September 8, 2013

 

 

He spoke with words

I never knew,

like pixipummelisation

and amoranious brew.

 

He spoke with words

I’d never heard,

like nudistratum

and matricrapation squared.

 

He spoke with words

that made no sense,

like septojuranic

and insignatious defence.

 

He spoke with words

that went over my head,

like montimountiness

and stigmatatous dread.

 

He spoke with words

just to keep me impressed.

I always knew he’d made them up,

but of course, he never guessed.

 

 

September 6, 2013

 

 

When the salt in our wound

has washed away,

and the healing process,

stopped the decay.

We should feel blessed,

to be given the chance.

It’s only natures way –

the boil, to lance.

 

When the plaster of paris

has done it’s job,

and held firm the break

that made us sob.

And yet even years later,

when with oil, we anoint.

It’s always going to be

our weakest point.

 

When lovesick fever

confines us to bed,

and no amount of medication

heals our head.

We lay awake til dawn

and toss and turn,

recalling lost decades

for love we still yearn.

 

When the point of incision

cuts through the heart,

and arteries sever,

as we fall apart.

We build a defence –

a show for the world.

Though inside our cocoon

remaining, tightly curled.

 

When at the end of our days

and our heart beats no more,

and ‘Do not resuscitate’

says the sign upon the door.

And all the hell raising,

is now a thing of the past.

Yet, through agony and ecstasy

we lived life with a blast.

 

When deep in the ground

with our demons we’re buried,

and a life that was fast

is no longer hurried.

And although we may hammer

on the coffin lid,

only distant voices can be heard,

saying, ‘Farewell, see ya kid’. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are places to put it

that are dry.

Places that won’t catch

the naked eye.

Places where it only

can be seen

for whom it is meant,

and will stay clean.

 

There are places to put it

if you try.

Places not too low

and not too high.

Places where there are

unspoken laws,

for feathered friends,

away from feline jaws.

 

 

 

 

 

I have no recollection

of your blurred reflection.

I don’t even think you were there.

 

Had I seen the reflection

of your curved perfection.

Damn it, I’d know you were there.

 

Show me a line of perfection

queued up for selection

So true, I’d have a good stare

 

But there is no selection

just the same old reflection

year in, year out – I depair.

 

 

 

 

When hurtful deeds

cause hearts to bleed,

and friendship suffers

because of greed,

we ask forgiveness

in fact we plead,

so to right the wrong

and from pain be freed.

 

 

September 4, 2013

 

 

Not a word I say in vain,

with hesitation

or restrain.

 

Not a peep you’ll get from me,

I am discrete,

I have a brain.

 

Not a sigh you’ll hear from me,

nor a stammer,

or a stutter.

 

Not a whisper will I utter-

not a hint

of melted butter.

 

 

 

 

 

She lent him her new Hopper Jetstream,

as he’d begged to ride it around the block.

He returned with the front wheel buckled,

and himself, in a state of shock!

 

He’d swerved to avoid a pensioner,

and as the brakes went into a lock,

he sailed head first over the handle bars,

as the bike careered off into a rock.

 

Her father came outside looking furious,

as soon as the bike he did clock.

‘Whatever possessed you to lend it to Angus’

he said. ‘I’ll have words with his father, Jock’.

 

In tears she ran indoors to her mother,

who comforted her as she took stock,

of the unfortunate situation,

as Angus limped off at a galloping trot.

 

 

September 3, 2013

 

 

Do not the most

crowded moments

of our life,

find us in isolation?

 

 

 

 

I never knew how much you loved me.

I thought you’d left to get away.

I never knew that when you went

to your post box, that finding no

mail from me, caused you dismay.

 

I thought that after the initial separation,

you’d find a new life, which would run

parallel, to the one you had left me to

cope with, here in the house, in which

we were both supposed to dwell.

 

It was a time when communications

were long winded –

a letter taking well over a week,

and a desert storm had started brewing,

hence, others charms I thought you’d seek.

 

If I’d realised how much you were missing me,

my undying love to you I would have given.

If I’d known how much you’d needed me,

through a sandstorm, I would have driven.

 

What fools, to assume we were finished,

by listening to words never said.

And in so doing, coming to the wrong

conclusions –

What years we wasted, going out of our head!

 

 

 

September 2, 2013

 

 

She used to ‘do’ for Ernest,

she used to sweep his house.

He’d have her on her hands and knees,

chasing many a stray field mouse.

 

She used to cook for Ernest,

when sometimes he was bedridden.

He loved her stew and dumplings,

and other food he was forbidden.

 

She bent over backwards for Ernest,

far beyond her job description.

She put poultices on his boils,

and also helped with his affliction.

 

She used to lie with Ernest!

Well, it was easier than being on her knees.

At least he stuck to one position,

unlike some others she’d had to please!

 

 

 

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