A Pecking Order

My garden restaurant clientele
are loyal regular customers;
ethically diverse they vary
in their characters as well.

Cocky sparrow boys push their way past
timid uncomplaining dunnocks;
busy bluetits move so fast
they leave their greater cousin flummoxed.

All alone in a polka dot dress
a poor old thrush repeats herself;
nearby a posing blackie blessed
with as good a voice shows better health.

A hubbub of new arrivals heralds
the locally infamous Finch's clan
(quarrelsome green, bejewelled gold)
who soon get in their usual flap;

more respectable dapper chaffinch
none the less hints a secret life;
mysterious bullfinch home on leave
from spying comes to find his wife.

A gang of noisy starlings enters
respecting nothing for street cred,
baiting jackdaw for her headscarf,
calling pigeon 'Old Pinhead'.

Even so they stand aside for
braggart magpie who they know
sometimes acts unwilling guide for
gangster godfather Old Man Crow.

There's only one bird lives to kill -
psycho sparrowhawk Mac the Knife
yet freebird robin unafraid still
whistles the corner late at night.

So now my story's at an end
but if you think it's been too brief,
what you must do is just suspend
some feeders and your disbelief.

Cathartic ?

Does porn really exorcise demons
or merely exercise them ?

"Look straight in my eyes or you'll have bad sex."
she said as she stared and we clinked our glasses.
I tried to be clever and quickly replied
"There's no such thing as bad sex."

"You speak as a man or you wouldn't say that.
The things I could tell you about my ex.
He thought he should do just whatever he liked
and walked over me like a doormat."

My joke had misfired but I didn't turn back
and I asked her just what did she mean.
"I'm not even sure you would understand
considering how stupid you've been.

But maybe it's due to the male situation
being different for humans and animals.
When young men want sex and then find they can't get it,
it's the women they blame not more powerful males.

Resentment builds up and the feeling develops
that females are something to conquer.
Sure, men fall in love but when tenderness fades,
underneath there's a layer of rancour.

And matters get worse now the internet shows
pornography freely available
for men can't resist the temptation to watch
women making debasement saleable.

What once were perversions are now merely tricks
which men expect women to do as of right;
when randy they can't think of anything but
the thrill in their heads and the twitch in their pricks.

Without any love sex becomes domination
with too many women demeaned and degraded
and even in love men vent their frustration
on women presumed to accept being jaded."

I started to feel I had heard quite enough,
recalling some times when sex hadn't gone well
for my wife because I had enjoyed being rough.
I stood there embarrassed and guilty as hell.

"Alright." I admitted, "My comment was wrong.
Apologies both for myself and your ex."
"Well, thank you." she said, "But I'll bid you 'so long'.
Just remember my eyes and Don't Do Bad Sex."

Posted by Michael at 01:35 0 comments

What pleases the eye may not please the mind
but both are needed together to start
the arc in the rain from the sun behind
that fires the brain and enthralls the heart.

What is saddest about grief is that it fades,
like memories whose colours drain away and sharp lines blur.
The once life-threatening wound of grief gradually heals.
Some deny this, wanting to keep their injury as intact
as their loved one's bedroom. They pick at scabs,
preferring the poignant pain to numb insensibility,
guarding their wound as a badge of honour.
Yet over time the raw flesh seals;
the scar can be touched without wincing.
But the shrine created for their loved one
has become more important than its dedication.
After all the turmoil, it must not spoil.
Distraught, they cannot put aside the thought
that to stop grieving is to be disloyal.

Where do they come from?

Where were they hiding?

After you thought you'd got rid of them all !

You just look down

and there they are -

the little specks that the vacuum let fall.

Old folks care home

We pity them as they doze in line,
Death Row in cosy armchairs,
waiting in limbo for their turn
unknowing or past cares.

But when they sleep, what do they dream ?
Might loved ones re-appear
in dream-time's vivid reality
so that they once more hear

their darlings' speak and hold them close
and kiss their tears away ?
Then 'Pass' on pity; do not stay.
Though Heaven's a dream, dreams can be heaven.