I try to do the washing up

immediately after the meal

or else the residue of food 

that's left will just congeal

and be much harder to remove

needing extra zeal.

Isn't that the way it is

also when we argue ?

The leftovers of hot dispute

will cool and stick like glue

unless we wipe the plate clean

immediately we're through.

The guy from Ipanema

 So you think she doesn't see you

sitting there on your own.

Silly old fool ! Of course she sees you

without a woman all alone.

Of course she knows you're always there

but actually she doesn't care.

You're just another lecher

like the others that she's known.

What population problem ?

Couples with too many children

old folk with too many years

overpopulate Earth unless

war or disease interferes.

'Road closed' the signage said

'Diversion' to the right.

But they moved the signs for the bus I was on

at ten o'clock at night.

Led by a 'Highway Maintenance' van

we trundled the empty lanes.

Well, here's a rare example , I thought,

when public service gains.

Christmas is a kind of game

that anyone can play

to lift the gloom of northern winter

for more than just one day.

" How Britain won World War 2 " ? ?

Let's down the spitfires and forget

the ignominy of Dunkirk.

We actually didn't win World War Two -

the Russians and the Americans did,

with help from Britain, and don't forget

the many volunteer Commonwealth troops.

Nobody mentions Singapore,

the ignominy of surrender.

We lost an empire which is actually

cause for congratulation, ceding

albeit sometimes unwillingly

worldwide colonies' independence.

Only a popularity addict

seeking votes could brazenly praise

" . . the generation that won the war . ."

 Wisdom not wealth was what I wanted 

but neither of them is what I got

since wisdom is knowing what you don't know

and what you don't know ain't worth a lot.

The selfsown poppy finally flowered,

scarlet but not the cornfield kind,

elegantly tall, empowered,

mascara marked but blind.

Four imposing petals bouncing,

spurning the honeybee's caress,

flexing in the breeze and flouncing,

twirling like a woman's dress.

The fat guy sprawled across the table,

flopping over both sides of his chair,

looked as if he was clearly able

to be regarded as slob of the year.

But when the singer took the stage,

our slob had energy restored,

waddled forward to earn his wage

and conjured magic from the keyboard.

We were cracking acorns to feed to the ducks

when she started back in terror.

"What's wrong?" I asked but she didn't reply

petrified by some horror.

Then slowly she pointed at the debris

and I noticed something move -

a couple of baby earwigs maybe

but not such as I could prove.

She's only three so I tried to explain

there was nothing to be afraid of.

"I know you're really a brave little girl

so show them what you're made of".

She relaxed and we resumed our work

but then it happened again.

The chair screeched as she pushed it back

with a little gasp like pain.

And there was the thing of nightmares

threatening with a wiggle.

I know I shouldn't have seemed unkind

but I couldn't suppress a giggle.

It was really quite a cute little maggot

looking so white and clean.

What was there to be afraid of

or was I being too mean?

I picked it up very carefully

so as not to harm it.

"I'll bet it's more scared than you are" I said

"and I don't want to alarm it".

I put it among the broken debris.

"Perhaps we've got enough.

There's no need now to do any more.

Let's go feed the ducks".

She soon cheered up and hopefully

erased the scene from memory

and as she grows will come to give

some empathy to all that live.

"That's life." you said  and walked away.

That's life that breaks my heart in play.

That I love you and you loved me

but time has turned to tragedy.

A Brighton afternoon

Lying back relaxing in the local park

on a public bench in the autumn sun

while the kids explored the jungly bushes,

arrowheads darted across the sky.

They posed the passing question why

all were aimed in the same direction -

heading out across the Channel,

silhouettes streaking the cloud blown sky.

Migrating martins ! All flying south

helped by the storm force wind from the north,

taking advantage of English weather

to help them say goodbye.

Sorry, Sophie

Because you said you were leaving

I grasped the only chance

to ask you out for an evening -

drink, meal, somewhere to dance ?

Your instant, almost echoing

"No" took me aback completely

so when I saw you still standing

there and in the middle clearly

of planning to stay by taking

your coat off, I became confused.

My comment "I thought you were leaving"

was in no way meant to be rude.

