November 3, 2014

 

 

By the babbling brook

where he took she,

for the first time

to dip her toes with glee.

 

By the waters edge

where he lay with she,

but being far too wise,

she did decline his plea.

 

Over the rickety bridge

did she push he,

to drown his passion

in the hope, sense he’d see!

 

 

 

 

To sit around a table

filled her with dread.

She had ancient demons

that hung around in her head.

 

As a child, she was offered the top

off her Mothers boiled egg:

Such poverty witnessed

when she had to beg.

 

And if lucky, the crust from

some newly baked bread,

with a smattering of dripping

before going to bed.

 

The dining table, a place

where bad memory’s lay,

that still lingered on,

until she passed away.

 

 

 

November 1, 2014

 

 

So much was said

that was not real;

such pitter-patter,

such crazy spiel.

 

Oh, judge them not,

you higher power,

that sees them

in their final hour.

 

So much was said

that was not true,

in an effort to shine

and others outdo.

 

Now all their actions

in total counted:

In the end, not a fortune,

was there amounted.

 

So much was said

in loud voices spoken,

but then without choice;

a promise broken,

 

before hands bound,

with no escape,

and no lea-way out

of old red tape.

 

So much was said,

at the offset,

when ‘possibility’,

the onside bet.

 

Oh judge them not,

you higher power.

Let their souls know peace

in their final hour.

 

 

 

 

 

They never knew

what others saw,

when he was young

and against the law,

 

and stealing with

his mucky paw,

and locked up as

the final straw.

 

They never knew

what stuff he did,

whilst charging about

with a dustbin lid.

 

They ran like hell,

I swear they did;

their marbles rolling

down the grid.

 

They never knew

what he got up to.

For whilst ‘doing time’,

those ways he outgrew.

 

He learnt his lesson,

and started life anew,

and his just reward,

was finding you.

 

They never knew,

and it’s best kept that way.

The past is dead,

and a forgotten day.

 

 

 

 

When we were young

and time was free,

you made a

daisy chain for me.

 

And plucked fresh bluebells

from the wood,

dressed in a cape,

with a matching hood.

 

 

 

 

And guiding muddy

footsteps laid at noon,

that would have been

the only night-time compass,

lit by a crescent moon,

will disappear, unless that

by a blessing, comes a frost,

and keeps intact a trail,

that now seems all but lost.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I love it when

we read in bed,

and our bodies

intertwine,

into a snugly world

that’s exclusively

yours and mine.

 

I love your arm

across me,

as I go to sleep.

What would I do

without you?

Into the future

I dare not peep.

 

I love it when

we wake up;

it’s you and me

against the clock.

Our time is now,

so let’s enjoy it:

Did you find your

missing sock?

 

 

October 29, 2014

 

 

I saw a large cat

with an extra long tail,

disappear through my hedge

during a snow-blizzard gale.

 

It’s black sleekness stood out;

I thought ‘Dear god, what’s that?’

I knew in an instance,

it was no ordinary cat.

 

It was the day before Christmas Eve;

how I remember it well.

I picked up the phone;

surrounding neighbours to tell.

 

With heart beating fast,

I recalled my sheer fright,

when seeing the creature,

switch on, my security light.

 

I told of it’s ‘panther-like’ hind quarters;

so powerful and sleek,

and it’s tail, like a bullwhip,

that rendered me weak.

 

And how I was too scared to go out

and check it’s paw prints;

by now the response from neighbours

held dubious hints,

 

about whether I had been drinking

a quick Christmas ‘tot’?

I strenuously replied

that I certainly had not!

 

And that the big cat I saw,

was as real as could be,

and was a sight, I suspected,

that would stay long with me.

 

For there IS a wild cat out there;

be in no doubt.

If you’re lucky you’ll see it,

whilst you are out and about.

 

It could take you by chance

and you will catch a breath.

It’s a sight for your eyes,

that you’ll take to your death.

 

Perhaps with it comes luck,

like seeing a four-leafed clover;

though the probability low,

if you search the world over.

 

But for me it explained,

why two of my cats, I’d found dead,

with no rhyme or reason,

in my garden flower bed,

 

without a mark on them;

as if killed for fun,

when the main objective was

to chase and then stun,

 

and leave them for dead,

as if chicken feed,

when the hunt for a muntjac,

more, satisfied a greed.

 

I’ll never make logic of it;

I can only surmise,

and say it consumed my thoughts,

when it took me, by surprise.

 

Now, when ramblers sight them,

in the surrounding countryside,

I remain perfectly quiet,

to protect my pride.

 

Though their vision the same

as the one I conceived;

I know it’s unlikely

they will be believed.

 

I so wish to this day,

I could have faced a new friend.

But the truth of the matter is;

I only saw its rear end!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

October 18, 2014

 

 

And strangers came from afar,

to bathe in the relaxing Spa,

where all life’s stresses cast aside,

re-moisturising skin, where

sun-oil,  sat and fried.

And fake tan; blotchy,

in bursts of amber,

hardened lily white softness,

dancing the samba.

and ran in streaks

towards ankle bones.

A sight no ‘man of taste’

condones.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I knew the wasp was dying;

it twitched as if in a haze.

It’s feelers slowly turning,

it’s body, a wobbly craze.

 

I wondered if I should remove it,

but decided to leave it on the bridge,

and let nature take it’s course,

as watching over it, was a midge.

 

 

 

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