Dedicted to the couple having a row outside our hotel rooom because he lost the key and the kid needs a poo. Seriously, just break up now. You’re doomed.
When bloom has failed and frangrance passed
and thorns now all that does remain
that into soft flesh dig and draw
tears scarlet which run down pale cheeks.
…
These nightimes fall without sunset
and lifeless love lies tossed aside
and joy once wild and filled with hope
sits silent, strangled, without voice.
…
Yet onwards, duty, oath’s fulfilled
and aching smiles speak not of pain
through days they shuffle, numb to loss
and into night , not to emerge
Sometimes they’re just words…
Should I regret this life well lived
when night time comes and stars look down
then I should surely reassess
and count the costs, repent the loss
to find the joy that like gold veins
runs through this rock on which we built
and lived and loved and spent our days
for these are all were gifted free
until like sand they run away
through fingers old and worn and laced
across our chests and unto sleep
Count your blessings!
Hygienically challenged from Lincoln
was a lass who’s front bottom was stinkin’
She neglected to wash
men would try, but oh gosh
she would only get laid if they’re drinkin’
Something inspired by something else
How beautiful you are
Beneath the stars alive, so brightly burning
And all about, the darkness yearning
For a word, a touch, a glance
That sweet romance, the slightest chance
To feel that light and love and grace
And like the sun warm on my face
We are, always, here in this place
And lights we pray won’t dim
Like far too many, gone before
those promises they sweetly swore
But time moves on, they are no more
But that is not our fate…
Some rhymey stuff
These words, these thoughts, these in between
The lines, the sheets, the days and dreams
This place he finds her,madness screams
As nothing ever lasts.
Each syllable twists in the wind
Words whisked away, she cant rescind
Or even hide where they have sinned
And clings to hopes now dashed.
Forlorn until time heals and mends
To keep from harm the heart pretends
Until new starts warm cold dark ends
Their pain slips to the past.
Well it’s Friday here…
A lewd husband, bum obsessed, inventive
Begged his wife for love, back door, incentive
Of her beauty he’d gush
For a crack at her tush
She’d not budge, no way, anal retentive
One of these on a Monday.
If lost, the things I hold most dear,
these minutes, hours, months and years
that helter skelter through my mind
swim intertwined with all I am,
and without which I could not be.
Still I would cling to hope and faith
that were we ripped from life and love
that in that place of darkest loss
not knowing where or when or why
I would reach out and find you there
and once again sweet love would taste
and life renewed, new memories make
this destiny once more to live.
Just messing around with words and patterns and themes…
This dance, this tender back and forth
blown on the wind, true north, stars bright
seem gone at dawn, but night burn white and linger still.
When passions red paint rooms and beds and will, aflame
here in this embrace call your name and then
complete submit and without blame or guilt lose track
of time and lack no thing for all I have and need is you.
.
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and cake. I like cake too. And biltong and great tv and my van and my family and the rain and comics and Judge Dredd and tattoos and boobs. Oh and my drill. It’s a cordless bosch and I enjoy it a lot. Great battery life.
One of these…
Oh how we fell from where we soared, burned by the heights for which we reached
And helter skelter in this place , this now, this dark, this night we crashed
and broken, bloodied, bruised and fighting still the urges to be right always
and onwards we will drop beyond green pastures where we played.
Until, at last, in cold and dark
we recollect but now too late
this compromise, sweet give and take, was always that which gave us flight…
Another of these thingies
Oh how we fed so hungrily
our bellies fat with lofy lies
love whispered in the soft warm dark
and tongues drip empty promises
.
And time and tide do steal these things
that tender once now feel so spent.
I see you, cold and breathless still
Uncaring gladly watched you pale,
yet yearn, fools heart, for one last touch
while like bright stars dissolved at dawn
you fade yet hold tight to lost truths.
.
And there alone reside in tattered robes of rage
And home made crown of sharpest thorns,
so safe behind tall castle walls
untouched by all but darkest self.
Even more wordy words
At days end, somewhere in the darkness,
Memories fade of endless firsts
and how I took your hand in mine
and promise poured so sickly sweet.
Cold breath, warm skin, sweet recollection
footsteps in the snow that slowly
brought you to my door
with liars dreams of ever more.
Those roads, we knew where they would lead
and need, such greed breed treachery
and love it twists, obsession births
and
More words…
In the darkness her tears flow through him,
Carving winding canyon’s in the barren hills of his existence
Bubbling and swirling, filling the arid wells of a hundred lonely lifetimes
Where he searched for her across all of time.
.
