The fall of rain does, I find
Help to calm my mind.
It is hypnotic like the clock,
Or young women in heels who stop
At midnight doors and knock,
And hypnotise my mind.
But rain remains
While girls who knock
do not.
The fall of rain does, I find
Help to calm my mind.
It is hypnotic like the clock,
Or young women in heels who stop
At midnight doors and knock,
And hypnotise my mind.
But rain remains
While girls who knock
do not.
Burglar Caught in Rome Mid-Heist While Taking a Break to Read Homer’s The Iliad
Its heartening to know that there exist those of a literary bent in the criminal community!
To be serious for a moment. If this (suspected)thief is convicted, and whilst imprisoned develops his love of literature, it is to be hoped that he will “sin no more” on his release from jail.
Some years back, (before Covid), I visited Brixton prison with friends to eat in the restaurant run by some of the prisoners. The idea behind the restaurant was to teach the prisoners skills so they could obtain gainful employment on their release into the community. Whilst the preparation of food is not the same as developing a love of the written word, hopefully our (alleged) literary thief will, if found guilty, develop his skills in a direction other than house breaking whilst in prison.
For anyone interested in the Clink charity which runs the restaurant in Brixton prison, you can find out more here Brixton – The Clink Charity : The Clink Charity
Their youthful passion unlocks.
She loses shoes and frock.
Then the vicar knocks …!
I remember your name
And how the thunder came.
“The lightning is exciting”,
You said. On my bed
There was no lightning.
I have taken some pleasure
When the humid weather
Is cooled by the rain.
But the inner storm warns
“Everything remains the same”.
When I attended a singles swingers party
With the great and the somewhat arty,
A young lady named Claire
Tied me up with Flair.
Those knots they were really quite arty!
Women offer delight for the night
Or an hour or so
And when they go
There is no love left behind
To comfort the unquiet mind.
Just a bank transfer
From him to her.
True, some girls pretend to care,
But if the money isn’t there …
In late August, the wind blows dust
And a plastic bag flaps.
Perhaps this little rhyme of ending summertime
May engage on yellowing page
When I am below
And can not know
For the hearse
Takes all verse,
Though poems may stay.
A young lady known as Miss Ice
Has a reputation for not being nice.
Her real name is Coral
And she’s so very immoral!
But to me she’s always been nice …!
This storm in late August
Has stripped many leaves from trees.
Twigs snap and crack underfoot.
All Augusts must fade to September.
And I remember
Autumn must come.
Behind all lust
Lurks fear of dust.
For in war
Children and hate proliferate.