While reading

I thought to kill it with a clap

as it floated upwards to my face.

Another fruit fly from the plants,

a plague of Spring inside the room.

But then I saw how smooth the rise.

No flying insect's flitty flight

but aimed intently straight ahead.

And as it neared the legs came clear.

A tiny spider it appeared.

But how could it rise so steadily?

Convection current in the air?

Some invisible trailing hair?

Whatever, it climbed out of sight

to mount on glasses, eyebrow, skin?

A trivial moment of delight.

So many beautiful young women !

I look at them with hidden lust.

They of course don't look at me

or if they do, it's with disgust.

She wants

to be diaphanous as her dress,

an insubstantial spirit free

from all the disagreeable stress

of functioning biology,

to banish farts and faeces, sweat

and menstrual liquidity

but what I want is warmth in bed,

her smoothness and solidity.

She hopes her pungent perfumes quell

all hint of animality

but I prefer the ranker smell

of female sexuality.

Despite our differences I learn

to treat her dreams with gravity

and she endeavours in her turn

to live with my depravity.

Dating ?

Regular visitors to my garden

when the sun shines between the showers,

a pair of wood pigeons forage together

searching for food among the flowers.

It makes me wonder what's their connection.

Just the two of them, never with others.

Possibly an old married couple?

Or family bonded, sisters, brothers?

Or perhaps the start of a new relation?

As so often seen together lends

credence to speculation whether

it's a new romance or just good friends.

Though sexes attract

the contact is fraught;

the act is the fact

but the thrill is the thought,

TWEETS 14

Sad but true.

Personality and character do not infatuate.

Looks do.

Not rocking robin but hopping robin !

Always on the lookout for grub,

concentrating, arms akimbo,

jumping two footed from tub to tub.

Snow in May there lying on the ground ?

No, just apple blossom fallen thick around.

Earth's ills

-------------

The problem is not just pollution,

and climate change; it's population.

HOSPICE

I keep waking up.

God! When will it stop?

Enjoyment accompanies events;

satisfaction lingers longer.

It's much like dermatitis hatching,

the masochistic pain of itching,

the knowingly harmful joy of scratching -

young women in the disco - leching !

If, like the Chinese, we had an almanac,

this year would be The Year Of The Slug.

The long delayed springtime explosion

bursting a universe of leaves

clouds the sky with constellations

which the summer solar breeze

automatically weaves

into the swirling textures of trees.