January 15, 2015

 

 

‘Please could you come out

from under the table now

Suzette, and take yourself

home. Our Arrabella is about

to be served her meal, and

there isn’t enough to share

with you, and besides, your

Mother will be wondering

where you’ve got to.

It would be nice if you could

help to fold up the sheet

before you leave.

You can come back tomorrow,

but what you both find to talk

about all this time, in your

tiny, white tented world –

God only knows!

 

 

January 14, 2015

 

 

A caressing thumb,

stroking the back of the hand;

warm flesh on flesh,

soon to leave, as planned.

 

Each touch agonising,

as a tear descends,

when the parting imminent,

of trusted friends.

 

 

 

 

 

To see such beauty

in a knot,

when bound together

as if time forgot.

 

To know such security

from a ring:

A band of gold,

no flippant thing!

 

 

 

 

 

An all fulfilling sacrifice,

worth every penny,

no matter what the price.

 

Effort put in,

thrice over, paid,

in satisfaction’s everglade.

 

 

 

 

 

A thought transplanted

from a seed;

passed on discretely;

the mind to feed,

 

will manifest itself

in time,

into reality,

and from slumber climb.

 

To give of self

for others gain;

what better way,

joy to attain!

 

 

 

 

They purr in sunlight’s hardened crust,

when smiles and laughter turn to lust,

and dance around the old mill pond,

arms ever searching to respond.

 

With pressing hopes and expectation;

desire so high, a ruined reputation.

Their love for each, at this time equal;

daring to believe, there’ll be a sequel.

 

Who’s right or wrong? No care right then.

The same line crossed as fellow men,

who look for solace at days end,

in hope to find that special friend,

 

to dance with round the old mill pond;

in search of someone to respond,

with arms entwined til journey’s end,

to make as whole, heartache to mend.

 

 

 

 

During idle thoughts,

when taking needed ‘he’ time,

came drifting into his mind,

she, who wasn’t worth a dime.

 

 

 

 

 

Of course, I can only

tell you how I see it,

and try to advise you

for the best.

But I have a familiar feeling

you’ll still do it your way:

I knew it, well, I’ll be blessed!

 

 

 

 

Better men

have gone to their grave,

through a word slipped out

in an innocent rave.

 

Lesser men,

not knowing how to behave,

have survived much worse

by the closest shave.

 

 

 

 

 

The mutual attraction

had been immediate:

No need for formalities

or word rehearsing.

But today,

with her gone from his bed,

the mother of all hangovers,

he was nursing.

 

 

 

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