Perhaps ideas too often repeated in our brains
act like dripping water on grey matter
and carve deep channels in our human minds.
Perhaps the showers of thoughts that constantly bespatter
consciousness and even dreams are rains
that always then flow into the same blind
gullies to fill the dark wells of flatter
landscapes where political obsession drains
and religious extremisms stagnate.
But why do infatuations only evaporate ?

Bearing in mind I didn't request it
but as a baby I had no choice,
very soon I was pleased to accept it.

Starting with infant exploration
life was a fairground experience
sampling all kinds of jollification.

Life got more serious as I got older
with all the confusion of teenage years
creating the need for somebody's shoulder.

Steadied at last by someone who loved me
and settling down to a married life,
I then had to value someone above me.

And helping a baby grow to a person
created a new perspective on life
reducing still more my residual ego.

As old age advances I'm still in some doubt
as to whether I've made the most of my life
and still none too clear as to what it's about.

Although never rich I was not at all poor,
not badly disabled, quite sane and quite healthy
and glad I avoided fighting in war.

But looking back there were often mistakes,
doubtful decisions, missed opportunities,
misunderstandings and heartache that makes

me sometimes regret not doing enough
to disentangle desire from duty
and harmonise natural lust with real love.

Once born is there really a reason for living
beside avoiding discomfort and pain?
We want to be happy but maybe it's giving

it earns satisfaction promoting self worth.
More spectator than player I'm still undecided
how much I have made of my life since my birth.

So how would I rate it? Perhaps six out of ten
since overall it was quite an adventure -
but I don't think I'll bother again.

This is one of my favourite places -
slender bodies, long sleek hair,
velvet skin and pretty faces -
welcome to the lechers' lair.

Lovely ladies young and lissom,
lovely legs so summer tanned,
smoothly swaying to the rhythm -
beauty dancing to the band.

Birds of paradise displaying
but here it's females seeking mates,
competing for young men's attention
and out of reach for aging rakes.

These young folk puzzle why I'm here
and view me as a curiosity.
Very few dare venture near
and don't engage in reciprocity !

It's only when I get the chance
to claim a space among the crowd
and show them I can really dance,
they voice astonishment out loud.

Most girls don't dance at all well,
just flex their bodies, raise their arms.
At best they give their feet a shuffle
but nothing distracts me from their charms.

I'm not a threat, too old for passion
and too pathetic to be snooty
but still, regardless of the fashion,
a keen admirer of female beauty.

When I was a kid, my grandfather lived
a few streets away on his own.
He mumbled a lot and was fast going deaf
so conversation was always prone

to be difficult. Then I mastered the making
of meaningless noises aping the tone
of sensible speech and although I was faking,
it was only apparent to me alone.

So now that my grandson is starting to speak
and I sometimes can't understand what he says
(despite having asked for several repeats),
I do just the same and he seems not to guess

that I'm only pretending to know what he said,
encouraging him to keep prattling instead.
But I sometimes consider how long will it be
before he is doing the same thing to me.

Tweets 0

         FAVOURITISM

I pennypinch on miner Mattas
so as to splurge on Major Wunz.

          IF AT FIRST  .  .  .

I can try only so many times

else embarrassment

turns harassment.

And if I do, all good and well;

and if I don't, so what the hell.

Mist, the turning trees, a lemon sun;

autumn again, another summer gone.

Are some people able to say the right thing

even when stunned by the unexpected ?

Not me for I've said such ridiculous things

at moments of stress which I've later regretted.

Strange - how the minutes go so slowly

but the years go by so fast.

Melanoma

There are worse things to die from than sunshine

Snow is feminine, dancing down,

unlike masculine rods of rain

If you want young women

when you grow old,

better be rich -

they're expensively sold.

Finally a victory

against sadistic fantasy.

Going to the gym

Gym junkies aren't all massive musclemen
though some indeed resemble dinosaurs
for others only work out now and then
preferring the role of anatomy bores.

Discussing biceps, triceps, deltoids, abs
and pecs they could be biped carnivores
salivating over the choicest slabs
of meat. Beware the way they flex their jaws.

The aims of younger men are sometimes set
on more than merely strength. In threes and fours
they build self-confidence by pumping sweat,
encouraging each other with group applause.

Maturer men have more to lose than gain
when they decide to venture through the doors.
They push their paunches ahead of them in vain
attempts to find somewhere to park their flaws.

And old men are still searching for the truth
about their being robbed, a loss which gnaws
away their self-esteem  -  their stolen youth.
Grasping dumbells is like clutching sraws.

Most ladies don't want muscles but to trim
their bums and thighs. Hard exercise restores
their hope of making pecs work quite uplifting.
At least it makes a change from household chores.

And why does going to the gym suit me?
A little exercise of will ensures
invigorated limbs and vanity,
reward enough for all the sprains and sores.

Strange

how the hours pass so slowly
yet the years go by so fast.