And then at last paths crossed at sunset
Stars align and fondly smile
Lie wrapped in arms still scarred and shaking,
pain of their making , yet oh so sweet.
.
And in her tempest feels her rage
and calms and comforts, calls her name
into the wind and soft returning
promises to never fail.
.
Deep and far and beyond memory
her rock through ages, dusk and dawn,
But river beds run slowly dry
when storms give way to golden days.
.
No blame. No fingers pointed harshly
Lived and loved but slowly lost
Bliss for a moment, Stratos soaring
Knowing, eyes wide, at such cost
Some words…a few rhyme..
Words wise, oft thick with sickly praise
malaise spills at her dark demise
and in those final hours she beckons,
nightfall, crooked finger calls.
.
This halo tarnished, pious pride
held back, regret digs talons deep
and wide and far she searches longing
for one more chance at ever more.
.
Again she watches as he turns
Each moment replayed thousand times
She burns and rages at the loss
This cross she bore, redeemers bride.
.
The tears, cold fears, though seldom solace
Bring yet anger sweep away
A heart entwined, yet always empty
At last peace finds in sunset’s rays.
.
She softens this last time as all
She was and is slow slips away
And summer days and grass that sways
Bid walk one last time until rest.
Cold I sit, consoling words still tossed upon the wind,
Your fires burn bright where embers once were piled….
Cold I sit, consoling words still tossed upon the wind,
Your fires burn bright where embers slowly died
reminders of our sighs, sweet lies and smiles forced wide
oh how I watch you shine.
There in the grass where once we lay
you watch clouds chased through skies as blue
as eyes that wept when days grew grey
and we forgot that love can’t always last.
And so, wings spread, wind carried far and wide
lost to these arms and calm caress
the things you hide, unsatisfied
I watch you fly away.
Shall we? It involves body parts and a selection of greases
A stammering tart from Calcutta
Rubbed her bottom with handfuls of butter
Smeared oils on her tum
Grease upon her front bum
“Ch-Ch-Cheaper than lube”, she would stutter
Well it’s Friday here…
Loose bowelled Hermaphrodite from Nantucket
Had a penis so yeah, she would suck it
He would caress her clit
Explode cum, squirt, n shit
Near the bed kept a mop and a bucket
Okay so I realise that that first line hardly flows and is somewhat jarring but how often will I ever get to use the phrase “Loose bowelled hermaphrodite”. And I wanted to combine with the limerick classic location of Nantucket which I seldom use. Just let me have my moment okay 😊
This verdant land where through the grass
names long forgot by men on wind
are whispered still and walk abroad
when mist shrouds veil and hill and dale.
This verdant land where through the grass
names long forgot by men on wind
are whispered still and walk abroad
when mist shrouds veil and hill and dale.
Their sacrifice, such love and loss
Still carries over valleys deep
and mountains, white capped, tell their tales,
forgotten take eternal sleep.
These millions, each beating heart,
Such hope and longing for the day
When old they look upon a life
Well lived and sons and daughters roar
And shine and blaze or silent sit
And contemplate what came before.
So take this banner, pen and book
And let not time this life forget
And in the hearts a story write
Tomorrow’s child to still remind .
These things from which were crudely hewn
And in this expanse shaped and formed
Give way to heart and hate and fires
that burn and fiercely do refine
These things from which were crudely hewn
And in this expanse shaped and formed
Give way to heart and hate and fires
that burn and fiercely do refine
This love that cuts and scars run deep
warm laughter hollow peaks then fades
And darkness melts at growing light
Which swells and soars, illuminating.
So come what will, we bend unbroken
Buffeted by winds of change
and edges soften, time moves onwards
rearranged and stained and aged.
Now take this thing I have become
With artists eye see shape and form
And lines, deep colours, shades and tones
this creation ever changing.
Just to get things started again
Hot curry fan who too loved basmati
Rice, samosas and tasty chapati
He’d add chili’s galore
Declared “Please, please add some more”
Left his anus on fire and quite tatty
Would have done more but the cat keeps bothering me…
There in that moment, clocks stand still
and heartbeat thuds loud and wild
while tender words from sweetest lips
do spill and sweep my will away.
This evermore, this home and hearth
we take for granted, without thanks
many not counted nor recalled
such treasures held with scant regard
Through fingers finest sands escape
and time enslaves and laughing toys
with kisses fading into night
and into misty lands we stray
Really rather vile
Nasty mortician hailed from Brasilia
Spent his nights sweating hard, necrophilia
When suggested instead
Go for live not the dead
He protested “Ive not heard a thing sillier.”
