Wednesday, December 7, 2016

The wind blew



The wind blew outside
We sat close to the fireside
Snuggled together

Then the lights went out
Snuffed out by a power cut
I held her warm hand

So then I kissed her
It was tempting to go on
But she shook her head

A knock at the door
"We are off to bed now love"
"OK Dad, night night"

Heard them go upstairs
Her face shone in the firelight
"What were you planning?"

"Nothing specific"
As I unbuttoned her blouse
Her eyes shone with fire

Image found at www.pinterest.com

Flying high


I have often wondered why
Man has this strange urge to fly
Soaring in the sky above
Like a wren, or hawk or dove

How stupid, he has no wings
So unlike a bird who sings
Icarus made this mistake
I will not that same route take

Foolish always is my way
With my bride on wedding day
To Paris flew with my love
Cuddled up like turtle doves

So it is the years since then
I've flown high just like that wren
Who across the world migrates
Thankfully near heaven's gates


Image found at www.dailymail.co.uk

Sunday, December 4, 2016

Cold hearted season


Autumn shed her sad leafy tears
As Winter coming pushed past her
And watched her slowly die

He was a cruel cold hearted season
More exceptional by his breath
Which blew hope far away

How we suffered his long torment
Longing for the first glimpse of Spring
To come back home again

Then the crocus broke through the snow
It was the first joyful sign seen
Hinting of warmer days

Dark storm clouds now filled April's skies
Loudly laughing pouring with rain
As the chill lost its hold

She now having had all her fun
Gave way to Summer's languid ease
Sharp shadows now outlined

With sleepy breeze we now enjoyed
The balmy ease of the warm sun
Ere hard times came again

Image found at www.abcnews.go.com

Saturday, December 3, 2016

On his way to work


The screeching of parrots overhead and the kookaburras chatter in the trees woke him up. It was already light and her bare back faced him as he rose to start another day. He brushed aside the net curtains and saw that it would be another scorcher.

He looked at her warm brown body heaving gently and thinking better of his plans sat on the bed tracing patterns on her bare back with his fingers marveling at her anatomy as she grunted contentedly still dead to the world.

He had to get the files in order in his office before his appointment with the accountant so he showered and dressed and quietly locked the door and drove into the city trying to forget her figure and reload the profit and loss numbers in his mind.

                                              Lucky is the man
                                     Who loves his wife in the morn
                                            On his way to work

Image found at www.serendipitypatchwork.com.au   

My inner self


I am an old man
But I never really grew up
For that I'm thankful

I lay on the grass
Looking up at the blue sky
While the clouds race past

The sun smiles at me
I wade barefoot in the stream
Fish nibble my toes

I am who I am
Happy with my inner self
In love with my life

You can walk with me
I will even hold your hand
Trees whisper to us

I am so thankful
Not ever really grown up
And still a young man

Image found at www.theartstack.com

Friday, December 2, 2016

I met her in winter


I met her in winter
Her eyes were as green as a spring day
And my heart leapt at the sight of her

Wrapped up in her warm coat
I didn't know that she had seen me
She had for she told me later on

I'd dreamt of her that night
So I watched out for her the next day
Shyly she smiled as I waved to her

So we arranged a date
Holding her hand in the cinema
Afterwards I walked her to her home

I saw her often then
Was invited in to meet the parents
Then were allowed to use the front room

We cuddled each other
In front of the warm open fireplace
Together we hardly needed it

Then a knock on the door
Her young sister now came to join us 
"It's boring out there with them" she said

I wonder even now
After our fifty years of marriage
Whether what she said was really true

Image found at www.recuerdodenoche.blogspot.com

Note that each stanza has 6/9/9 syllables

Thursday, December 1, 2016

Your touch at first


Your touch at first is rough as you throw me about until I submissive sit there sullen before you.

Then you slowly make me turn around in some endless dance as you push and knead me with your strong hands.

You wet me and as I sit there glistening you gently make me spin again touching me in your persuasive way shaping me to your will.

I bend and twirl with delight as you change me from being an inert lump of clay to become beautiful just by your touch with curves and shadows, texture and form and I have become a new being.

Now you place me in a fiery furnace but rather than be destroyed I have become firmer, stronger with such treatment but not satisfied with all this you start painting me with glaze and pretty patterns and I love that you treat me in this way.

I hear other voices say how beautiful I am and as I look at you I see you are in love with me too.

Image found at www.decoist.com