiding

“On the tip of my tongue,” they say

But not you, I don’t know where you go

Or where you’ve been this long, last year

* * *

I’m finished with you, words

I’ll have no more of you

Leave me alone for I have no need of you

For now I can just press the button and hear him play.

* * *



There are words I long to say to you

Speak out my truth

Say what I really feel

But I dare not

 * * *

There are feelings whirring inside me

Wanting to spill out

I keep them hidden

At what cost

 * * *

If I could, I would sing from the roof

I love you, love you


But I know I can’t

 * * *

I just have to carry them around inside me


 Like a precious gift

Wrapped inside shiny Christmas paper

Waiting for that one special day

When I can open it

And let the words escape

Like birds in flight

 * * *

Until then, I’ll be quiet


Smile secretly when they say your name

And hope.

* * *


Wrap with prayer, in a layer of care

Once blessed and caressed, let it rest.

 * * *

Then take a thread from a skein of hope

And a needle, bathed in kindness

And polished with soft compassion

 * * *

Softly thread the needle

And gently make the first stitch

Smooth out the thread

If there’s no resistance, continue

 * * *

Weave the needle in and out

Adding good memories

Peace and serenity

 * * *

If at any time the needle should catch

Just wait with patience

And when all’s quiet, proceed

 * * *

Finally, when you’ve reached

The end of the tear

Take some scissors

Shiny with love

 * * *

Cut the thread

And tie an everlasting knot of peace

Not just once, but twice

Then once more to make sure

 * * *

Leave for some time

Till the stitches dissolve

And light, love and hope enter

Behold – the heart is whole


It was in the miners’ strike

That we struck out

Tired of power cuts and “heat one room”

* * *

Me in flowered skirt, brown cheesecloth top

Glittering eyelids, bright sky blue

Nails a sparkle of irises

* * *

Bev is here – purple tank top, long black flares

We’re trendy, bold and fab

Our first time – just 16 – and at Maxim’s

“Two please” and then “Yes!”

 * * *

Sitting in the dark green alcove

Each with a creamy white Snowball moustache

Then “We’d love a Babycham”

* * *

We did it! Fooled them on the door.

While Britain froze and bought more candles

We minors drank to our new-found power.


For those of you who have known us forever

And think we have always been together

But wonder, sometimes, was there even ever

Anyone else? I’ve made up this list, just for whoever ….


Each one in turn, by their own means and ends

Ended it all with “Can’t we be friends?”

* * *

The bar man who called: “Last orders please.”

The apiarist who preferred his bees

The archbishop who then defrocked me

The lighting man who went volt-face: that shocked me

* * *

The Reader’s Digest fan who cancelled his subscription

Psychic Russell Grant, “No future” was his prediction

The Frenchman who, in the end, just called out ‘Fin’

The removal man who finally unloaded me from his van

* * *

The film fan who declared: “The End”

John Ketley who was but a fairweather friend.

The campanologist who rang “Time’s up” on his bell

The pudding maker who said we just didn’t gel.

* * *

The clockmaker who, at last, called time.

The poet who could find neither reason nor rhyme

The doctor who curtly signed me off

The sports man who actually preferred Frank Bough

* * *

The cardiologist who broke my heart

The papier mache fan who tore me apart

The musician who, with a bow, ended our set

The tennis fan who yelled, ‘Game, Set …No match yet’

* * *

The breakfast fan who declared me ‘Toast’

The Brighton man who fled to the coast

The calendar collector who called it a day

The caber tosser who chucked me and ran away.

* * *

The laundry worker who threw in the towel

“And it’s a No from me,” said Simon Cowell.

The bank manager who closed my account.

The vampire fan who preferred Dracula: out for the count

* * *

The banana dessert fan, who in the end, just split

The owl fancier who flew off – oh, what a Too-wit!

The horse groomer who didn’t care one bit

The jigsaw fan who said we did no longer fit

* * *

The Avon man – ding dong – who did not call

The Red Sea fan, who parted with me, after all

The Chippendale who I would not tease

The perfectionist who I could not please

* * *

The politician who voted with his feet

The confectioner who no longer found me sweet

The conductor who said I’d lost the beat

Gordon Ramsay who just couldn’t take the heat

* * *

Lord Alan Sugar – of course, I was fired

Banksy, the artist, said I no longer inspired

Dragon’s Den’s Duncan just said, “I’m out”

As did the priest who had started to doubt

* * *

The hairdresser who simply brushed me aside

The fairground worker who took me for a ride

The glass-blower who just blew me out

The cheerleader too: all he did was shout

* * *

The ballroom dancer who waltzed away

The dog-trainer who just wouldn’t ‘Stay’

The marathon runner who yelled: ‘Personal worst’

The artist who shouted, “Get stuffed” – Damian Hirst.

