Amazing Maisie

Andrew Hider

In 2019, OCD - obsessive compulsive disorder, remains on the fringe, despite being one of the worst of mental disorders. It remains the subject of parody and mockery. It is misunderstood and not taken seriously. There is no such thing, for example, as “a little OCD”, as portrayed in one of these poems... “A Little Monster”. Usually, a feature about someone with OCD is confined to OCD, with no story outside of the condition; sometimes almost as though the person has no right to have one. This is not the case with these poems regarding Maisie...OCD is not always apparent; it isn’t apparent in the first ones, as in very early life. It is soon there, but Maisie has a life. The aim of this little book is to try to help break the stereotypes of OCD...it cannot hope to explain a condition as complicated as this in just a few pages. But for enlightenment regarding symptoms of OCD, or support if you think you may have the condition, I strongly recommend you visit www.ocdaction.org.uk or phone OCD Action on 0845 390 6232 for information and support.

Amazing Maisie Amazing Maisie got lost in a maze, Cut out of a field of maize. She was in there for days and days, When she did get out, she was in a daze, For she had been in there for days and days, Wandering about in a bit of a daze. Now she has started a bit of a craze, To wander about in a bit of a daze, In a maze that’s cut out of a field of maize; Where the songbird sings and the bunny plays, For days and days and days and days. Maisie in a Daisy Amazing Maisie felt rather lazy, One warm Indian summer’s day; So our Maisie climbed into a daisy, To look for a friend with which to play. She took tea with the autumn bunny, They ate lettuce and toast and Indian chutney... Heard the songbird sing through mellow haze, Lost somewhere deep in a magical maze, Cut out of their field of maize.

Weekend with Fishes It was Friday tea-time, at last the weekend, Maisie had driven her teacher around the bend... Poor Miss drove a pink speedboat to Southend... Maisie wandered off in a dream, To talk to the fishes in a stream. They invited her for the weekend to stay, She played football with them all Saturday; The game ended in a nil-nil draw, The state of the pitch was rather poor. On Sunday they all went for a walk, Then when they got back they had a long talk, About all the adventures they could have the next day, If only, if only, it wasn’t Monday. Tick-Tock Tick-tock said the clock, The time said six-thirteen; Tick-tock said the clock, Maisie wondered where she’d been. Tick-tock said the clock, Maisie had had a dream; Tick-tock said the clock, Maisie thought that she would scream; Tick-tock said the clock, Maisie had seen pretty monsters in her stream. Maisie would meet one this very day, A little girl whom with she was due to play... A pretty maid fresh and fair of face, Going by the name of Grace.

When Amazing Maisie met Amazing Grace Amazing Maisie met Amazing Grace, Grace was fair and dressed in lace; But Maisie had scuff marks on her knees, For she had just been climbing trees. Grace she sang with heavenly voice, Maisie’s voice was nobody’s choice; Grace sang fine in perfect tune, Maisie yelled songs at the moon. Grace would not with Maisie football play, But tried to tell her what to play, As well as what to think and what to say, That Maisie should have rituals every day; That she should be pure and clean every hour, And every day must give the house a scour. So each girl walked off in a different way, Grace with a book balanced upon her head, Maisie chewing cheese and crusty bread. After Amazing Maisie met Amazing Grace, She was not named Amazing anymore, And wondered if there were monsters behind each door. She was just plain Maisie, But still could climb into a daisy. She was still amazing, To the moon could still sing; And I think it true, Whoever you are who reads these words, You are amazing too.

Maisie’s Christingle For once, at the time of cold Christmas moon, Maisie managed to sing in tune; With her candle in an orange she looked lovely and sweet, The vicar checked...no she had not pinched one sweet. Maisie ascended to heaven with beautiful angels, To soft magical sound of seasonal bells; Only one small slip as she sang with the choir, And the kid beside Maisie, well her hair almost caught fire. But the verger was on hand with a bucket of water, Which he hastily threw all over his daughter. Flowers at Christmas One Christmas Day as snow started to fall, The flowers of the year all came to call. Maisie had invited them back in November, So that all of them would remember. A crowd of golden spring daffodils, Came to chase away cold winter ills. Cornflowers told bluebells it’s warmer in August, Honeysuckle told croci believe that if you must. Roses had much of the year they could share, Telling stories to all the sunflowers, buttercups and daisies there. They all started singing, Maisie et all, The neighbours, not happy, they banged on the wall; Mum and Dad left, and hid in Nepal, And turned off their phones, so no one could call. At the end of the day the flowers went on their way, Except for one snowdrop, who decided to stay; For it was the start of his time of the year, He was now very soon due to appear; So in the snow the very next day, He took his place in the garden that Boxing Day. So if on the day after Christmas you spy, A snowdrop wearing a green party hat; Give him to eat a scrummy mince pie, And let Maisie know you have given him that.