I'm sorry if I was appearing

resentful. Rudeness has no excuse.

Please forget my importuning.

You've every woman's right to refuse.

But as ABBA sang 'Take a chance on me'

please forgive and just dance with me.

For several weeks a single peacock

keeps on flying along the track

between the hedge and my allotment

to and fro, forward and back.

Glowing in sunshine when it perches

I love its brightly coloured wings.

It doubtless wants to attract a mate

though unlike some it never sings.

But why keep flying up and down

over the same place all the time?

Do butterflies have territories

to be defended in their prime?

 I don't envy the rich their money,

the famous all their fame,

or the powerful their power -

for to me it's all a game.

But what I do feel jealous of

is their ability when aging

to shack up with the most attractive,

much younger, beautiful women.

I strain

Too much gazing at screens

accessing social media

strains your peering eyes

exacerbates peer pressure.

Out of place at a soiree

Me ? I neither know nor care

if it's brie or camembert.

My first thought was "How very sad" -

an old man sweeping his garden path,

so slow, bent over, doddery.

But then I thought "No. How heroic."

Instead of sinking in an armchair,

hiding from coronavirus,

watching palliative TV,

he's out there keeping things tidy.

A sick society

So many hooked on drugs and guns,
so many hooked on violence,
so many ignorant of the world
never needing evidence.

So many careless of their health,
so many hooked on opioids,
So many hooked on fantasy wealth,
so many bigoted paranoids

rotten with racial prejudice.
So many liars, so much greed,
when your society is sick,
concentrate on what you need.

Forget the primping cheerleader
telling you everything is swell -
before you try to make it great
you need to make it well.

No need to fret about dying.

The problem is all in your head.

You'll do it without even trying.

You won't even know that you're dead.

Brief encounter

I noticed her among the summer fruits,
freshness and shapeliness her attributes.
She led me down a strangely quiet aisle
and met someone she knew - oh what a smile!
Together we ploughed on through vegetables
and seemed agreed on waiving cereals
but then we parted ways, she to the bread
while I indulged in alcohol instead.
I feared I'd savour bitters on my own
and have no use for seed my bird now flown.
I sadly mourned my loss with flowers and very
soon took comfort in confectionery
but glimpsed her at the delicatessen
from pharmacy and a medical lesson.
My hope was raised and - she was there !
lovely as a vision in underwear.
I lost my zest for manager's reductions
with thoughts all turned to possible seductions.
Past frozen meat I felt myself much bolder
but all that I received was her cold shoulder.
In spite of that I moved in close to check her out -
she turned on me with such a dreadful shout:
"Creep ! Are you off your trolley ? Basket case ! "
I fled the supermarket in disgrace.

Rueful

I didn't discover penicillin;
I wasn't the first man on the moon;
I never played for my country once
and now my life has gone all too soon.

So what did I do with the years I had?
Well, I worked my jobs as well as I could;
I loved my wife and brought up my kids;
and I tried to do other people good.

My friends and family still value me;
my health is fine though stairs make me puff.
I know I should be grateful for my life
and so I am - but it's not enough.

Past it?

The fire of desire burns low

dying down to memory's glow;

too old for sex as marital duty

but never too old for beauty?

Rap

The problems with rap, which make it crap,
are monotonous rhythm and too much rhyme.
Although the ideas sometimes make sense,
both producers and product are just too dense.

Countdown

I assume that Rachel is well prepared

against the almost inevitable day / dee (Scots !)

when the chosen vowels and consonants

spell out the embarrassing  C  U  N  T.

At least these days it won't be as bad

as the fashionable unmentionable

N  i    g sh!   g hush!   e     r  !!

States of matter

A child's airy world
of infinite possibilities
slowly condenses to the flow
of adult probabilities
until solidifying to one
unwanted certainty.

Gin sling

There was an old lady from Lingfield

at a party who slipped and her gin spilled

all over her dress

much to her distress

and she wailed "What I need is a sling shield".

The girl at bar Savannah (with apologies to Antonio Carlos Jobim)

Tall and blonde and young and lovely

that girl at bar Savannah is dancing

and when she dances, the sight entrances the bar.