* * *

The London Cabbie who denied all knowledge

The ex-prisoner, who had just done porridge

The musician who found me out of tune

The bouncer who asked me to leave the room

* * *

The Monopoly player who said I didn’t stand a Chance.

The cyclist who pedalled off: Mr Armstrong, Lance

Paul McKenna, who said I did no longer en-trance

Anton du Beke who said, strictly, ‘Let’s not dance.’

* * *

The commentator who said, “It’s all over”

The dog walker who really rather preferred Rover

The jeweller who refused to give me a ring

The commitment-phobe who just cried out: “No strings”

* * *

The Sudoku fan who lost my number

The veggie man who preferred cucumber

The Scrabble fan who did not return my letters

Richard Branson who said he only liked jet-setters

* * *

The optician who no longer wanted to see me

The bondage fan who  decided to free me

The health inspector who, with a sigh, closed me down.

The Botox fan who just left without a frown

* * *

The publisher who kept rejecting me

The coach who stopped selecting me.

The refuse man who refused me

The teacher who excused me

* * *

The Facebook fan who unfriended me.

The binman who upended me

The head-teacher who suspended me

The soldier who surrendered me

* * *

The fireman who burned me

The equestrian who spur-ned me

The road digger who ditched me

The broadband fan who switched me

* * *

The recycling fan who swopped me

The juggler who dropped me.

The traffic policeman who stopped me

The lumberjack who chopped me

* * *

The orienteer who lost me

The salad fan who tossed me

The Frisbee fan who threw me

The film critic who did boo me.

* * *

The disposal man who dumped me

The wrestler who thumped me

The rider who found the going tough

And the minimalist who simply cried: “ENOUGH!”

* * *

But, did all these rejections make me cry, “Alack?”
No. like my present guy, the trampolinist, I just bounced back!


Love is a dangerous business.









In love










Your heart.

I’m sure if Health and Safety were to do a















No-one would ever fall in love at all.


“We’re having Shepherd’s Pie for dinner tonight.”

“Shepherd’s Pie?” you say

“Why are we having Shepherd’s Pie?”

* * *

We are having Shepherd’s Pie

Because tonight

He is having Shepherd’s Pie.

* * *

And no, I haven’t seen him

Or heard from him for two decades

Yet, I know that, tonight,

He is having Shepherd’s Pie.

* * *

 Because a twittering little bird tweeted

That tonight – tweet, tweet –

She is making him Shepherd’s Pie.

* * *

In her photo, she’s prettier than me

Younger than me, cleverer than me

And totally unaware of me.

* * *

And so capable is she

That tonight she is making him

 Shepherd’s Pie – real Shepherd’s Pie

Made from real shepherds.

* * *

Whereas all I have to serve

Is my humble offering

Nothing but lentils in my Shepherds Pie.

* * *

But I’ll match her with my mash

As I peel those potatoes

The sharp knife of rejection

Will still pierce just the same

* * *

And the heat of the boiling water

Will still scorch my lovelorn heart.

I may add rosemary to sharpen the memory

And the juice of a bitter, twisted lemon.

* * *

It’ll mean nothing to him, of course,

As he sits down to dinner,

20 years and 20 miles away

That we’ll be sharing the same dinner

Virtually speaking

* * *

“I think the Shepherd’s Pie is a little over-cooked,” you say.

“A bit burnt around the edges.”

Just like my memories, I think.

“I’m not surprised,” I reply

“It was a long time in the making.”


Catching sight of myself

In the glass shelter of the bus stop

I see my reflection

Short, tubby, middle-aged

In a padded red coat

 * * *

No longer the object of desire I once was

Or thought I was

He made me think so anyway.

One wet, rainy afternoon

When, unexpectedly, we lay together

But that was a long time ago

He’s with another now

 * * *

I’m glad his memories of me

Will always be bright,

Not grey-haired, not ageing

Or battered by the world as I am now

 * * *

This way, he’ll always remember me

The way I used to be

And in his mind, I’ll always be young

As, once again, I’ll dance lightly

And smile.

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