On a beautiful spring night
I heard, with some delight
The gentle tick tock
Of a long deceased clock.
Time is always there.
Yet I care
For the tick tock
Of an individual clock.
Each, separate timepiece
Must,
One day
Cease.
And I shall go away,
And all the philosophy discussed,
Shall turn to dust.
She leaned forward slightly, across the wide table, her breasts pressing against the thin silk dress.
It was, in fact not real silk. However it was a first-rate copy and only the man with a trained eye would have spotted the fake, and Tim knew as much about genuine fabrics as the average man or woman knows about anglo saxon poetry.
“You know Tim that I’d like to come back. How do you English say, to your place?”
“Yeah”, he said, trying hard to look away from those barely concealed globes of delight.
“But there’s something I need to ask you”, she continued, her tongue circling her lips. “Are you protected?”.
“Sorry. I don’t follow?”, Tim said, his hand moving to take Chauntele’s, which rested on the delicately patterned tablecloth.
“Protection”, Chauntele said, lowering her gaze so as to examine the pattern on the tablecloth.
“Oh, yeah, of course. I’ve condoms back at my place”, he said, his eyes also discovering something fascinating in the design of the cloth.
“No, sweetie. Are you protected?”.
“Yeah. As I said, I have condoms back at my place. So its all good”, he said, lust contending with growing irritation in his breast.
Chauntele flipped open her smartphone, entered a password and showed the screen to Tim. “Tested negative for COVID-19 at Saint Matthew’s Testing Centre, on 31 August 2021”, the certificate read.
Tim sighed. it wasn’t going to be his lucky night …
Walking through the wood
In this weather hot
I think on should,
And should not.
I shall be good.
But, I have heard tell
That nymphs herein
Dwell.
Some say, that they
Are shy.
I shall stare at the sky
For, therein,
Sin
Is not.
Above, the hot
Sky,
Whilst below
Nymphs go
By.
I
Walked the woodland path
And passed
By
Tall, slender flowers.
Now I
Traverse, in verse
That self-same path,
And grow flowers
In my mind.
The flowers
May be gone tomorrow.
For I find
That we borrow
Time.
True, many a rose
Has been emmortalised in rhyme
But the poet knows,
That he has limited time.
A middle-class lass,
And a ghetto
Girl, both possess the power
To entertain for an hour.
Or, with their stiletto
To pierce the heart
Of men who obsess
Over a girl’s short dress,
And hide inside their art.
I have been thinking a lot recently about the effect of COVID19 (the Corona Virus) on society and, in particular on human relationships.
To state a truism, we humans are social animals, and, with a few exceptions we all crave company from time to time. Even in this increasingly technologically driven society, individuals still enjoy face-to-face interactions, whether that be a meal in a restaurant, a drink with friends in the pub, or intimate time spent with a lover.
Today’s World at 1 on BBC Radio 4, https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/m000h8gg, contains discussions regarding whether face masks should be adopted by everyone as a means of ending the lockdown currently in place in the United Kingdom and elsewhere. The view expressed by the scientists/doctors was that masks should be reserved for health service professionals in the first instance then, once shops start to re-open for those professions where close contact can not be avoided, for example the hairdressing profession. In the longer-term it was argued that everyone might need to wear masks in public, at least until a vaccine is made available.
My thoughts on this are as follows:
1. I don’t at all relish the prospect of walking through the woods, parks etc and not being able to properly appreciate the scents of nature owing to the presence of a face mask. The wind on one’s face and the scent of new mown grass is one of life’s pleasures.
2. How exactly would face masks operate in settings such as restaurants and pubs/clubs? So far as I know, its impossible (or extremely difficult) to eat and drink whilst wearing a face mask. I haven’t tried doing this, so stand to be corrected. However, even if it is possible, I can imagine getting food, drink etc on the mask thereby impairing it’s effectiveness, not to mention making the wearer look rather messy!
3. Related to 2 above, Even if “social distancing” is maintained, I assume that friends, family members etc will be able to sit together, otherwise one of the greatest pleasures of eating out (convivial company) is thrown away. Also, in smaller establishments, its difficult to imagine how tables could be kept sufficiently apart to comply with the 2 metre “Social distancing” rule. Likewise (in the case of clubs where people dance) just, how exactly will “social distancing” be practiced and/or enforced? Will people dance with one another in masks, then use hand sanatiser once they have finished their dance? And what happens if (as frequently occurs) a couple decide to go home together? In the latter case “social distancing” goes out the window …
4. Leading on from 3 above, what happens to dating? Apart from the pleasure derived from relationships (whether long-term or otherwise), sex is necessary to perpetuate the species.
This article, https://www.dw.com/en/love-in-the-time-of-coronavirus-covid-19-changes-the-game-for-online-dating/a-52933001, indicates that the dating game is alive and well at the time of the Lockdown. However many people appear to be interacting online, but not meeting. One assumes that serious relationships will develop and individuals will meet when COVID19 is, so far as is possible beaten or contained.
5. I was not surprised to learn that escorts are continuing to ply their trade despite the lockdown, as exemplified in this article, https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-8188793/Manchester-City-star-Kyle-Walker-hosted-sex-party-two-escorts-coronavirus-lockdown.html. I shall refrain from any comment on this particular story.
On a personal level, I am looking forward to sharing a few pints (and a nice meal) in a restaurant once the Lockdown is over.
Kevin
A hint of perfume
In a bachelor’s bedroom.
He remembers a knock.
And finds her sock.
Ah, the great lock-down,
And society’s unforgiving frown!
In Spring, there are many chances
For dances.
Shy flowers
Have powers
Over men.
And when
They open
Words of love are spoken,
By lads who,
Sometimes, say what is true!
In Summer’s heat
Girl’s naked feet
Pass over grass
As they walk
And talk
With boys who
Say words, a few,
Of which are, probably true!
In autumn, young women
Frown
At men who, their
Minds on sinning
Say, “I do not dye
My hair
Brown”.
Whilst women well past girlhood
Employ expensive mud,
In order to engage
With guys, half their age.
Come wintertime
Poets rhyme
And philosophize
On pretty eyes
They may not have.
For the years have passed
And the lad
And the lass,
Are out to grass.
“You know that I never wanted to buy the house in the first place, don’t you!”, he said.
“Don’t I just. You’ve never stopped wittering on about how you hate it here since we moved in! In fact I remember arguing all night before you finally gave in and agreed to sign the contract. Why the hell did you agree if you hate it here so much? Don’t tell me, its because it was so bloody cheap. That’s you all over, you’ve never been able to resist a bargain, even though your loaded, with all that dosh you got when your gran died!”, she said.
“Call me all the names you like. I’ve never felt comfortable here. There’s that strange whirring noise I heard when we first looked around here. I can hear it now. It gives me the heebie jeebies.
There’s that room downstairs as well. You open the door and its always cold in there, whilst the rest of the place is, I have to admit warm. Its not natural, that chill, I hate going anywhere near that room.
There’s that strange light also. It comes on whenever anyone opens the door to that place. I think we’ve inherited a ghoul. In fact I’ve half a mind to put the place on the market tomorrow morning!”, he said.
“Inherited a ghoul! How many times do I have to tell you, that’s the walk-in freezer Mrs Michaels included in the sale …!”.
The first time
May be
As a rhyme
Betwixt
He and She.
Lips
In passion, fasten
On lips.
But not all poetry
Is written by romantics.
Frantics,
Partake for the first time.
Which is, to my mind
A kind
Of rhyme.
K Morris - Poet 