April 10, 2014

 

 

and once on that path;

a slippery slope,

where exposure reigns

and battles with hope.

 

And once caught in a trap

that becomes a blind alley,

always a price to pay

in that darkened valley.

 

 

 

April 9, 2014

 

 

How so bizarre

when truth detection

follows stolen text

about false affection.

 

Just the latest twist

in air-lifted lines.

Unsettled slumber

for such concubines.

 

 

 

 

 

He says he is staying neutral.

He is sitting on the fence.

He wants to remain diplomatic,

by not causing any offence.

 

He is absolutely in agreement.

He thinks you both are right.

Through gritted teeth he is smiling,

with both thumbs raised in delight.

 

He can clearly see your points of view;

both of which, he says, have some merit.

Though he’d gladly bang your heads together,

and at times, both of you disinherit.

 

He is in a ‘no win’ situation;

In truth he couldn’t give a toss.

He doesn’t want to be implicated

in case your problems become his loss.

 

So he puts on that nervous smile,

each time he asks to be excused.

He just wants out of the situation

as he’s feeling quite bemused.

 

He knows he’d become a cropper

if only one of you he could please.

So silence being his saviour

no answer from him, will you squeeze.

 

 

 

 

 

I read something only yesterday             

that made me think of you.

Today I received four photographs;

the writing on the envelope, I knew.

The snaps devoid of people;

one being of a dining table

laid out for Sunday lunch

whilst another had an empty sofa

near a vase with tulips in a bunch.

A third was of a large picture

hanging over a kitchen sink bowl.

The fourth, of course, contained

the window to your soul.

There was nothing written

on the reverse sides,

nor even a letter attached.

But I knew instinctively

you’d read the same article

and thought of me, and the

photo’s despatched.

The feeling was uncanny,

and proved to me once more,

that keeping in touch mentally

is as good as banging on any door.

 

  

 

 

You’ll have to leave.

I’m selling up.

My life is moving on.

 

You need to grow

outside this space.

It’s best that you move on.

 

Such harmony

within these walls.

How sad, when we move on.

 

Such depths of sorrow

must we embrace,

when finally we move on.

 

 

 

 

During times of forward thinking,

old thoughts flood the brain.

The mind so rich with new ideas,

cannot dismiss a past refrain.

 

When caught up in a revolving circle;

the head, a kaleidoscopic churn.

Where ideas put on the back burner

are about to make a return.

 

 

 

 

Let him rule.

Let him win.

Life is much easier

when we see him grin.

 

Let him ride.

Let him decide.

Like a fragrant thicko

sit by his side.

 

Let him expand

his point of view.

For the subtle winner

in the end, is you.

 

 

 

 

We used to snip the corner off a Jubbly

and suck out the colour, until it was pure ice.

And strawberry Mivvi’s with an ice cream centre,

at the time, also tasted very nice.

 

 

 

April 2, 2014

 

 

A website of a thousand groans

with many rants and lots of moans.

A body of work, not great, but mine;

words from the heart, line after line.

 

An escape route, from stress and strains

of high class living to breadcrumb remains.

And if truth be known, my salvation too;

a different richness found, to start anew.

 

Some laughs as well along the way

when bouts of hope popped in to say.

‘Hey, lighten up, you grumpy bitch.

This transition time is but a glitch,

 

and in the greater scheme of things

a better future contentment brings’.

And hope was right; that wise old sage.

A new tomorrow is there on every page.

 

And the task in hand, an ongoing flow

as the mind unravels in candlelight’s glow.

And with loyal support to lean upon

please God, help me reach a thousand and one.

 

 

 

 

and in his finest hour he wept

tears of relief as night-time crept

upon him like a mighty cloak;

that man of men, that solid bloke.

 

and far off in the distance rang

a fairground, as if angels sang.

His eyes lit up when he heard those folk;

that man of men, that solid bloke.

 

Though the smile about to leave his face

and be replaced by opium’s grace.

Oh, how he’d loved to laugh and joke;

That man of men, that solid bloke.

 

By him, a card with which he was smitten

‘a man of integrity’ on it, staff had written.

He stared with pride each time he awoke

that man of men, that solid bloke.

 

and with music in the background playing

he left this world from where he was laying.

How he’d loved an egg with a runny yolk;

that man of men, that solid bloke.

 

 

 

« Older Posts — Newer Posts »