December 3, 2013

 

 

Oh little Pipit

with fractured wing,

unable to fly, what

heartbreak you bring.

 

Sitting weakly chirping

inside your nest.

You cannot move,

though you try your best.

 

Now help is here-

your lucky day.

Your wing soon fixed,

you’ll be on your way.

 

To warmer climes,

over land and sea.

You’ll travel on,

and glide with glee.

 

Just when you thought

no help in sight,

your call was heard,

I saw your plight.

 

And now whole again,

as if brand new,

a new horizon,

can you pursue.

 

But little Pipit,

just this I ask.

‘When at your destination,

in sun you bask’,

 

‘That when the season

begins changing there,

you’ll think of me,

and take to the air.

 

It would be your choice,

you have the right,

but what joy you’d bring,

if you thought you might.

 

Return to where

a welcome awaits

with crumbs aplenty

supplied by mates.

 

Who helped you in

your time of need,

when you were unable

yourself to feed.

 

That you must go,

is nature’s way,

but I pray you do

return some day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A simple tug of the heartstrings,

the thread invisible to the eye.

A daring blink, unintentionally carnal,

that moves a man to sigh.

 

A second glance, always the thriller,

the one that ignites the fire,

and sets the wheels in motion,

and stirs up, new found desire.

 

And then ’game on’, the age old story,

of, could we, should we, oh why not?

At that moment all seems possible,

‘What’s to lose?’ for an instant, forgot!

 

And after, the final look that is the killer,

the one that says ‘ no longer for hire’.

The one that cools off hot emotion,

that went right down to the wire.

 

 

 

 

In all innocence

she suspected nothing,

even when under her nose

the evidence sat.

 

Things like that

never bothered her.

She didn’t listen to

wild chit-chat.

 

When the cold facts

were even shown to her,

she’d still shake

her head, in doubt.

 

She always saw the

nice side of everyone.

We could never quite

work her out!

 

 

 

 

 

You’re off your head

to go out with him.

He needs to see

a trick-cyclist soon.

 

I knew his Father,

he went to our school.

He was expelled

for playing the loon!

 

I went out with his Father,

if truth be known.

My Mother felt the way

I do now.

 

Funny how life

repeats itself,

and twenty years on,

we’re having the same row!

 

 

 

 

She never liked a thing I bought.

we had such a different taste,

in absolutely everything –

so much money, I did waste.

 

She’d plonk a smile upon her face,

I still can see it now.

I knew she hated my gift to her,

I’d think ‘What a rotten cow!’

 

 

 

 

He said he’d fixed it,

but I knew he hadn’t.

When he tells lies,

his nostrils – they flare.

 

Next time I used it,

I got soaked to the skin,

and I’m afraid, that blue,

was the air!

 

 

 

 

It’s dirty work

is this truffle foraging,

but dirty work can’t be beat.

There’s chefs from

the finest eateries,

queuing to cook them,

to serve to the elite.

 

 

December 1, 2013

 

 

It is localised.

It has been contained.

It is under padlock.

It has been constrained.

 

It is all but dead.

Now gone, what remained!

It is a harrowing memory,

that must be left, unexplained.

 

 

 

 

 

Please don’t knock for Fleur,

she doesn’t want to know.

She left here last week

with the town, deep in snow.

 

Please don’t ring for Fleur,

the bell she won’t hear.

She went off on a whim,

without any sense of fear.

 

Please don’t cry for Fleur,

to herself, she is true.

She’s fulfilling her dreams,

which exclude me or you.

 

Please don’t mourn for Fleur,

she’s very much alive,

and maybe in the future,

back into our lives, she will ride.

 

 

 

 

 

At the time it was well chronicled,

and on each gossips tongue.

They all said that they expected it,

and weren’t to be proved wrong.

 

Too late, alas, is knowing

what the future holds in store.

No one daring to be a whistle blower,

Best keep your head down, and ignore.

 

To see and not see anything.

To hear and forget, as rule of thumb.

To keep stum and be oblivious –

It’s a sorry world, by gum!

 

 

 

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