When she's there, she's such a mover

"she swings so cool and sways so easy"

that when she dances, she really lights up the bar.

"Oh . . . but I watch her so sadly."

How dare I tell her she's lovely ?

Oh . . . she will never care for me.

I'm such an old guy; she needs a young guy -

boyfriend then partner, husband then father.

Tall and blonde and young and lovely

the girl at bar Savannah is dancing

and when she dances, the sight entrances . . . me !

A marriage

Through the first decades your femaleness enthralled,

sexual intercourse the cherry on the cake.

In later years of course your freshness palled,

shared parenthood becoming the life we make

together and although coition has not stalled

urgency abates for both our comforts sake.

The last year we just clung together when cancer called.

Your death makes my life now no more than just a fake. 

Rolling in the deep

The water falling over the weir
has gouged a deep pool in the stream
where floating objects are often trapped
by the bubbling upswelling undertow.

A ball or apple sometimes bobs here
rolling forever it would seem
but a new-rain swollen current snaps
the invisible shackle. Then the flow

carries the freed captive nearer
the sea while the patient pool schemes
its next loth guest as the level laps
down to its usual low.

But today's new prisoner was quite bizarre -
a drowned adult hedgehog, legs and arms
spread stiffly akimbo like a star
rolling doll-like sideways tirelessly,
its distended belly flashing white
in a desperate pirouette of death
it could never achieve in life.

Though menstruation is a curse,
ejaculation might be worse
not just for all the grunts and groans,
clenching of teeth, orgasmic moans
but all the time that goes to waste
endeavouring to be un-chaste.
Like elephants men go through 'must'
when nothing matters except lust,
their only thought - they must have sex
which turns them into mental wrecks.
Testosterone destroys the brain
and renders young men quite insane
while older men who should know better
crumble before a well filled sweater.
At last when they achieve their end
and work it off, it does suspend
the tension for a time at least
and let the man succeed the beast.
Old age might be the only cure
but even that is not so sure.
Without some menopause for men
the sexual urge continues when
there's little chance to satisfy it
with love and all that's left is buy it
which makes one's eve undignified
coping with throbbings of noon-tide.

Are you so wise that love means nothing

to take it in your stride?

Or are these mountains only molehills,

is that what you would chide?

Still, in a land of molehills

mountain making earns some pride.

The end of life is life.

Life doesn't have a meaning but a purpose -

the continuation of a species.

The only end to life is extinction of a species.

If by 'meaning' you refer to purpose

then its purpose is its aim

which is its end.

So the end of life is life - more life.

Death is an unfortunate side effect.

Supermarket incident

We reached the zebra crossing together,
two young guys and me.
They were intent on crossing the road
just where I happened to be
walking along with my weekly shop.
In a car of course I would certainly stop
but must I give way with a trolley ?

Something bumped the window

in a flurry of feathers
and in the back garden

a black and white streak

saw a magpie fly off

with a sparrow in its beak.

"Every death is a tragedy" she said
about the current coronavirus.
"Black lives matter" the banners read
but not just black since all lives matter.
Just not all equally though. Instead
age matters more than colour
for staying alive or being dead.
One crucial point to bear in mind
concerns what future would be wasted
by a death. For those very old
who've had long lives already,
dying is always imminent
with little future left ahead.
Of course few people want to die
and it's very sad if old folk dread
the end of life. But ignoring the young
and their future is to be mislead.
Death may be sometimes a release
when the scissors of fate cut the thread.

A teenage gang of fish in the stream
floating where the sun shone.
Someone slammed the door of the shed.
A pulse of tail. Gone.

It's taken many years for me
to learn to lick my knife
and brave it out in company
despite a frowning wife

not with the aim of being rude
or trying to annoy
or any help in eating food
and certainly no joy

at others' outrage (What a fool !)
but just to give a hand
in doubting ideas learned by rule
that we don't understand.

I don't believe I'd cut my tongue,
not even if I tried,
so why was it my parents clung
to custom as a guide?

When someone told me, young and shy,
you can't wear green with blue,
despite the grass and summer sky
I thought it must be true.

Or rather didn't think at all,
just did what others do
but now I'm older comes the call
to question things  -  and you ?

