“I’m a cat girl” she said.
Cats enter bed
Where they purr
And sometimes they scratch and bite.
I wonder, on this summer night
Does she delight
With purrs
And bites.
“I’m a cat girl” she said.
Cats enter bed
Where they purr
And sometimes they scratch and bite.
I wonder, on this summer night
Does she delight
With purrs
And bites.
In the old familiar pub
And touch the wood
Tinged with beers
From bygone years.
Landlords have come and gone
But the pub has continued on.
With delight
The fire’s warm light.
But it’s a summer evening
And there is no firelight.
To brighten this leaving.
To the final table
I am unable
To show my eyes
For men don’t cry
“Have you ever been in love”, I said,
After we had been to bed.
“Yes, and he broke my heart”.
I am not rude like some other guy
She saw, she said. And before she left
She offered me more bedtime.
Then, I was left behind
With my art
And the thought
That there ought
To be no more goodtime
As some of you may know, I have recorded a number of my poems on TikTok. You don’t have to have an account to watch my videos, however, you will need an account if you wish to like, comment or follow me on the platform.
My experience of TikTok has, on the whole, been a positive one, and I would encourage my fellow writers and poets to consider the platform. In my experience, my videos on TikTok reach people who do not follow me on my blog, although I am, of course, grateful to those few WordPress followers who also follow me on TikTok.
I am pleased to announce that my June Author Newsletter is available and can be found here. It is over a year since my last newsletter, and I promise to be much better in the future.
There was a young lady of Cameroon
Who went by the name of Moon.
By the star’s bright light
She would squeal with delight,
But it was over all too soon!
A tough young man known as Lee
Says he wants a word with me,
About a girl called Bland
And our one night stand,
But she only came round for tea!
When I met a young lady online
Who invited me round for some wine,
I said to her, “Coral,
There will be nothing immoral!”.
She said, “no, but after the wine …”.
I am trapped
In time.
My passing rhyme
Must end
When he taps
Me on the shoulder
And says, “its over
My friend”.
And will aliens find
Fragments of poetry
And ponder on rhyme
And fleeting time?
Or will they see
An unintelligible line?
Or perhaps not care
When and where
We humans wrote,
Then cut our throat?
Will I die,
Like a drunken fool
Falling off a bar stool?
Or will I
Be found dead in bed
In an empty room
Where cheap perfume
Lingers on stiffening fingers?
Will I die
As an old rake
Who did partake
In fleeting play?
There is no bliss
In death’s hard kiss,
Merely clay
Where rake and saint
Together stay.