The second and final part of this short piece…
The cold metal frame of the trolley digs into my hands as we wander past the bust station, the street lights flickering into life in the growing gloom.
“It’s Just around the corner here” Tom says pointing as he shuffles along beside me, directing me down a long street of identical red brick houses that sit squat over the road like dark haired fisherman on a river bank.
Again he tells me how grateful he is and I reply and tell him that it is no problem at all.
“Have you lived around here long?” I ask avoiding the puddles trying to keep my good work shoes dry.
“Oh yes” he says, a sense of pride in his voice. “Been here since they went up new in the seventies.” He straightens his flat cap and then pauses for a moment as if remembering before I jog him from his thoughts.
“This way?” I ask, shifting the weight of the trolley from one hand to the other. I can feel the splashes of water soaking through the bottoms of my trousers.
“Yes, yes straight on, not far now” he says pulling his coat tight around him as the rain continues to fall. “Quite a thing it was back then you know” he continues. “To buy our own home, took every penny we had saved up plus some we borrowed from the family. But it was worth it in the end.”
“I’m sure it was” I reply and he leads me across the road and down a smaller side street. Cars line one side, the water swirling and swerving around their tyres sweeping litter along. Weeds strain through crevices in the path, and as we pass the houses the cracked paint, cluttered yards and stained net curtains tell of better times now past.
He tells me how he’s seen everything change so much over the years, and I’m reminded of my own grandparents who I see less than I should.
“Just over there” he says and nods to a house with a neatly tended front garden and freshly creosote stained fence that stands out from the others. The Gate squeaks as he holds it open for me and he looks almost embarrassed.
“Better get some oil on that” he says and pulls it closed behind me.
The gravel path, dark from the rain, leads to the front door and Tom fumbles for his keys as I let him pass. Eventually he pushes the door wide open and encourages me to head inside.
“It’s straight ahead to the kitchen” he says as I step into a small entry hall. I’m uncertain if I should take off my shoes but head down the short hall anyway, desperate to put the trolley down.
“Anywhere in there is fine ” he shouts taking off his coat and hanging it on a peg behind the door. I place the trolley down gently on the light colored linoleum.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” He asks. I check my watch. Not sure if will even be worth going to the pub by the time I get home now. Even so I decline politely but Tom insists and takes an old battered kettle from the stove and fills it. “Please, take a seat” he says waving towards a small wooden table and chairs against a wall. A biscuit barrel in the middle of the table in the shape of a bear grins at me as I sit down. He seems grateful for the company and I find it hard to refuse.
Slipping off my coat I hang it over the back of the chair and It begins to drip onto the lino. I start to apologise but he laughs, a glint in his eyes. “Oh don’t worry” he says, “now if my Kathy was still here that would be another matter. She liked things just right she did. Very particular.”
His words are a mix of pride and sadness, and it seems to me a fair assumption that she has died. Looking at Tom I guess he must be somewhere in his eighties at least.
“How long since you lost her?” I ask looking about. The kitchen is simple and compact with clear work surfaces and plain white cupboards. A single plate and glass are drying next to the sink and a small vase of tulips sits on the window ledge which looks out onto the garden.
“Oh nearly eight years now.” He looks out of the window as he drops three tea bags into a pot on a tray with two white china cups. “One for each of us and one for the pot” he says smiling. Steam begins to drift lazily from the kettle spout. “You’d have liked her.” He fetches a half pint of milk from the fridge, “Everyone around here did. Not a person she wouldn’t help if she could.”
For a while he says nothing more, concentrating on the tea. He pours the boiling water into the pot and gives it a stir before bringing it over to the table and setting it down.
“Do you take sugar?” he asks.
I shake my head even though I normally take two. I don’t want him to have to do anything else. He moves so slowly as if distracted, yet each action is so purposeful. I wonder if this is the pattern of his days. A quiet private existence filled with the routines developed over a lifetime which are now all that is left.
Waiting for the tea to brew he remembers that he has not yet asked my name and apologises.
“Oh you have the same name as my father” he says when I tell him and his hand shakes as he pours the tea, the china cup clinking as he lifts it from the tray and offers it. I accept with a thank you and add milk. Just a little.
“So do you have any children?” I ask. I don’t like the idea of him being alone all of the time, dragging that trolley to town once a week and then straight back home.
“No, it never happened for us. it was just the two of us. We would have liked a family but I guess it just wasn’t to be.”
I take a sip and add a little more milk.
“Looks like the rain’s stopping” he says and asks if I want a biscuit, reaching for the grinning bear.
