Mature Singles Website - a male view

If not involved, it's easy to jeer
the coming out of looking for love -
so many ladies of fifty two
but fifty eight? so very few;
so many blondes (thanks to the bleach?)
enjoying sunsets, walks on the beach;
wanting comedians ('make me laugh'),
believing in chemistry and sparks;
everyone looking for someone younger
(good looks the key, not sexual hunger?);
the single photo, unrepeatable,
and, if you meet, unrecognisable -
yes, much to mock if happily married
but these were once as settled as you
and there is bravery indeed
in openly acknowledging a need.

Behind their ever optimistic profiles
are widows rising from the ashes of grief,
the wounded of divorce and separation,
the disadvantaged living incomplete.
Having survived the plague of mid-life trials
they now at least enjoy stress-free relief
though maybe scarred by past humiliation
through macho infidelity and deceit.

No wonder many women are distrustful
perhaps still bruised by previous disputes.
It's easy here to ignore suitors' antics,
delete the messages, withhold replies.
Magnanimously some deflect the lustful
with humour, knowing not all men are brutes
and, still remaining hopelessly romantic,
ease male hurt with sensitive white lies.

But men and women both must face dejection
as part and parcel of this sort of site.
Sentenced like me to solitary by their ages
(the future just a corridor of numbered cells)
and grown accustomed to one more rejection,
they might despondently accept their plight.
Women imprisoned guiltless by their faces
might well retreat into their hermit shells.

And yet there's always hope which keeps us going
although our web use may become addictive.
Until we've trawled through the entire nation,
New Users might have someone that's Viewed Me.
The Inbox has another message showing !
Fixing on one might turn out too restrictive.
Instead of getting off at the wrong station,
we'd best continue travelling hopefully.

Around the savannah of the park
stand elephants, grey wrinkled skin
of waving trunks groping the sky
where a cloud of vultures soars in circles:
Africa in winter England -
bare oak trees and seagulls.

The end of the evening

When the singer introduces
all the members of the band
to share the floor's appreciation
and I'm happy just to stand
still;

When 'last orders' has been shouted
and the barmaid bustles round
collecting glasses that have sprouted
in the gloom, and when the ground

stops vibrating to the rhythm
as the music settles down
to ballad tempo, I can finally
stop gyrating like a clown.

Couples cuddle in the last dance;
some smug smiles proclaim success
though other eyes cast wistful glances
prophesying sleeplessness.

Now the conversation falters;
raucous laughter peters out;
the last boys' banter hits the ceiling;
playtime's over without doubt.

Dancers dawdle to the exit
harmonizing warm goodbyes
before they brave the winter coldness
as the evening slowly dies.

Nothing left except to stumble home,
unlock the door, face up to what I lack.
Like damp in walls, monoxide in the air,
old age and loneliness seep back.

Life is a game I never learned to play properly.
Too many mistakes, infringements of the rules,
losses to weak opponents.What the hell !
It's only a game.

No matter how exciting the day
it always ends with wanting to sleep:
no matter how long on Earth your stay,

ditto !

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.