The joyless kiss.
The passing lips.
The empty bliss.
No, not this!
The joyless kiss.
The passing lips.
The empty bliss.
No, not this!
Two girls hesitant to dance.
He seeking a kind of romance.
They with an eye to the main chance
Reluctantly advance.
Lonleness kills,
Seeks solace in thrills.
Emotions shut down,
A crisis profound,
Seed spills on stoney ground
The wind blows through the park,
My mood is bleak and dark.
Teenage voices glad,
What hope do they have?
In a world gone mad,
Should not one be sad?
The weather speaks to me,
Why can not man be free,
Flying with the breeze,
Amongst the dancing trees.
Familiarity makes the unbearable so-so.
Music from a phone playing.
Exploring hands.
Acrobatics in the bedroom.
The brook, once babbling is choked with weeds.
Diseased trees.
Fat brown paper envelope.
Shopping is the new religion.
A fox he went a-hunting, a-hunting with a bear,
They tracked a huntsman down, they tracked him to his lair.
Said the huntsman to the animals, “Two against one simply isn’t fair. Give a man a sporting chance to escape from his lair”.
Said those two to the huntsman, “Sir we have no gun. Come out, we’ll give you a sporting chance, lets all have some fun”.
Through an open window the huntsman tried to run.
The animals followed in hot pursuit, then came the fun.
Prior to getting my first guide dog more years ago than I care to remember, I used a long white cane as a mobility aid and to prevent accidents. I still possess a cane, however I now rarely use it preferring the services of my trusty steed (sorry guide dog Trigger). The below post by a visually impaired lady about her white cane is extremely funny and resonates with me, http://doublevisionblog.com/2015/07/26/white-cane-in-hand-a-parody-of-green-eggs-and-ham/.
Kevin
You choke on your cornflakes over stories of vicars and hoares,
And when the death sentence is imposed you give loud applause.
When they call for moral regeneration your first in the queue,
Oh my friend what if they knew what you do.
Behind closed doors the lamplight is low,
To the girl, barely legal, you are “Mr So and So”.
When the deed’s done homewards you go,
To the wife, and the kids – fine, upstanding Mr So and So.
You made a good fist of it. Carefully crafted words conveying what you had to convey.
Are you a believer? The idea makes one guffaw. No not guffaw for that would be impolite and rudeness in such settings is not the done thing.
The audience clapped as one has to do.
You left a job well done. One does what one has to do and should never shoot the messenger. Does the messenger have an opinion? His but to convey. But, unlike the carrier of messages you spun us a tale – err you said it as it is.
Someone once remarked that reading between the lines of newspapers with diametrically opposing views will reveal the approximate truth.
You did what you had to do, but I am glad it was you, not I who did it.