Welcome

I hope you enjoy reading from this collection

as much as I enjoyed writing it.

(more poems in 'SAO' my S. America overland adventure on Kindle)

 'No-one but a blockhead ever wrote except for money'

                                                            Samuel  Johnson

OK so I'm a blockhead.

What is a poem?

 If there isn't any rhyme

or at least repeating rhythm,

it's just pretentious shredded prose

and not a proper poem.

If I were thirty years younger

I'd marry you out of hand.

But if I were thirty years younger,

you'd still be in school and

marriage might be frowned on.

A message from The God Father

This is the offer you can't refuse !

No upfront costs; just pay as you go.

You'll need two sponsors that you can't choose

and at the start they'll run the show.

But in due course you'll be the gaffer

though hopefully helped by a loving other

so to new starters you extend the offer  -

some eighty years of life's adventure.

Christmas and the barbarians

I guess the northern hemisphere pagans didn't like

those upstart Christians stealing their winter festival

but, for the gloomy serious newcomers to hike

something to brighten the dark was only sensible.

Now though the barbarians are taking it back

with tantalising orgies of indulgence,

exchanging presents of things we didn't lack

and decorative frippery in abundance.

Commerce doesn't bother about complaints

totally intent on finishing the heist

by Mammon's latest pantheon of saints

where Father Christmas outranks Jesus Christ.

Love is a new invention; sex is old.

Missionary position was a bold

un-natural perversion which controlled

grosser imagination and extolled

face to face coition as a mould

for mutual passion both to enfold.

W. H. R. Rivers

The natives thought the Christians strange

saying 'Let's all kneel and pray'

'cause the only reason they knelt down

was to fuck in a comfortable way.

Bonfire night.

The little boy in the pushchair waiting

for fireworks to start in the dark

took off his beanie and sent it sailing

over the damp and muddy grass.

His mother picked it up and returned it

to his head to keep him warm

but impatiently he spurned it

and threw it even further away.

Mum retrieved it, back in place,

but a third time the hat went flying.

This time she kept it to herslf

and told him off quite sharply to his face.

Mum went back to her friends in suits.

He kicked off his boots.

The green bin truck pulled up beside the house.

Two orange eco-warriors jumped out.

I passed one "Wow, not many women do your job."

She smiled. Walked on.

I passed the second operative, a man.

"It must be nice to have a woman around."

He smiled. "It is."

Leaving the local leisure centre

I recognised the male manager

from the time a year ago

he banned me from the gym and so

I didn't bother to say hello.

The crush of customers made us wait

a little while to pass the gate

but then he did something to astound -

outside the exit he bent down

and picked up a dog-end from the ground.

To relax and calmly drift asleep

I think back over the day and keep

in mind some event about which I can say

at least I did one thing well today.

Life together

There comes a time for most young men

to realise beauty is not for them;

no beautiful woman will be their wife

but plainer ones may share their life.

And as for the women, they soon know

that no Prince Charming is going to show;

enough for someone to always be there

to show some kindness and give some care.

And yet for all, daily life will thrill them

with beautiful babies and wonderful children.

Autumn

Autumn is two faced, double headed;

Janus looks back as well as forward.

If the seed set in Spring sprouted true and grew,

then the flowering of life as something new

produced the glory of Summer beauty

and heralded Autumn maturity.

But looking forward is less attractive

as life slows down and gets less active

producing the fear in shrunken apples

that what were fruits become vegetables.

She was clearly no longer a youngster,

unlovely in face and a bit overweight

but a regular customer in the bar

at the weekly local live band night.

Alone, she always tried to shimmy

but arms and legs seemed to threaten a fall

so one night I got her to dance with me

and she had no sense of rhythm at all !

And then last night she came in with a man -

a poor specimen, old, small and hunched

but I hope for them both it's more than a whim,

that he needs her as much as she needs him.

Varkala, Kerala, India

Faint stars enspangle grey-cloaked skies

while fishing boats like fireflies

sluggishly float the dark-draped sea

and wink the while at you and me

cliff high above the wave white beach

among the palm trees' rustling speech.

This evening's warmth will still remain

in England's winter cold and rain.

Disco

dance music playing

dance floor swaying

faces revolving

features resolving

lithe legs gliding

slim bodies sliding

arched arms enticing

cleavage exciting

youth ever yearning

beauty burning

Strange disco couple

She was blonde and beautiful,

slim and tanned and busty.

