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.