Robin the Rhinoceros Maisie was a good girl, So she checked she locked the door; Then twice, then four, Then twenty-four... Then it became a bore. So she went out with her friend Floss, And left in charge a rhinoceross, Which was really quite preposteross. Mum and Dad were at a loss, As they were expecting a hoss... Dobbin the hoss, Not Robin the rhinoceross. They thought it preposteross That Maisie pronounced preposterous preposteross, And rhinoceros rhinoceross. Dobbin the hoss, Who was a horse of coss, Had been too busy sewing moss. Most Tuesdays he gave Maisie’s teeth a floss, But this Tuesday was the day, Robin used his horn to cause disarray, And chase the monsters in Maisie’s house away; But now had to be on his way, To return to the African plains by Saturday. But he left behind his assistant Mandy the mouse, Who kept the monsters away from Maisie’s house.

Bathtime Mummy and Daddy were in despair, There were...things...in Maisie’s hair; And quite simply, Maisie didn’t care. I can’t say what they were; they don’t taste too nice, But they do rhyme correctly with special fried rice. Maisie was told this was no reason to laugh, But must go straight away and sit in the bath. Mummy fought with Maisie’s tight curls, While Daddy wished Maisie was as other girls; And simply just sit still in the bath, Without twenty minutes of having a laugh. She did not think all enemies those that creep and do crawl, Did not agree to fear these wee creatures at all... She knew of fine angels who were evil and cruel. Maisie made each of her many friends a fine boat, Making sure that each one in the bath could safe float. So off they all sailed...a fleet of one hundred-and-one, Away to the west, to the gold setting sun. Before long they arrived at the Cape of Some Hope, Where they all lived together on a big bar of soap. There they erected a plaque for Maisie... “For our goddess - she set us all free”. Maisie in a Muddle Maisie’s in a muddle, A complete and absolute comfuddle; She puts everything in order, But this gives her more disorder. She wonders if this might make a difference someday, But her cat called Nip, Surveys the tip, And tells her to throw it all away.

Maisie at School Maisie was reading her favourite story, Where fairies and elves were covered in glory. When Maisie was reading it was hard to begin, To get through the first lines without bad thoughts within; If a nasty old troll got inside her brain, Maisie would have to start reading the story again. But when she got going her reading was fine, Away Maisie went to a world most sublime. The next lesson was geographical art, Maisie grew bored, so she gave a loud fart. She was made to stand out in the hall, Behind a long clear window of glass; Maisie was short, not very tall, So jumped up to make faces to the giggling class. Her reading was fine after a difficult start, But she never passed an exam in geographical art. Maisie Day May Maisie May be the Queen of the May, And wear all those colourful ribbons in May? Why not? Why not? Why can’t Maisie be the Queen of the May? Because she does not all those rituals obey? Rituals do not rule the true May Day, And for Maisie it is her Maisie Day - her birthday; That she shares with he who lost her in a maze, For days and days and days and days. So Maisie May may be the Queen of the May, And wear all those colourful ribbons in May.

Numbers The day after her Maisie Day, Maisie invited her numbers to stay, For a long and blossomy Maytime week, So they could have some fun and romance to seek. Number Four arrived in a coach-and-four, Number Six checked each door of the coach-and-four. Number Eight was in rather a state, She kept counting the horses to make sure there were four. Number Three to this could relate, Fearful of anything to him not straight, So fell in love with his Number Eight. Luck was with the Lady Thirteen, As she found romance with young Fourteen, The most gorgeous boy she had ever seen. Number Twelve was rather plain, But Nine loved her dearly just the same. Number Ten fussed like an old hen, Over her babes Seven and Eleven, again and again, To make sure no harm could come to them. Cautious Five was rarely seen, Until his sister arrived - Number Fifteen. Sweet Sixteen scoffed all the jam and most of the cream, So Maisie at her did yell and scream. Number Two told Maisie she was his Number One, That their romance had only just begun; Maisie adored him; she called him her True Two, For she knew his words to be so true, As everyone told her she was a right one.

Hot Drink Maisie made her dad a hot drink, In a squirrel’s kitchen, quick as a blink; Coffee from acorns, from an apple tree, Nutkin did not charge, he sold them for free. Just to make sure, in Daddy’s coffee, Maisie popped in a teabag or three. In this woodland kitchen - no electricity, So she boiled the water boldly, and coldly. Daddy said “Thank you, that’s very nice”, I cannot believe it - he said it was nice! Maisie leaves Home Mummy and Daddy to Maisie were friends, They read her nice stories and mopped up her loose ends. She was fond of her mum, Mum was Maisie’s chum; She was fond of her dad, Dad made Maisie glad; But sometimes they grew cross and so sad, When scary monsters made Maisie feel bad. So one day Maisie left home, Around the world she determined to roam. She packed into her suitcase her favourite toys, And all other things that a Maisie enjoys; And angrily marched to the end of the street, But it was there that she realised she had nothing to eat, So marched back home in the hope of a treat.

