BLOCKHEAD

 "no-one but a blockhead ever wrote except for money"

                                                             Samuel Johnson

OK so I'm a blockhead

WELCOME

I hope you enjoy reading from this collection

as much as I enjoyed writing it.

(more poems in 'SAO' by Michael Amor on Kindle

a poetic complete overland journey around S. America)

WHAT MAKES A PIECE OF WRITING A POEM

If there isn't any rhyme or at least repeating rhythm

it's just pretentious shredded prose and not a proper poem.

GOODBYE

Leaving I gave my love a rose

fragrant, royal, red

saying "Take this flower from him

you kept from your bed."

Glaring at me, proud in parting

sharply she said

"What am I to do with it?

Why give me this?

I don't want your gestures now

or farewell kiss."

Just as I'd guessed she would -

a chance not to miss.

"Just let it die" I said

"wither and die.

Don't ever water it

cover the sky.

Just like my love for you

just let it die."

Turning she left me with her smile

dazzling, royal, red

saying "I shall keep your flower

though love has fled.

Having no root it must of course

quickly be dead."

Just like my love for you

GIRLS NIGHT OUT

The photos will show them smiling, laughing at the phone,

these clustered women embracing the weekend evening

together at the disco, families left at home,

reviving the tingle of teenage dreaming.

The videos will show them dancing together while a stream

of men flows past, sometimes splashing a glance

of interest at their antics which perhaps may seem

inviting some sort of dalliance dance.

But any sort of misbehaviour seems out of place,

young daring ceding to mid-life propriety.

That this can happen regardless of race

is tribute to British open society.

Tweets 26

A little child skipping in the rain

ignoring the bleakness outside

by the sunshine within. 

Sheep may safely graze.

TV obesity.

MOVEMENTS ON THE ALLOTMENTS

no longer a crow int the corner of my eye

or a cocky jackdaw jigging by;

not a smart magpie hopefully tapping

but only sheets of black plastic flapping

THE LIVING YEARS

The first two decades were childhood, waiting;

the last two were old age, life abating;

but the middle four were the meaning of life -

procreation, kids with wife.