April 28, 2013

 

 

They’ve pulled the plug,

now they’re in the mire.

All assets gone, times

are really dire.

Only charcoal embers

remain from the fire.

Gone in a flash

like a funeral pyre.

 

 

 

 

 

She was a virgin of her own choosing.

Not yet de-flowered, a sexual coward,

and heiress of untrodden sand.

Her body a temple, a shrine,

a wonderland of undiscovered treasure,

and only she held the key in her hand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She shuffled around the house with the

broom handle under her arm. She said

it was more reliable than a walking stick.

She loved going to funerals. She said

they were a refreshing change.

 

 

 

 

April 19, 2013

 

 

The headline news on monday,

filled everyone with dread.

It revealed we’d outlive our children,

because they’ve all been over fed.

 

On Tuesday, they reversed this fact,

saying children would now reach a ton,

which put the smile back on our face,

and another crisis was won.

 

On Wednesday the news was dire again.

‘One in five children would be an alcoholic

by the time they reached fifteen because,

we’ve set them free to frolic?’

 

On Thursday devastation came,

in the form of a bolt from the blue.

They said ‘Don’t save for retirement,

because you’ll all be dead by fifty two’.

 

By Friday we were worried sick,

and banned the ‘switching on’ of the TV.

We decided to withdraw our savings,

and go on a final spending spree.

 

By Saturday, we were almost broke,

not but a cent did we have to our name,

as we’d booked a last fabulous holiday,

for the next day, to escape all the pain.

 

By Sunday, we were  set to go,

‘sodding them all’ and doing what we like,

until, on the radio, we heard the news,

that airport workers had all gone on strike!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One cannot fail to be acutely affected,

sad news cuts through the heart like a spear.

One cannot fail to be knocked over sideways,

whilst wiping away a released held back tear.

One cannot fail to be instantly reminded,

that on earth, time is surely running out.

One cannot fail to feel ones mortality,

and wonder what life’s truly about.

One cannot fail to turn back the pages,

though, what’s there is still written in stone.

One cannot fail to be troubled by heartache, but

what’s done is done, now your life is your own.  

 

 

 

 

April 9, 2013

 

 

Let’s forgive and forget

and start anew,

and put behind us

what makes us feel blue.

 

Let’s look each other

once more in the eye,

without accusation or

further decry.

 

Let’s bond and have sex –

no better was there

when I came on the table,

with you in mid air!

 

Let’s at least try to recall

what we did back then

When you were young and virile,

with ink in your pen.

 

 

 

 

 

There’s clearly issues that

can never be overcome.

Old spats from the past,

stuck like gum covered

pavements, in the minds

of the unforgiving dumb.

 

 

 

 

After her death I took possession

of her diaries. To be honest, very

little detail was written in them,

but on the ninth of July she had put

‘I found something out today!’

Whatever it was, she took to her

grave as she didn’t elaborate on it,

and her entries came to an abrupt end.

One can only assume she had

discovered that she no longer

liked keeping a diary! 

 

 

 

 

 

Don’t set her off on that train of thought

Her memory goes back several centuries.

Wrong doings against her cannot be erased

She’d have folks put in penitentiaries!

 

 

 

 

 

The torment felt since childhood,

they kept locked within their heart.

For to reveal it now would only

blow their world apart.

 

 

 

 

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