"Don't look back. Never look back."
The problem being what you lack.
The joy remembering may well cost
more sadness seeing what you've lost.

Which feature of flowers is most attractive?

The size and shape of petals perhaps

but surely most would say the colour.

The vibrant variety of hues and shades

provides us with continual pleasure

so who would want to make them duller?

Is it the human need for novelty

or else the human greed for gain

that tries to use Man's ingenuity

to develop a black tulip?

Space photos

The lunar earthrise
was a revelation
but Voyager's blue dot
beyond imagination.

Not a poem ! But . . .

He found a dead bird in the water butt, presumably one of the young sparrows that had been foraging in the garden. Even as an adult he was upset by the death. Then his daughter came to see what he was doing. She smudged a tear in her eye but wanted to hold the dead rag of feathers.
"I suppose we'd better bury it." he said.
"No, Dad. Birds belong in the air not underground. I don't want to soil these feathers with earth."
"You're right." he said.
Together they perched the featherweight corpse high up in a bush facing the white clouds in the blue sky where it should have been flying.

Too many potholes, too many bikes,
too many signs and traffic lights,
too many cars and too many lorries,
too much pollution without a solution !
Enough of excuses. Too many 'Sorry's.

Too many houses, too many shops,
too many dangerous tower blocks,
too many towns and congested cities,
too many species going extinct.
Not enough guilt and too many 'Pity's.

The Earth is warming we're all aware
though some dispute it because they don't care.
We poison the planet with carbon and plastic
unable to curb our drive to consume
except by means unacceptably drastic.

We all know the problems but who's to blame?
We choose the culprit as if it's a game -
politics, business, who can it be?
Well, it's actually you as well as me -
just too many people !  QED

Special Offer !  Special Offer !
Here is a once in a lifetime chance
to see the world as never before -
the people, animals and plants,
the lakes and mountains, winds that roar
across the oceans and the plains . . .
Hurry ! Quick ! While it remains !

Only for a limited time
more wonders than you could conceive.
See how mankind has conquered Earth
with knowledge that you won't believe.
Be amazed at how, since the birth
of science, the puny human race
has claimed this speck of dust in space.

A bargain that you can't refuse
is what's on offer. You may find
romance and, if you're lucky, love.
Emotions will expand your mind
to dream of sacred heavens above.
This experience you must not scorn !
And how to book it ? Just be born.

Love at first sight ? ?

Opinion versus science - in this case
love at first sight v. brain research apace.
Electric currents alter mental states;
can these determine people's loves and hates?
Which neuron pulses set our hearts on fire?
Which lobe controls elation, which desire?
What biochemical strange elixir flows
when glands secrete infatuation's dose?
Is love no more than chemical imbalance?
Perhaps infatuation is but talents
take time to surface and much time must pass
before two personalities merge fast.
Love needs much more than one sight, wisdom chides;
it's what remains behind when chemistry subsides.

The local allotments

Easy gardening, plant a tree

right at the edge of your allotment.

It may not leave the pathway free

but for some that's not so urgent.

Crazy gardening, plant a tree.

Little work to get some fruit

but years to wait and will you be

the tenant still when harvests suit?

Lazy gardening, plant a tree.

Your bank account won't be tortured.

But do we really want to see

the allotments become an orchard?

Scientists aren't the only ones discover what is true;
lots of people find out things that no-one ever knew.
Teenagers for instance are very pleased to vex
their parents with discoveries of alcohol and sex.

"I love you" he said quite out of the blue.
Stunned I replied "And I love you"
For men of my age with thinning grey hair
such declarations of love are rare
and jewels to treasure, hopefully true
at innocent three "And Grandma too"

Gender Identity

While weeding a border, I dug up a worm
and as a polite sort of bloke
not wanting to seem rude ignoring it
but not pally enough for a joke,
said "I don't want to hurt you, Mr. Worm"
and gave it a friendly poke.

But it wriggled with what seemed embarrassment -
did I say something not right?
I'd got myself in a predicament
by trying to be polite
not knowing what word is pertinent
to address an hermaphrodite.