'She' was older, overdressed,

bony faced and paunchy.

She swayed and shimmied like a star

smiling at her audience.

'She' stumbled clumsy in the bar

out of step with the ambience.

She tolerated wandering hands;

'she' clasped her in the evening's plans

hoping later to have laid her ?

I wonder how much 'she' paid her.

I think I'm better looking than him

and certainly more muscular;

probably more intelligent,

more funny, less crepuscular.

So why has she gone off with him

and given me the cold shoulder ?

I've even got more money than him

because I'm so much older !

Road Hog

Just above the horizon and aiming at me

on a cloudless summer night with nothing hidden,

the full moon shone full beam the road ahead.

Of course I dipped my lights but the damn moon didn't.

Would you like a poem? What would it say?

That the waves in your hair make reason sway?

And your smiling eyes drive sense away?

And is that all?

Should you have a poem, what would it mean?

Me far too eager, much too keen,

my feelings tangled like never been?

But if feelings pall?

When you get your poem, what will it do?

Probably not endear me to you.

Nor to your feelings give any clue.

Best have no poem at all

Interlude

"Why does my shit stink?" he asked politely.

"Don't swear." she said, "The word to use is faeces."

"Oh" he hesitated "Or poo perhaps?"

"Too childish, dear, although appropriate.

You're old enough to use more adult words.

But it's a sensible question nonetheless.

I presume it's all to do with your evolution.

It smells so bad so that you don't ingest it.

So that you're very careful to avoid it."

"What does 'ingest' mean?"  "Well, eat,

or somehow get it in your mouth." she said.

"I see. So people whose shit didn't stink -

sorry, faeces, would sometimes ingest it

and get ill and die and fail to breed."

"Yes, something like that. Perhaps." she added.

"And now get back to that evolution homework

that you're avoiding, by going to the toilet."

"And we're evolved from all the stinky people

and all the nice-smelling ones just went extinct."

"I hope you washed your hands. Goodbye."

Spider

One day I noticed a spider in the kitchen

crawling along the tiled window sill.

Now I value spiders as predators on the flies

which often infest my indoor flower plants

and I watched with interest to see what it was doing.

But I couldn't tell where it was going or why.

It halted when it came level with the sink

and turned to face over the edge of the sill.

Motionless it seemed to be peering down

as if on a cliff above the rocks below.

Still it didn't move. Taking time to think?

Decide? Oh, my god, a suicide?

Surely there's some pleasure still to come

in life. Family somewhere? Friends? Or none !

Don't do it. You're so tiny. You'll never survive.

Or is that part of the problem? An inferiority . . .

And then it jumped. But horizontally !

Across the gap between the sill and the cloth

draped over the tall vertical water faucet.

Before it vanished in the fabric, I swear its jaws

moved. I think it said "Up yours".

Cameras could capture it;

even painting probably so;

memory re-imagine it;

words unforunately no.

Another blue sky summer sunset

sifting down to ochre glow

like winter sitting room coal fire

bedtime dying long ago.

Tweets 19

Pleasure is the here and now;

satisfaction for the future.

My constant companion in old age,

girl not boy, little joy.

Fart or faeces ?

Hard to tell

sometimes. Toilet !

(just as well).

I think there's little left in life to see.

I'm only killing time till time kills me.

Novels help to pass the time

for both readers and writers.

THE CONSOLATIONS OF OLD AGE

                  don't  exist

THAT'S MUSIC - OUT OF THIS WORLD

Special offer for one lifetime only.

The only funeral company to offer

bingo in Heaven.

Politicians are part of the narcissus genus

Poetry - so many write it but so few read it.

THE  TRAVELLING  GASTROPODS

Their relatives must go home every day

but they venture further with their campervans -

snails.

Cars are a bit like people -

the body work is sleek or battered

but the driver isn't clear.

With acknowledgement to Robert Burns

If the camera doen't lie,

then the mirror certainly does

which just confuses when we try

to see ourselves as others see us .

To my wife

When I certainly also die

I will have eternity

to patiently, carefully search for you

floating somewhere among the stars.

Sophie

At that disco months ago

you seemed so sadly on your own,

shuffling slowly in the shadow,

dancing all alone.

I thought to help you out a while

by offering to dance with me

but you just answered with a smile

preferring to be free.

Now you've changed so much since then;

gone is all former reticence;

now you actively seek attention

overflowing with confidence.

