His anticipation of dissipation.
There will be wine
With a girl divine.
Just his type.
And she may stay
For the night.
He sends her train fair.
“I’m on my way”
Her Watsap will say.
He goes to buy wine.
While she smiles
And remains online.
The self-scan says goodbye.
Elsewhere, a solitary man
Issues a command
To a webcam
And a literary guy
Wanders The Wasteland.
Desire builds a fire
Which burns. and turns
To ash and dust.
We tread a fine line
Between the devil and divine.
And slip and trip
From time to time.
Like a bad penny
You turned up at my door.
I have seen many
Of your kind before.
At first, I didn’t remember you.
Then, I did recall a fall,
And opened my door
To you, who brought a thought
To mind …
They say
The past is another country.
I find
It binds me to thee.
I could have shown you the door.
But birds of our feather flock together
And we both recall
My slip and fall.
Does the Devil
Read or write poetry?
It might be so
For compassion’s glow
May burn low
In the wickedest heart.
And camp guards
Listened to Mozart.
A young lady who is very exotic
Said, “sir, there can be nothing erotic!”.
Then she took off her dress
Which was strange, I must confess.
As her essay was on the despotic!
Listening to the news
Of the swift advance
Of Taliban
In Afghanistan.
Birdsong outside
My window
Takes me away
From the cruelty
Of today.
Whilst checking my Twitter notifications this morning, I came across the following gem:
“Recommended For You
Try writing better poems and see how you get on then”.
I am not sure how I should take that …!
Oh see her feminine ways.
How sweetly she does flirt
To obtain that cute skirt.
And man pays
In diverse ways.
Although, its true
There may be pleasure too.