Which Roman emperor inaugurated
that almost universal human gesture ?
(Perhaps to keep the volatile crowd placated
with their favourite defeated lest their
anger led to riots on the street)

His name would be remembered ever after
more fittingly than fiddling while Rome burned
or making his horse a senator with laughter
at dull conventionality so spurned
or any other weird imperial feats.

He never could have thought it credible
that such a simple gesture now outlives
his mighty empire and makes possible
communication across language boundaries
with a Thumbs Up to the stranger that we meet.

I listen to the engine running;
its idling speed is smooth and strong.
While top performance isn't stunning,
it does keep pottering along.

The air intake is quite efficient,
not spoiled by smoke pollution yet;
the fuel filter is sufficient
to keep all vital feed lines wet.

The chassis starts to feel its age though;
the bodywork shows signs of wear;
the starter motor won't engage so
the engine needs especial care.

For if it stops, despite how clever
all the intelligent functions are,
they don't continue on forever -
it's me that dies and not my car.

The Well of Loneliness

We've certainly progessed some way

to understanding 'inverts'

since twenties cowardly disapproval

labelled them as perverts.

For what was there to censure but

her 'thespian' male attire

which foolishly served to advertise

her lesbian desire ?

Unselfish love eschewed the curse

of masculine brutality

and woman-ness did not indulge

in phallus promiscuity.

So though the book's a bit too long

without a lot of loneliness,

her writing it may well have helped

some later people's happiness.

That you say "No" you won't come out with me
disappoints but strangely leaves me free
from indecision long endured
instantly cured
amazingly.

One drawback of intelligence is appetite of mind,

the ever present hunger for employment or distraction.

For when the body's busy, then the brain is occupied

but boredom strikes in periods of relative inaction.

In ages past the menu didn't offer very much:

apart from formal entertainment and the usual gossip

the only fare available was fairy tales and myth

with religion added for dessert topped sometimes with an epic.

These days however, now we're blessed with wi-fi internet,

there's no unoccupied places in the mental restaurant

where tables piled high with international cuisine provide

a cornucopia of food much more than we could want.

But is our appetite ever sated now we have our smart phones?

Our snacking on our mobiles might cause mental indigestion.

At best it's just obesity but beware diabetes

from gaining all the weight of so much trivial information.

I want to kill a pigeon
and hang its corpse on my allotment
to scare away the other pigeons
slaughtering my crops.

So when I see a pigeon
glide past the window to my lawn
I rush upstairs to get my gun
hoping nothing stops

me getting there in time
to shoot it from the bedroom window.
It's only a .22 air rifle
with pellets sounding little pops

so I may not actually kill it
but if I can disable it,
I can rush downstairs to finish it off
(if no-one calls the cops).

But now it's pecking the grass !
And that's no harm. Perhaps its genes
would lead to progeny eating grass
instead of useful crops.

So I left it alone.

There are very few who deny it now -
climate change by greenhouse gas;
some from fear of profit loss,
a few from bloodymindedness.

All the talk won't solve the problem;
demonstrations are wasted time;
although there are some real believers,
others just join a pantomime.

Most are too busy with everyday problems
to bother much about climate change;
they've jobs to do and money to earn
and see the protesters as rather strange.

In a world where possessions are targeted at you
it's not just the greedy wanting more.
Free enterprise has many benefits
but it's just not possible to ignore

the effect of the market on all the people
seduced by encouragement to indulgence.
Improving their own standard of living
is a major mover in their existence.

And it's not just their own lives they want to improve.
It's human nature to want to see
your children make the most of their lives
by giving them real opportunity.

All of which means the mass of the people
won't risk their personal convenience
for some uncertain climate improvement;
it's not a tempting experience.

Too clever with science and breeding too fast,
we've dumped technological faeces
and overwhelmed the planet at last -
mankind is the Earth's rogue species.

And the Earth would be better off without us !

Grapes of Wrath

When does self-interest shade into selfishness?

When does self-interest turn to greed?

When does self-interest become the priority

above other people's need?

