26p

I wrote a travelogue, studded with poems,
infatuation, sense of duty, jokes.
Then spent the next decade revising it
just like them London literary blokes.
At last I was ready to publish but
was the world ready to receive my gem ?
To my astonishment Kindle took it
swear words and all, root and stem.
So I waited in hope for it to flower
and eventually got my due come-uppance.
The payment advice arrived by e-mail -
in old money roughly five and tuppence.

She doesn't drive and so I fetch her

from her house that's miles away

in my car to suit her pleasure

and see the latest film or play.

But I drive home in desperation

since she doesn't let me stay

and think between our assignations

how does she get around ok.

I wonder if some other boyfriend

takes her in a posher car

and after some too boozy evening

somehow makes her go too far.

It makes me feel some sort of  'gopher'

and doesn't do much for my pride.

Although I'm certainly the chauffeur,

who's taking who for a ride?

A lengthy drive, two garages,

a cavernous hallway, grand reception,

spacious dining room and kitchen,

five bedrooms (one en suite) -

appropriate for a self-made man.

And yet the name of this splendid palace?

Welcome to ' Cosy  Cottage '

Both laugh at nothing : children at play
and old folk feeling life leak away.

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.