A delivery of pleasure.
She will come to me
For an hour or so.
We will spend our time.
But not in rhyme.
I, for my part
Know not her heart,
Nor she mine.
‘Tis merely pleasure.
The pleasure being mine.
A Kind of Honesty
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Category Archives: musings
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Me, much older.
Your head on my shoulder.
Your legs entwine with mine,
One, final, time.
Lust
Lust is like the ocean.
It’s tide carries us away.
Yet, unlike the great ocean,
Our lusts turn to clay.
Why Do I Rush To Pass
Why do I rush to pass
Those who walk the churchyard path?
I reach my home
And leave behind the path
Along which all must pass,
To a place where bones
Find their final home,
Under a cold stone.
My Poem I Would Rather Be A Tree Has Been Included In Dodo Modern Vidpoets
I am pleased to announce that my poem I would Rather Be a Tree has been included in May’s Dodo Modern Vidpoets. To listen to me reading I Would Rather Be a Tree, and the poems of the other contributors, please follow this link, https://dodovidpoets.blogspot.com/2021/05/virtual-dodo-6-may-2021.html.
There Was a Young Lady Named Fay
There was a young lady named Fay,
Who they say came from the USA.
She was a Confederate bride
But history’s great rolling tide
Has swept Fay and the Confederacy away.
(I am currently reading Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell. For anyone who is unaware of the plot of the novel, it deals with the American Civil War and its impact on the Confederate states of America, both during and after the war. Hence I thought it would be interesting to compose a limerick about those times).
When We Are All Categorised
When we are all categorised
And government’s eyes
Can find the inner mind.
We, the fool
Will have let scientists rule.
But, perhaps in some places
We will kick over the traces,
And say “no!”, to the rule.
Volumes Fill My Room
Volumes fill my room.
A girl’s sweet perfume
May make me smile
For a little while.
Poetry survives, our brief lives.
Whilst the linger of fingers
From the present time,
Are caught in rhyme
I Cut Bread
I cut bread
And momentarily forget.
Then, a smile, tinged with regret.
You are dead.
There will be
No Labrador nose, to deprive me
Of my tea.
The Philosophical Rake
“Shall I
Let life pass me by?
At night
Comes the pleasure of sinning
With women
Of a rather particular kind.
Yet beyond the delight
Of sinning and women
I find
The night
Where love and lust
Are nought but dust.”