Flying overnight above the clouds eventually the dark began to lighten. A thin strip of scarlet hemmed the whole width of the visible horizon, flaring energy as if the Earth's shallow atmosphere was angry at abuse. Gradually the narrow band broadened upwards, brightened even more and began to push the darkness away from suffocating the clouds. Faint striations veined the new pale grey blue. The now crimson began to flush apoplectic orange, reaching ever upwards into night's empire until its tactics changed. The fiery brightness contracted to a single centre of attack, a dazzling focus of advance. From beyond the cloud horizon the top of a domed head marched forward. Unstoppable a fierce face rose up to slowly scrutinise the carpet of crouching back-bent clouds. He was too fierce to be looked at directly, too magnificent to be looked in the face. Enter the King.

Why is everyone whispering these days?
Why can't they say things right out loud?
I'm sure it wasn't like this always.
I may be old but I'm still quite proud.

Are they trying to keep things from me?
Is there something I shouldn't hear?
I hope it's not just snobbery.
I really would like to get things clear.

Or perhaps there's something I ought to know
but no-one has the courage to tell me.
It seems unlikely but if so
I'd like somebody to try and help me.

Surely there must be some solution
after all the effort I've made,
some way to clear up all the confusion.
Or should I go back to my hearing aid?

I am what I am
and don't give a damn
about who my ancestors were.

They're strangers to  me
and always will be -
an anonymous Him and Her.

Driving has its ups and downs
and I don't just mean the potholed roads.
One day you catch all the traffic lights green
but then turn in the bus lane a yard too soon
unaware of the watching camera
and a charge that's anything but fine.
An empty road is a brief enjoyment
before a T-junction tailback queue
caused by a cautious driver ignoring
the long gaps in the crossways traffic
in case that stretch of road is needed
for a jumbo jet emergency landing.
Stopping to let an on-coming car pass,
you get no gestured thanks from its driver
and later the woman who won't pull over
despite your obvious right of way
V signs you when you beep your horn.
There's the careful driver who won't overtake
the weekend cyclist labouring uphill,
unconcerned by the queue he's causing;
and the polite driver who stops to allow
a car from a side road to filter in,
delaying the traffic waiting behind him
unaware that the road will be clear
as soon as a few more cars have passed -
too kind to the side, a pain to the main !
But in fact road traffic is a great example
of cooperation by all involved.
Sure there are accidents, some of them fatal,
and sometimes drivers break the law,
but if some committee were asked to approve
the idea of vehicles travelling fast
in opposed directions able to pass
each other a matter of inches apart,
no way would it be allowed.

How on earth did the idea start

that allotments are somewhere to relax?

Those TV programmes where old men

never need to bend their backs

but chat over cups of tea in their sheds

admiring their shiny sheets of black plastic

beside their DIY barely raised beds.

No need anymore for winter digging

or hours bending over summer weeding.

So there's plenty of time to just stretch out

on comfy chairs with integral table

admiring the plot where the kids are able

to play on the artificial grass !

The Boss

That power corrupts is no defamation
but rather too kind an explanation.

Size doesn't matter, width or height,
nor favoured hand, be it left or right.
Muscles don't count, tattooed or clear,
nor tone of skin softly smooth or sere.
Clothes are irrelevant, rough or formal,
bust size also, enhanced or normal.
Don't bother about the type of hair,
straight or curly, sleek or bare !
nor the colour, black, red, fair -
the person you're looking at isn't there.
Ignore the skin whether dark or pale
and also the gender, male or female,
shape of nose or size of chin -
the person themselves is somewhere within.
Perfect teeth are just for feeding,
stick-out ears are not worth heeding.
That shape of eyes doesn't matter is clear;
likewise colour but you're getting near.
We all know appearances tell lies
but look more closely into the eyes.
Through the pupils you'll find the guide -
the person you want is deep inside.

Poetry on the page is almost dead;
very few will read it anymore.
No-one now needs to see sounds in their head,
well, not many young folk that's for sure.

They get their poems by way of charting pop
never really knowing that it's there.
Sometimes lyrics help tunes reach the top
showing real poetic flair.

Disciplined by music's steady rhythm
and savvy about the appeal of rhyme,
wordsmiths learn by experimenting with 'em,
creating poems time after time.

The only snag with poetic recognition
is the narrow range of topics sung about.
Most pop music only deals with passion
which is why those lyricists lack clout.