Stillettos
Impure
Alure.
Passion’s
Empty
Core
Stillettos
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The Horse Race
Should I to the bookies go, and put cash
On this prospect rash?
I doubt the horse can win the race (though the crowd
In his support are loud
And grope
For hope
In empty pools
Where fools
Drown).
Do I want him to win?
I grin
And keep my own counsel, for the wise
Do not prate
Or rise
To the bait.
They cultivate
A zen-like state
And patiently wait …
Sleep
Waking early,
And being unable to return to the land of slumber,
Idly I wonder
About our need for sleep,
For we can not pretend
That he will not take us all in the end.
Echo
In the rocks, Echo does reside.
We take pride
In her speech
For she doth preach
As we do.
Through
Her voice
We know the only possible choice
For it is that of our brothers
(Echo’s lovers),
Who
Understand the one true
Way,
For they
Echo every word we say
Baubles and Toys
Soon baubles and toys
Will intrude, while the day’s noise
Will wrap me in petty care
Yet, on awakening there
Where
The birds, as they always are
Drowning out lorry and car.
A Hundred Years Of Communism
Shall I pen a verse
Sufficiently terse
To appear on Twitter?
And would I be bitter
Should my Twit
Fail to fit?
There Was A Young Man Called Carr
There was a young man called Carr
Who sported a duelling scar.
He received it from a girl
(her name was Pearl).
It was a very rough bar!
Socks
She mocks
In socks,
With her unblemished skin,
And barely lukewarm sin
Loaded Gun
He had such charm
As with a smile he said,
“There is no harm,
Come to bed”.
They had their fun,
As the sun
Glowed traffick light red,
But there was “no harm”, she said