“No I’m fine thank you” I reply as he takes a KitKat from the jar and slowly opens it.
“Kathy loved a KitKat, always used to hide them from me. I knew her hiding places mind, just pretended I didn’t.”
A distant single chime of a church bell tells me it’s half past six. I check my watch to confirm. I could actually probably still make it if I set off now, I might be a few minutes late but nothing major.
“Do you need to get going?” Tom asks taking a bite of his KitKat. “It’s okay if you do, I am just so grateful for your help. Not sure what I would have done if you hadn’t stopped to help me.”
I check my watch again and then pull my shirt cuff over it and reach for the biscuits.
“Maybe I will have one after all” I say lifting the lid on the bear barrel. “And then I’ll help you put that shopping away shall I.”
We set the night ablaze, the shadows
scuttled as infernos burned
and in your arms, soft thighs, sweet sighs
a dance of life lived to the full.
We set the night ablaze, the shadows
scuttled as infernos burned
and in your arms, soft thighs, sweet sighs
a dance of life lived to the full.
Not ever did I all those nights
wonder would we ever be
a thing not this, not all consumed
a violent tempest, blissful still.
And to this day, this hour, this now
this very moment still we rage
and burn, sheets scorched and satisfied
and tender smiles such tales do tell…
Words…
These scars u bare etched on your skin
While smiles spread sweet across your face
Soft sighs, clenched fists, eyes red like dawn
love’s vows, now bitter on your lips.
Each broken promise, empty words
Ring in your ears quite deafening
And into darkness breathless screams
As tempest black consumes your voice.
Back bent, weighed down you claw and stretch
Cold fingers, dragging from your mire
Face to the sun, new dawn, new day
Slowly emerging free once more
At this point I remember why I wanted to work in an office. I’ve never been any good with my hands, unless you count typing, which most people don’t.
It was raining the day I met old Tom, my light summer coat proving completely inadequate against the violent deluge that fell from the dark November sky.
“Did you not check the forecast?” Joanne asked me as I stood huddled in the office doorway as she locked up. I started to answer but the question was more an admonishment that an actual interest in my ability to plan for meteorological eventualities. She didn’t wait to find out though and scurried under the shop awning of the bakery next door and lit up a cigarette.
“Those things will kill you” I told her trying to be funny. Her withering glance told me I had been anything but.
“See you tomorrow then.” I shouted.
She nodded and waved as she took a long drag on the cigarette, the embers lighting up the sharp features of her mostly unremarkable face.
Waving back I turned as the rain cut through the pall of silver smoke and pulling my coat around me as best as I could headed off to catch the bus.
The number 45 runs just a few minutes from my place and If I hurry I’m thinking I might catch the Five-twenty which means I will be home before six and at the pub by seven.
Not wanting to get my good work shoes too wet I avoid the puddles as best as I can and trying to stay under cover I head past rows of unremarkable shops all closing for the night. Lights blink out and shutters rumble closed as people, seemingly as grey as the sky above, head home after another day not wholly different to the day before and likely quite similar to tomorrow.
The place has certainly seen better times I think to myself, and that’s when I saw him.
He had the posture that only age can bring, hunched over an old blue shopping cart and the rain cascadied onto his flat cap and spilled down his long brown coat.
“You alright mate?” I ask him checking my watch. I’d normally not bother asking but somethign about him said he needed help. And if everythign is okay there’s still time to get the five-twenty.
He looks up slowly, his face long and gaunt with thin lips and deep set dark eyes.
“Bloody wheel’s come off” he says pointing a long bony finger at the right side of the trolley, which I can now see is sitting quite lopsided. “Typical when I’ve just bought my week’s shop.” He shakes his head and fumbles with the wheel.
I tell him I’ll take a look if he wants and he nods appreciatively. “My eyes aren’t great, thanks” he says.
At this point I remember why I wanted to work in an office. I’ve never been any good with my hands, unless you count typing, which most people don’t. That said even with my limited knowledge I do know though that it looks knackered and tell him so.
“Oh that’s no good” he says shaking his head and he asks me if I think he needs a new one.
“What do I know” I think to myself and check my watch. If I don’t leave now It’ll be gone eight before I get to the pub.
I nod and scratch my chin as if I’m suddenly a shopping trolley mechanic. “Do you need a hand with it? Are you going far?”
“Oh yes please” he says, his face brightening. “Are you sure?”
I shake my head and tell him it’s not a problem really and he smiles. “Not too far” he says, “it will only take ten minutes.”
