December 26, 2013

 

 

A scratchy itch.

A silent twitch.

An unwelcome lodger,

looking for a new pitch.

 

 

 

 

 

The echo of hell

from the wishing well.

Where ten fathoms deep

old Percival fell.

 

So eager was he

that his wish be heard,

he bent over too far,

and ‘help’ was his last word.

 

 

 

 

 

A chink in the armour;

an exposed nerve.

Yet, knowing instinctively

which way to swerve.

 

Always ducking and diving,

towards the right direction.

You knew the path to take,

and saw it through to perfection.

 

And in the end, when job done,

and you knew you’d achieved.

Your modesty and coyness,

could hardly be believed.

 

The route that you chose,

was not always mainstream.

But you continued to deliver,

and fulfilled your every dream.

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

Concerned about

their blocked up sink,

that is slow to empty,

and has a stink.

 

She awoke not having

slept, but a wink,

knowing again he’d scratch

his head and think.

 

Like yesterday, when he said

‘you need a plunger’.

Then just wandered off,

as if one, she could conjure

 

miraculously, out of the blue,

like some super magician  –

His lazed remark,

causing much contrition!

 

 

So before more pearls of wisdom

he could offer today.

She rang the plumber,

who said ‘he was on his way’.

 

 

 

 

In everyday parlance,

he said very little.

His questions were short,

his reply often brittle.

 

In meetings he spoke

with his eyes on the ground.

But you felt in your gut,

he would turn things around.

 

His strength, his control,

his willingness to listen.

Then translate in a second,

words others couldn’t christen.

 

His success was well earned.

Some read, was his story.

It came right in the end.

He was surrounded by glory.

 

 

 

 

 

 

As fragrant as a parsons nose,

when powdered with pomanders.

 

As scented as a bacon roll, when

up the nostrils, the aroma meanders.

 

 

 

 

 

In the dead of night, with a silent creep,

an android came to take a peep.

 

I felt a fool just lying there.

I dare not look, nor did I stir.

 

I didn’t feel passion, or desire,

but was electrified as any live wire.

 

Under the sheet, in my private land,

I felt it softly take my hand.

 

And feeling trapped in my own space,

I felt it gently stroke my face.

 

And then as quickly, as it came,

It bade farewell and spoke my name.

 

 

 

December 19, 2013

 

 

The hurtfulness of truth, when

exercised in honest expression.

The silence of the tongue,

too late, for pardoned regression.

 

The withholding of needed words,

when agony would run too deep.

Are taken to the timely grave,

for the longest sleep.

 

The subject in question never put to bed.

Opinions not vented, in case misconstrued.

The truth, oh the mighty truth,

can sometimes be so damned rude.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A light, though dim and undefined,

yet still, through dark, it’s way inclined.

From the flicker of a fading star,

a path of hope shines from afar.

 

When all seemed lost, and bridges burned,

now penance paid, new chances earned.

A trace, a glimmer that moonlight brings,

and joy to the soul, when angels sing.

 

 

 

 

It is OK to take the brake off,

as sometimes burdens can weigh a ton.

But save a little of today for tomorrow.

Keep in reserve, the strength to go on.

 

 

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