Tweets 19

Pleasure is the here and now;

satisfaction for the future.

My constant companion in old age,

girl not boy, little joy.

Fart or faeces ?

Hard to tell

sometimes. Toilet !

(just as well).

I think there's little left in life to see.

I'm only killing time till time kills me.

Novels help to pass the time

for both readers and writers.

THE CONSOLATIONS OF OLD AGE

                  don't  exist

THAT'S MUSIC - OUT OF THIS WORLD

Special offer for one lifetime only.

The only funeral company to offer

bingo in Heaven.

Politicians are part of the narcissus genus

Poetry - so many write it but so few read it.

THE  TRAVELLING  GASTROPODS

Their relatives must go home every day

but they venture further with their campervans -

snails.

Cars are a bit like people -

the body work is sleek or battered

but the driver isn't clear.

With acknowledgement to Robert Burns

If the camera doen't lie,

then the mirror certainly does

which just confuses when we try

to see ourselves as others see us .

To my wife

When I certainly also die

I will have eternity

to patiently, carefully search for you

floating somewhere among the stars.

Sophie

At that disco months ago

you seemed so sadly on your own,

shuffling slowly in the shadow,

dancing all alone.

I thought to help you out a while

by offering to dance with me

but you just answered with a smile

preferring to be free.

Now you've changed so much since then;

gone is all former reticence;

now you actively seek attention

overflowing with confidence.

No matter if the dance floor's empty,

you tip-toe steps, a one woman show,

your latest costume garnering plenty

of interest as you well know.

Eventually so much a swinger

once at least on local band night

you took the microphone from the singer

to sing their song as if by right.

Certainly no longer shy

you cling the necks of random men,

gazing at them eye in eye

and kissing mouth to mouth, but then

having been a whie rejected,

at least I'm no more feeling hurt,

although my ego's still dejected,

by a now exhibitionist flirt.

The flower bed

Council workmen complaining

while the gardener glowers;

perfumed dreams despite raining

giving peace without powers;

even kings might like feigning

tramps sleeping on flowers.

SAO

What was the highlight of the trip?

What was it most impressed me?

Was it the anaconda's grip

or the deserts calm and stress free?

Was it the Amazonas river,

Andean mountain scenery,

all those humming birds a-quiver,

Ecuador's jungle greenery?

Was it massive Inca stonecraft,

river dolphin or manatee

or just the shiver when you laughed

but lately shied away from me?

Was it Brazilian sunny beaches,

Rio's carnival parades?

No, it was you my heart beseeches;

your memory never fades.

What but . .

What bubbles and fizzes more than prime champagne

and effervesces sunshine out of rain ?

What hops and skips beyond olympic games

and soars above the bar of petty blames ?

What laughs at nothing from the joy within

and dares your patience with a cheeky grin ?

What turns your January into June

and yet collapses like a burst balloon

when angry words must chide then very soon

can re-inflate itself just like before

and dance in triumph on the kitchen floor ?

What lies angelic in its night-time rest

and makes your quiet evenings doubly blessed ?

What else but happiness of children fires your days

into a glow that warms so many ways ?