Irene Dixon

Rene, as she prefers to be known, is a long-time member of the Harlow Writers Workshops. Her work  is largely drawn from life and many of her pieces finish with the words 'this is another of Irene Dixon's true stories'. She often uses her sharp sense of humour to flavour her writing. Here are two of her recent poems:





Don is throwing a wobbly

Now what have you done

That’s made him yell and holler

Then ride off in the sun ?


Is it his 8 hours

Has he been deprived?

Did the baby wake him,

Or was it noise outside?


Pat then lost the keys

She didn’t get upset.

He said “You are stupid

NOW You will regret”


He’s going back to Mummy

Her many cakes and pies

Tables laid with sumptuous food

“Eat up Don” she cries.


“Here some smelly goats milk

Made into nice rice pud

Don’t worry if it smells of tail

As all good goats milk should.


“Don’t breathe in while you eat it,

Just enjoy the taste.

It has lots of sugar

And with cinnamon is laced”


You know Pat will be crying

So you turn off the phone,

Knowing by tomorrow

He’ll wish he were back home


Next day he arrives with Roses

And promises galore

Saying he is sorry

And won’t drive off no more


When the final parting came

He drove off into the sun

It wasn’t Mums pud to blame

It was ‘weed’', the son of a gun.




© 2015


















Today I am euphoric

In fact dizzy with



No I have not

 sniffed a line!

I have a flat

Which is all mine


At last I have

The key to a door

I am not twenty one

But sixty four


Two whole rooms

To call my own

My own loo

Also a phone


I can cook, or not

When I please.

Read or write

Be at ease


No more staring

At the box

No more moans

About odd socks


Play scrabble

Till early morn

Go to bed

At crack of dawn


It is a selfish life

I'll lead

I think I’ll go

To bed and read




© 2015




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