Maisie and Benny Maisie took Benny the dog for a walk, Or did Benny take Maisie the girl for a walk? I can’t remember. Anyway, they crossed a river, One cold day with rather a shiver, Over a bridge made of a giant cabbage stalk. They started to hop, And reached a bus stop. Maisie caught a bus to the moon with Benny, It cost five pounds but was worth every penny; Maisie had plenty of lovely cheese, Benny made friends with cheesy fleas. Maisie did not need to climb cheesy trees, As she could jump higher and higher with ease. She returned home with ten types of cheese, And Benny came back with his cheesy fleas... Maisie allowed them all home, If you please, For they were just fleas of cheese, Born within tranquil lunar seas. Watching Ants On many warm sunny days, Ants are fixed within Maisie’s gaze; Not many yards are miles and miles, Their mystery to Maisie’s world beguiles. She watches ants walk their paths so long, Amazed she is that they are so strong; She imagines their cities under the ground, Ruled by their queen, who cannot by Maisie be found. Mummy and Daddy think Maisie has ants in her pants, But the ants are more interested in orange chrysanths; Though of course as a fidget who likes to watch ants, Maisie does indeed have ants in her pants; And well, Maisie prefers ants, To orange chrysanths.

Cleaning the House Grace tells Maisie, “Clean you house, With your assistant Mandy Mouse.” Maisie puffs up pillows, Opens windows, And cleans it all with rain. By noon, her and Mandy, Who’s come in very handy, Have washed all the mud, Sweetly down the drain. Maisie long surveys the flood, And decides she won’t clean her house, So thoroughly, again. Magical Sands Maisie frets when she washes her hands, She washes and washes and washes her hands; So she washes her hands with magical sands from fairylands, Where young roses grow upon a tropical beach, As old buttercups of Kent, of love them teach. When she’s washed her hands with magical sand, Maisie feels safe and royally grand; With soft dress of rainbows woven with magical sands, And fairy rings worn upon her dainty hands.

Behind Maisie’s Door Maisie awakes in the dark in her bed, She wonders if behind her door, there are ghosties of dread; She wonders if through the light through the crack round the door, There are messages flooding onto her bedroom floor. To what is behind the door Maisie is blind, She wonders that if she opens it what she might find. She bravely pushes the door to see what is there, And finds there is nothing, nothing to scare; The big monster behind the door is no longer there, He will go away if Maisie does dare. Maisie hears the breath of the wind, The songs of the birds, And the crash of distant waves. She smells the scent of sweet violets, Of soft primroses and fragrant blossom. She feels the warmth of the sun... She forgets her cares and walks as me, Where woodland trails meander free; And summer grass flows like the sea, To cliff tops where the ocean be. She hears music on the dancing waves, Being played by fingertips of land, As she gently sings upon soft magical sand. Upon these rainbows of magical sands, In these nearby faraway lands, Where the scary monster cannot reach, Maisie dances with white horses on the beach.

A Little Monster The blackbird sang, The doorbell rang, Maisie answered the door. She could see nothing, But there was something, Shouting from the floor... “I’m a little monster me, I’m a little monster me, That’s me, that’s me!” Maisie looked closer, At what shouted at her; She beheld something tiny, The size of an ant. A monster could not be little, Not possibly be little; So Maisie went off on a rant. It seemed, She screamed “I’m not having THAT!” Then she stamped on it, And that was the end of THAT!

Maisie the Bride Maisie became an early bride, The grown-up world looked scary and wide, On an April day in springtime light, A day close to Easter when April wore white. Her posy was of a springtime glow, But everyone stood there in two feet of snow; The bride she was frozen... Would her tootsies back again grow? Blossom fell as though snowflakes falling in sun, Maisie looked posh with her hair in a bun. Sometimes, before Maisie had become a young bride, She would to her now husband some of her secrets confide, But could not tell of all the monsters and angels she kept hidden inside. Behind her smile there was something within her that cried, But one day she would tell of all that made her inwardly sad... She would then be so happy, so relieved and so glad, That her dear true love did not think she was mad. Maisie and hubby walked miles and miles, In all sorts of weather with laughter and smiles; They tackled their troubles in their own style, Climbing over many a difficult rickety stile.

Maisie and the Swan Maisie walked to a hidden lake, Before the world was fully awake; She saw a swan float alone and sad, The sight of Maisie made him glad. He swam silent without his lady wife, Without his other half in life; No babes to them were ever born, But they woke as a pair through years each dawn; Until the lady passed away, Sadly one cold winter’s day. Maisie told the swan this dawn, She would name her children for him; Singing softly Nature’s hymn, As each one to her was born. And so she did... Behind each human spoken name, In her mind she hid, A remembered swan’s silent name. Her boy she named Chilli, Her girl she named Ritz; She taught them to laugh, And loved them to bits. Old Maisie Maisie wakes up one day feeling cold, She realises she is getting old. She looks in the mirror and what does she see? A careworn woman of sixty-three, With an appointment pending at half-past three. But she looks in her heart and what does she see? An untamed child running free, Dancing with white horses by the sea; And she says to herself...”Yes, that’s me.”