Were I to die under a bus
Family and friends would cry.
There would be little fuss
Over my literary legacy.
Those few who read my rhyme
Of women and wine
and passing time
May fancy they hear
Skeletons prattle in cupboards
And clocks stop.
But I will not reply
We run.
Perchance dance in the sun.
But behind the sunlight
We know the night
Will come
And our fleeting pleasure
Must end in dust.
Sometimes I think on girls who drink
In order to go through
With what they feel they have to
I see their bright smile
And hear their laughter.
And when men’s fun is done
I wonder, do some pause and think
How young women’s smiles
And laughter, flow easily as drink?
The rain stops and starts.
Lovers who never where lovers part.
No hearts are broken.
But had words been spoken
At an earlier time
Perchance this rhyme of mine
Would not end in friends parting
And rain stopping and starting.
On a spring day
Girls in short dresses
Progress by.
Old men sigh
Finding their mind
Turn to past progress
And the truth
That youth
Is fleeting as flowers.
I saw daisies in spring grass
And thought of the past
When I first made my chains
Unaware of coming care.
Our acts forge a chain
For good or bad.
When I was a lad
I took daisies freely
Innocent of what would come to be.
I have picked so many spring flowers.
And I have learned
That youthful hours
Can never return
And the chain I made
May grow heavier with age.
In our youth
We search for fairies.
Then when we reach maturity
We see the truth.
There are no fairies
Or white knights
To ride to our rescue.
There is love and lust
And the Reaper
Who sweeps.
The rain had come and gone.
Yet still raindrops fell
From branches laden down with rain.
Then, the mower came
To cut grass as I passed
Along the churchyard path
Where the old trees grow
And the dead sleep below.
Neither these trees nor the dead
Will know that I passed
Along this well worn churchyard path
As the mower cut grass
Heedless of rain.
As I drink my hot curry soup
Melancholy love songs loop.
The same thoughts go round and round
Of waitresses who have come and gone.
Sometimes my thoughts are profound.
At other times I tempt with rhymes
A waitress who likes poetry.
But I have found
My verse can not undress a waitress
For my brief rhyme
Is out of time
And I am growing old.
So I drink my hot curry soup
As the music loops around.
And then go home alone.
Last night the wind blew.
Today I remember you
In your heels and skirt
You wore for me.
There was no need for me to flirt
As I knew you would be with me
For an hour or so
And then you would go.
The wind is passionate and free.
You wore those clothes for me
Because you knew that I like heels and skirts.
But there was no need to flirt with you.
You flew to Turkey.
We can both agree
That there was some delight,
And a flight to Turkey
For you.
