Bring on Monday

Tangled up inside my head

lost within where thoughts are fed

overthinking all and sundry

exploding inwards

bring on Monday

© Liola Lee 2019




Going home – An Epitaph

I came here just to visit,

On borrowed time some say,

Delivered by the Angels

On a path to find my way.


I danced in my fairy shoes

And sang a serenade

To life, love and happiness

So please don’t be afraid.


The time has come for me to go,

I’m going home to play

With Angels in Paradise

I can no longer stay.


Please don’t be sad for me,

I really am alright,

Just think of me loving you

O My Darliing ….good night.

© Liola Lee 2007

Back in 2007 I was writing a fair bit of poetry, and use to belong to a site called Poetbay which really was quite a lovely platform for sharing poetry and encouraging others on there poetry journey. Sometimes they would set challenges and give you a brief to work to. This  poem came about when the challenge was to write an Epitaph. 





Ill-chosen lyrics, a well-loved tune?

Child of the Sun, child of the Moon?

Where once reigned daylight

Now shadow led night.

Where once there was vision

Eyes blind without sight.

Where now is felt weakness

Not characterised might;

Once stood strength,

Ready to fight.

The fight is now gone:

A forgotten song:

Words without voices,

Decisions less choices.

This way or that way?

I know not which;

The path rightly chosen

Is wealth beyond rich.

To those who seek,

To them shall find;

The way is forward

Not that behind.

© Liola Lee 2007



Sister Bitch

The pain and suffering caused to those

The accusations, that were imposed

The broken ties, hearts and bonds,

Loving friendship thus absconds.


The twisted tales and lies were told

The brazen bollocks of words so bold,

The shattered souls, tears and fears

A prison sentence, of several years?


The untruths, that they said were true,

The acting to convince the few,

The tears were false as is the heart

A clever act, right from the start.


The money beckoned, the pounds they call,

The house, inheritance, she wants it all.

The trial by jury, just a fix,

A farcical phoney, a trickster’s tricks.


The envy of a Sister Bitch,

An in-law aiming at being rich.

The lack of feeling, lack of care

For her brother, she wants his share.


The loss he felt at this betrayal,

The family unit going stale.

The loss of sibling. loss of self

Stomach ache and suffering health.


The Sister Bitch has love of money,

The script she cites has little honey.

The greed for guts and blood are hers

As long as pounds pour in her purse.


The Jury hears the woeful story,

The opera soap of something gory.

The story of her darling child,

And one other that she reviled.


The plot was easy, and ready set,

The will would change for her to get

The money, house and everything,

Her bank balance set bound to sing.


The victim chosen, that was easy,

The lack of guilt she showed was sleazey.

The lad was blood and yet not blood,

Adopted nephew stuck in mud.


The mental state of this young man

The game she played because she can

The way she saw it, all was fair

Money talks, she does not care.


The evidence does not exist

There are no facts, you get the gist?

The fabrication, blatant lie

Could not be proved, wonder why?


The things she said did not take place

In any shape, form or space,

A pack of lies, just for money,

Destroying lives, is not funny.


The Jury heard, the story told,

Historical case, out in the cold:

Jury out, await decision,

So confused by such derision:


What had started out, as small,

Gained momentum, a rolling ball:

A cigarette smoked, now in trouble,

A stupid girl, an airhead bubble:


She said one thing, and then another,

Sought attention, from her mother.

It seemed so easy to tell a lie,

Always easy, to turn and cry.


The waterworks worked, well until

The person she told, called ‘Old Bill’.

They made a case, I don’t know how

From lies she said, was truth and now


We have a situation,

Total crap, and fabrication.

The Sister Bitch could have ended,

But saw to get the will suspended.


The chance had come to her, what luck!

To make some money, what the fuck!

Why settle for half, when she could gain

The entire fortune just for saying


A lie, so what, she does n’t care

When it comes to money, don’t play fair.

Half a million to be gained,

So what, if someone innocent stained.


What she did not bargain for,,

Was that a fight would be in store.

Justice, freedom and liberty,

The truth is out now, the Jury see.


What they said, could not have been

He was not there, was not seen.

We watched them in the court of law

Listened, to a sham so poor.


It makes me mad, angry, sad,

That just because his temper’s bad,

Previous convictions, fall from grace.

Unsuited body, scar on face.


They tried to twist the facts so clear,

Pervade justice, and Jury steer.

He is believed and she is not,

The facts speak clear, they ‘re full of rot.

© Liola Lee 2007

Sometimes people will do./say anything for monetary gain or if it gets them out of trouble and takes the focus off them! Sometimes those people are the people we think are closest to us!  

Child with a tear…

So much destruction, so much despair,

wherever you look, are those who don’t care.

All about money, all about greed,

all about oil, not how we grow feed.


Powerful bodies, globally meet,

exchanging views, sustain a seat.

All about talking, voices are heard,

now to a banquet, how absurd.


Wars all around us, killing on streets,

bombs and explosions, bulleted sheets:

All about hatred, murder and rape,

hostages taken, filmed screaming on tape.


Ignorance lingers, in a world full of fear.

a child, is a child, is a child with a tear.

© Liola Lee 2007

I wrote this many years ago but the sentiment remains sadly the same…