January 12, 2014

 

 

To look

To feel

To agonise

To need to cry,

but can’t.

 

To see

To touch

To drawback

To want to love,

but can’t.

 

To turn

To leave

To walk away

To want to apologise,

but can’t.

 

To run

To find strength

To never look back

To yearn to stay,

but can’t.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Auntie Edna said she had never farted,

as she was far too refined to do that!

But Uncle, who named her ‘the old wind bag’,

wouldn’t risk sitting near, to where she was sat!

 

 

 

 

 

The chance:

The opportunity:

The adrenalin rush,

that can’t be missed.

 

The hour of pleasure

when in the city,

that the body needs,

whilst the rest get pissed.

 

 

 

 

 

When hairs grow rampantly on your big toe,

it’s time to address the status quo.

 

 

 

 

 

Why does the one who shouldn’t,

suddenly become the one who will,

by widening the goalposts to suit the purpose,

for a thrill that momentarily fits the bill.

 

 

 

 

 

 

She couldn’t eat that to save her life.

The smell of it made her heave.

She’d force down broccoli and even sprouts,

but fennel she would always leave.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s gone. It’s dead. It is kaput.

In a careless moment it got under my foot.

I heard it crunch, it was half asleep.

But it didn’t suffer, so you mustn’t weep.

 

 

 

 

She has legs as long as one can remember,

and a cracking shape at that.

She is as tall when she is sitting down,

as most ladies are when they are not sat!

 

Yet her legs are always covered up,

in trousers or in denim jeans.

What a waste of natural beauty;

One can only hope sanity intervenes,

 

and she gives the world the benefit

of those amazing ‘god given’ pins,

by wearing more skirts and dresses,

and confines her leg-wear to the bins.

 

 

 

January 10, 2014

 

 

In the basin of the river

sails a very lonely swan,

who is looking for her partner,

as she doesn’t know where he’s gone.

 

He set off down the river after breakfast,

around five minutes to nine,

for an assignment near the ferry point,

and his mood, to her seemed fine.

 

He said he would return no later,

than probably half past eleven.

So by now she was getting worried,

as it was past the hour of seven.

 

The light was going from the day,

and dusk was growing nigh.

Her two cygnets now were anxious,

staying clingingly close by.

 

This has never happened before;

Could he be with the Canadian geese,

who have little sense of timing?

she wonders, as panic levels increase.

 

She looks down the river one last time,

before settling her cygnets for the night,

and finally sees her partner in the distance,

sailing towards her, by moonlight.

 

As he nears, it’s clear he’s accompanied,

by three coots they know quite well.

He’d better have a jolly good story,

otherwise she will give him hell.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She waited in the wings for decades.

Many a night, the floor she did pace.

Believing every word he fed her,

about the future they would face.

 

But when a man marries his mistress,

it creates a vacant space,

and although she won him in the end,

he often disappeared without any trace!

 

 

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