We fuss
And rush
Through life.
Perhaps take
A lover,
A husband
Or wife.
We will find time
To weave our rhyme
We say,
For there must
Be another day.
And the dust
Gathers unseen.
We fuss
And rush
Through life.
Perhaps take
A lover,
A husband
Or wife.
We will find time
To weave our rhyme
We say,
For there must
Be another day.
And the dust
Gathers unseen.
When I found a pretty ear lobe
Protruding from my fine old bedroom wardrobe
I said, “Miss Moore
Are you quite sure
That you are looking for your globe?”.
She sprays cheap perfume
In his living room.
Then smokes a cigarette
At his open window.
She must go
(As others have before).
He will feel regret
And say “no more”.
But grubby deals
With girls in heels
Will draw,
As before.
August is hot as lust.
I was born in January
And in me you see
The soul of winter.
I have a splinter
Of ice in my heart.
My poetic art
Is January. and hot August.
No man can outrun the sun.
But birds sing
In the spring.
And winter’s splinter is my art.
My thanks to Lucy for publishing my poem “rearranging Deckchairs”.
When a curious young lady named Miss Lake
Said, “is it true you are a rake?”.
My dear friend Lady Hocking
Said, “your suggestion is shocking!
As she covered us 2 in cream cake!
There once was a wicked old rake
Who went by the name of Lake.
When he asked Miss Glynne
To join him in sin,
It all ended in the vicarage lake!
“We walk through dust.
Her stilettoed feet
Click on the street.
Circumstance does thrust
Birds of diverse feather
Together for pleasure.
While money may impress,
Whirling dust
Will take
The flesh
Of paramore, and rake”.
I found a young lady named Mable
Cavorting on my fine old dining table.
Being drunk on my booze
She had nothing to lose,
As her clothes lay under the table!
I thought I had lost
The key to my clock.
When I found it again
It’s old tick tock
Continued on. but time
He pauses not.
(The above poem first appeared in my June Author Newsletter, which can be accessed here https://mailchi.mp/37a9976abe1c/kevins-june-author-newsletter).