No matter if the dance floor's empty,

you tip-toe steps, a one woman show,

your latest costume garnering plenty

of interest as you well know.

Eventually so much a swinger

once at least on local band night

you took the microphone from the singer

to sing their song as if by right.

Certainly no longer shy

you cling the necks of random men,

gazing at them eye in eye

and kissing mouth to mouth, but then

having been a whie rejected,

at least I'm no more feeling hurt,

although my ego's still dejected,

by a now exhibitionist flirt.

The flower bed

Council workmen complaining

while the gardener glowers;

perfumed dreams despite raining

giving peace without powers;

even kings might like feigning

tramps sleeping on flowers.

SAO

What was the highlight of the trip?

What was it most impressed me?

Was it the anaconda's grip

or the deserts calm and stress free?

Was it the Amazonas river,

Andean mountain scenery,

all those humming birds a-quiver,

Ecuador's jungle greenery?

Was it massive Inca stonecraft,

river dolphin or manatee

or just the shiver when you laughed

but lately shied away from me?

Was it Brazilian sunny beaches,

Rio's carnival parades?

No, it was you my heart beseeches;

your memory never fades.

What but . .

What bubbles and fizzes more than prime champagne

and effervesces sunshine out of rain ?

What hops and skips beyond olympic games

and soars above the bar of petty blames ?

What laughs at nothing from the joy within

and dares your patience with a cheeky grin ?

What turns your January into June

and yet collapses like a burst balloon

when angry words must chide then very soon

can re-inflate itself just like before

and dance in triumph on the kitchen floor ?

What lies angelic in its night-time rest

and makes your quiet evenings doubly blessed ?

What else but happiness of children fires your days

into a glow that warms so many ways ?

Bored by the metronomic music I sat

and watched the other customers nearby.

She leaned her face into the younger guys

at the table and gazed into their eyes.

So close. No freshness bloom of youth

flowered her face though still attractive.

The sheen produced by years of make-up

didn't hide the start of sinking in her cheeks.

One after another the men drifted off

until one only could-be courting couple

remained facing each other and kissed.

An older man appeared. His wife stood up,

whispered goodbye. Together they walked away.

She looked above at the starry sky

and stretched her little arms up high

but disappointment creased her face

and grasping hands fell back in place.

Perhaps it looked like a bright balloon -

just two and reaching for the moon.

If only life were like the stories

instead of the way it usually sucks;

if ugly ducklings always turned swans

instead of becoming ugly ducks.

Free the children

How dare they imprison such young children

scarring their growing minds for life

warping their forming personalities

cursing their psyches with unsort strife !

Surely they must see what they're doing

in so many household nursery dens.

We can't any longer turn a blind eye.

We must ban imprisoning cots and playpens.

Eve and Adam

So far, so good, said almighty God,

all previous plans rejected !

My latest design seems just about right.

and the prototype works as expected:

eggs from ovaries, tubes to uterus,

human conception via vagina.

Necessary internal nourishment

fully solved by the use of placenta.

I think I'm really on the last lap

except for problems like monthly bleeding

and birthing through such a narrow gap.

But with two external breasts for feeding

I feel it's almost time for a nap.

All I need now is some sort of sperm bank.

I think I'll invent a Man.

Smoking ban

People used to start smoking

when they were young, to look older

and when they were older, to pass the time.

Neither reason is needed now

with all our smart phones always on-line.

Tweets 18

Not voyeur but auditeur -

embarrassing noises heard from on high -

the moans and groans from the planes in the sky.

She always turns her nose up at me

but I wish she would turn her toes up at me.

The struggle for freedom is not between

capitalism and communism

but dictators and democracy

with reasons enough for pessimism.

"may I feel ?" said he (apologies to e e cummings)

She who lets me

fuck her gets me

The recent week's warm weather seems

to have hatched the eggs of house and fruit fly.

So one part of Nature deceived another

for the coming cold weather will soon make them die.

Weather  Warning !

Winter is coming - the Great Britain depression.

I didn't, couldn't choose

when to be born

but I shouldn't be unable to choose

when to die..

Two young women at a weekend disco

together but different as chalk and cheese;

both mesmerising in their own ways

and always a sight to please.

One nubile, dancing on her own,

her rhythmic swaying sexually flaunted;

the other immobile, always seated

and somehow seemingly haunted.

Despite repeated appearances

unlikely friends an observer thinks -

mythology personified

as modern day siren and sphinx.

