January 4, 2015

 

 

In the lily pond

of a childhood dream,

lie secret wishes

leading to a stream.

 

As yet, unrealised,

but the outlet there;

waiting for the moment

to lay burdens bare.

 

And shed a skin,

and to life respond;

but first that single step,

out of the lily pond!

 

 

 

 

They ask ‘Who is he;

give me some common ground,

so a realistic conversation,

I can then turn around’.

 

They say ‘Give me some detail,

about what makes him tick,

so words can be exchanged,

without me looking quite thick’.

 

They ask ‘Does he like dogs,

or is he a cat man’?

‘Fill me in on his background

as soon as you can’.

 

They beg ‘Let me see his resume;

his imagination to catch’?

But he’ll know in a second,

the plan that you hatch!

 

I say ‘to hell with all that;

take him as he comes,

if you’re ever going to be,

agreeable chums’.

 

See him as a blank canvas;

your own picture create.

If you start off with bullshit,

no progress you’ll make.

 

Don’t you think that he knows,

each irritating sycophant,

and each line of nonsense,

that out of their mouths, pant?

 

If you go down that route,

polite excuses he’ll make,

just to get the hell away,

for his sanity’s sake.

 

Just imagine him naked,

but on second thoughts not,

as a sudden fit of giggles,

would see you a clot.

 

And what if the worst happens

and an opportunity is missed:

Is it such a big deal,

if he doesn’t know you exist?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

January 3, 2015

 

 

‘Please forgive me’,

she said in vain.

‘At least, let me,

try to explain’?

 

‘Things aren’t the way,

you think they are;

it’s just my humour-

so bizarre’!

 

‘No chance’ said he;

the damage done.

‘Pick up your broom,

and go and run’.

 

‘And take with you,

your acid tongue,

to the gates of hell,

where they belong’.

 

‘Your answer seems,

to me, extreme!

Your voice in temper,

at a scream’.

 

‘Could I win you back

with a sweet caress,

and a touch of loving

tenderness’?

 

‘And a succulent steak,

cooked to perfection,

with cupids arrow

sent in your direction’?

 

‘Put like that,

my mind forgiving;

yes, let’s carry on,

with this game called living’.

 

‘As long as sticky pudding,

there is to conclude,

served with chocolate sauce

by you, in the nude’?

 

‘Trust you to push

for that little bit more;

now we’re back at the start,

where we were before’!

 

‘Oh, and there’s no such service

at this ere’ ranch.

So take or leave the offer

of an olive branch,

 

before I close

the larder door:

Remember what Oliver Twist got,

when he asked for more’?

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

December 19, 2014

 

 

So simple, yet so beautiful;

so pure in every way.

The gift of love so durable;

a feeling here to stay.

 

So powerful, yet so natural,

and with each passing day,

a blessing so incredible;

a fortress, come what may.

 

So solid, so dependable;

a joy, when skies are grey.

Two hearts that beat in unison;

a love that’s here to stay.

 

 

 

 

 

Weren’t you the one

who battled on,

and showed us resolve,

when hope, all but gone?

 

Weren’t you the one

we relied upon,

and came up trumps,

with the noon day sun?

 

Weren’t you the one,

when, at heavens door,

returned to life and

gave us, that bit more?

 

Weren’t you the one,

who kept us sane,

when in depths of despair,

we felt such pain.

 

Weren’t you the one

Well, it’s our turn now,

and we’ll beat this thing

together somehow!

 

 

 

 

…and age old eggs

with a highland twist,

stolen from the nest

with deft of wrist.

 

…and beige emerged

when stripped back nude;

no satisfaction

for a prude.

 

…and soothing cream

used as a crutch,

when piles no longer,

sore to touch.

 

All these and more

have been duly noted,

and stored as evidence,

in a case, misquoted.

 

 

 

 

 

 

December 17, 2014

 

 

Don’t fight fate,

that served you well,

and brought you from

the gates of hell.

 

Don’t fight fate

that saved the day,

and led you to

a better way.

 

Don’t fight fate;

that open door,

when you were

all but on the floor.

 

Don’t fight fate;

it’s on your side.

It saw your luck

about to slide.

 

Don’t fight fate,

just let it in,

so a new future

can begin.

 

 

 

 

There are Illusionist’s

with their vanishing act,

disappearing into thin air.

 

There are trapezist’s

on a high wire; no safety

net is there?

 

There are ventriloquists

with dummies, doing

things they shouldn’t ought!

 

There are jugglers

with their balls,

in sequence, being caught.

 

There’s a hamster

on a tread mill,

going like the clappers.

 

There are dancers

in a row, with

enormous flappers.

 

There are songbird’s

and doves, appearing

from each sleeve.

 

There are ladies

cut in half; a sight one

can’t believe!

 

There are men with

shiny shoes, especially

made for tappers.

 

There’s the pre-theatre

crowd, turned into

long-term nappers.

 

There’s the end of

the night, when the

applause never drops.

 

There’s the inevitable

encores, until the noise,

finally stops.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s just another day

without him near at Christmas.

Just another day;

no different from the rest.

 

She sighs another sigh,

the nearer it gets to Christmas.

Just another sigh;

she tries to smile, but fails the test.

 

She sheds another tear,

as she approaches a lonely Christmas.

Just another tear;

in more heartache she’ll invest.

 

She dies another day

as she misses him at Christmas.

Just another day,

when she can’t get him off her chest.

 

                     ……….  the bastard!

 

 

December 15, 2014

 

 

As they approached

Temptation’s Boulevard,

their paths criss-crossed

past Baxters yard,

 

and onward towards

their destination;

each without a thought

or imagination,

 

of how their lives

about to change;

neither sensing fear,

nor feeling strange.

 

Yet wanting more

than was on show,

and needing more

than fire-light’s glow,

 

that was offered on

Temptation’s Boulevard.

A path well trodden;

a well used entry card.

 

A secret promise

to stay away:

A promise broken

every day.

 

A way of life,

this comfort zone.

A habit formed,

no reason known.

 

For one, a way

to easy cash.

For the other, recovery

from the crash.

 

Two worlds collide

on Temptation’s Boulevard,

and hand in hand they run

past Baxter’s yard,

 

into the sunlight

where freedom found;

an escape forever,

from life’s underground

 

 

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