Home » Poems » Best » Helen Dymond » Best Helen Dymond Poems

Best Poems Written by Helen Dymond

Below are the all-time best Helen Dymond poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Helen Dymond Poem

She Can'T Bear It

WOMAN YOU ARE INFERTILE
what a mess
she can guess how poor old sarah felt before the angel relented and
implanted isaac
DONT WORRY DEAR he said WHAT'S FORTY YEARS OF PAIN?
YOU'RE ALL GOD'S CHILDREN

if she must be big fat she'd rather be
the sow with eighteen teats
kneedeep in 
rope-throated for the butcher's knife but still
smiling from ear to ear
as her teats are eighteen ways caressed
she a mere self and the sow
a goddess
yes
unfathomable karma of the squealing universe

BALLS said the angel LUDICROUS CONCEIT do you want your
legs spread and the guts pulled from you as a living head?
worry guilt potty training
teenage dropout drugs no gratitude
woman of the new millenium VEIL YOURSELF
in friendship sex career
be a man if you will
get therapy adopt the homeless THERE ARE FAR
he cried TOO MANY CHILDREN IN THE WORLD

what is she then
since her body has failed to repay?

only (as Lawrence gently said of Connie Chatterly) a thing of terrors
humiliation worse
far worse than immorality

there are sisters who exercise choice but she
is not one
her womb has her in thrall to its useless bloat and vomit
as the moon darkens her room
ovaries lie in her brain like unpicked fruit
even in sleep
imploding

SHE WANTS TO KILL THE CHILD WITHIN HER

how do you mothers
feel about that?

Details | Helen Dymond Poem

The Dinosaur Song

Wag your tails in agreement
my big-footed band,
there’s nothing can beat us
in dinosaur land!
Fear not for tomorrow
for we wear the crown,
eat your fill of the forest,
then trample it down.

Don’t weep for the injured,
the small and the frail,
the more you can eat them
the strong will prevail.
So gorge on the world and get
monstrously large,
and thus will our species
stay always in charge.

Wag your tails if you hear me, 
my tiny-brained friends,
for night-time approaches,
the big sleep descends.
Don’t listen to rumours
Now floating about,
For sure, there is nothing
That can wipe us out.

Details | Helen Dymond Poem

Sylvia

sylvia
was it really you
those last weeks of your life?

from the first wide-eyed disbelieving horror
at the ice-killer in your womb

but you were still strong then,
strong sylvia, shouting, your blonde hair swinging,
throwing pillows at the nurses
when they tried to move you painfully to a chair
and in the end you broke their ignorance and stayed
regally in bed as they wheeled you to the lift,
laughing behind your hand

then, in the sad green-tree-shaded room of the hospice
you melted, day by day, down to your skin.
New creatures in you took shape

and when I looked, you were
a just-hatched chick
tiny, white, and so beautiful
the fair hair matted to the skull,
the fragile claws occasionally waving
as you wove a dream or memory

your gaze of speechless innocence
I shall never forget
I had not thought there was such innocence left in you
you who were always
so wise in your wildness

in the sweet sick room
where patients coughed or retched or bleeped their bleepers
you whispered the secrets of your transformations
to our deaf ears

yesterday you were
a bird with open beak spreadeagled on the pillow

then you became
a leaf
just pulsing in the daylight
the hair-like veins murmuring in your white arm
while death licked at your stalk, hour by hour,
so that at last
                        you could fly