'Lovely Day' by Bill Withers

"  . . . then I look at you . . ."

As the feeling starts to die back

in the autumn of youth,

new shoots spring up to flower

as children in proof

that " . . what will survive of us is love . . . "

                                Philip Larkin

Spring morning levels

Daytime comets, sunlit tails,

needling fabric, blue sky trails,

stratospheric isolation,

intent on destination.

Lazy buzzard floating high,

wavily circling, stirring sky,

bent on observation.

Above the tulips, passing by,

idling, zipping hoverfly.

The Flower Club

One rainy day with nothing to do

I decided I would brave the walk

to the village hall, where there wasn't a queue,

for the local Flower Club's 'Roses' talk.

 I entered the hall as the lights were dimming

and realised that I was out of place :

the seats all seemed filled by aging women

and I felt embarrassed to show my face.

So, as one man among fifty matrons,

I asked the 'official' at the door

if it really was only for female patrons.

She said she wasn't entirely sure

but, as you can see, it's totally girls.

Though your clothes are those of a gentleman,

with such long hair and dangling curls

you'll pass quite well as a lesbian.

Passers by

They've often passed my house over the years

walking together, the man and the woman.

Both middle aged, she unexceptional

but he is small and somehow crooked

like a broken twig beneath his always hat.

I've often wondered about their relationship.

Somehow husband and wife seems unlikely

because of his unattractive disablement.

I tend to think of them brother and sister

with her looking after him. Courageous.

I would like to ask them about their connection

but feel it would be intrusive, unwelcome.

Lately they're no longer side by side

but him a few yards trailing behind.

I sense their attachment might be failing.

Sad. Nothing I can do. None of my business.

There's been a miscarriage of justice.

Not some-one wrongly convicted

but some-one wrongfully punished -

not enough for the harm he inflicted.

Another Friday, rain pouring down;

another night in this seaside town

immersed in the usual disco pub

and overwhelmed by this musical hub.

I'm bathing in beer and beautiful women

while soaking in cider with others swimming

against the sad tide with our unlucky looks,

seeking romance outside our books.

I'm drowning in the depths of cleavage,

only saved by the jetsam waistage

floating free from the fishing smacks

till washed ashore on bare white backs.

I struggle to stay afloat all evening

till the lights go up and it's time for leaving.

I really need a personal lifeguard

to stop me pretending to be a ba(sta)rd.

While driving along the dual carriageway

I passed a lady in the cycle lane

whose bike had a loaded luggage rack in front

and panniers full both sides of her rear wheel.

Behind her back were two small children

in tandem. Amazed by the unexpected sight

I braked in awe of her overtaking men.

And then she rode through the red traffic light !

(stopping would need such an effort to start again ?)

Tweets 17

Hoping to stay together through many years

companionship's worth more than sex.

I value what's between your ears

more than what's between your legs.

               WINTER

Days of wet, days of snow,

stuck indoors, nowhere to go,

dreams of sunshine, beaches, sea -

time enough, for now TV.

        ISRAEL  AND  HAMAS

Such atrocious acts that hate arouses.

'A plague on both your houses.'

           LANDSCAPE

Between the weakened peaks

weakly stretches the desert.

        FEMALE EMPOWERMENT

If men can have orgasms, so should women.

If boys can be boys, so should girls.

The winter warmth of bedclothes cedes

to the heat of summer sun.

As the welcome warmth of friendship burns

when love has again begun.

When you're old, an ounce of youth

is worth a ton of wisdom.

Writers embellish ordinary -

gild the daisy.

Is it just my male viewpoint

makes old women seem

so much older than their youth

than old men do theirs.

           LIGHT  MY  FIRE

A crush is the flashy flare of kindling.

Love is coal that catches.

The downside of intelligence is boredom;

that of self-consciousness, egotism

A distant romance

Sometimes at the Friday disco

I really like just sitting and watching,

with a pint of cider and a bar of chocolate,

the same attractive lady dancing.

Without a partner, of either sex,

just on her own she brings to life

the music's rhythm able to flex

her presence into sensuous sight.

I like her voluptuous body swaying,

the concentration on her face,

the sinuous angling of her hips

that pulses beauty into space.

She never seems to notice me

although she cannot help but know

that I'm there watching her again.

We certainly never meet eye to eye.

But I think she likes my admiration

restrained by my propriety

so disco evenings we enjoy

each other's stand off company.

And that's as far as it goes.