July 29, 2013

 

 

He lost his life

because she was on heat.

He sensed her desire

and ran across the street.

Though the driver braked hard,

a swerve he couldn’t complete.

And the dog lay there

without a heartbeat!

 

 

 

 

At the foot of the bridge

where the junctions met,

and where the sun each night

always chose to set,

sat folks watching their knickers

getting soaking wet

as they gaily chatted

in the launderette.

 

 

 

 

Take a cupful of beaurocracy

Add to it red tape by the mile

Stir well until entangled

And sky high the work will pile.

 

 

 

 

Lost memories of sweet Louise

return to me with the summer breeze.

I see her face, her anxious smile,

as the car drove on, mile after mile.

 

Each crying branch of trees we passed

all knew the journey would be our last.

Each traffic light that was on red

only added to, the heartfelt dread.

 

Such memories of sweet Louise

A treasure trove, to me, are these.

Her arrival came, and soon she went

And those few hours were all we spent.

 

 

 

 

Growing pains

Pudding stains

Country lanes

Weather vanes

Landscaped plains

Bamboo canes

Rotting grains

Stinking drains

Haggled brains

Earthly strains

Human remains

Hardship reigns.

 

 

 

 

It had to be left in the

place where he put it,

with the label clearly on view

Exactly one inch from

the fungal foot spray,

or the explosion,

in his head, blew.

 

 

July 27, 2013

 

 

In the street of serendipity

lie discarded apple cores.

Environmentally friendly?

Not according to the roars!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh fool when in the

highlight of thy youth,

was reckless and one

has to say – uncouth.

 

Oh fool when in the  

midst of middle age,

by then had loved and

lost, in rampant rage.

 

Oh fool when in the

twilight of thy life,

realised a dream to take

a virgin wife.

 

Oh fool who on thy

death bed finally lay,

wouldn’t have ever

changed a single day.

 

 

 

 

 

No sense in gain

from illicit deceit.

No fence is worth the sale

of any goods on heat.

No pence, however small,

makes ‘wrong’ complete.

No hence or whence or why

can ever excuse a cheat.

 

 

 

 

Alas, lass, it came to pass

I said ‘no good could there be’,

when you fled down the path

of no return, in order to marry he.

 

Barely out of school were you at the

time, with fairy tales in your head,

and not prepared to listen to sense

before you entered his bed.

 

Alas, lass, it came to pass

No point saying ‘I told you so.

For you went down the path that I took,

so many, many years ago!

 

 

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