Monday, 27 May 2024

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.

Wednesday, 22 May 2024

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.

Saturday, 11 May 2024

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 ?

Saturday, 20 April 2024

Bored by the metronomic music I sat
and watched the other customers nearby.
She leaned her face into the younger guys
at the table and gazed into their eyes.
So close. No freshness bloom of youth
flowered her face though still attractive.
The sheen produced by years of make-up
didn't hide the start of sinking in her cheeks.
One after another the men drifted off
until one only could-be courting couple
remained facing each other and kissed.
An older man appeared. His wife stood up,
whispered goodbye. Together they walked away.

Tuesday, 16 April 2024

She looked above at the starry sky
and stretched her little arms up high
but disappointment creased her face
and grasping hands fell back in place.
Perhaps it looked like a bright balloon -
just two and reaching for the moon.
If only life were like the stories
instead of the way it usually sucks;
if ugly ducklings always turned swans
instead of becoming ugly ducks.

Free the children

How dare they imprison such young children
scarring their growing minds for life
warping their forming personalities
cursing their psyches with unsort strife !

Surely they must see what they're doing
in so many household nursery dens.
We can't any longer turn a blind eye.
We must ban imprisoning cots and playpens.