Thursday, May 25, 2017

Retreat


He flinched as she slapped him
His mouth fell open agape
And hastily beat a retreat
She smiled at the other girls
They would reclaim the night

Image found at www;pixabay.com

Wednesday, May 24, 2017

It was so long ago




It was so long ago
Summertime in England
We were now going out
Walking up the steep hill
Through a field of golden butttercups

Just why did I like you
We lay there untroubled
Warmth of sun on faces
Looking over the town
With me hoping I could kiss your lips

"Rob, do you like butter?"
Picking just one flower
Holding it by my chin
It was then I kissed her
And touched her with my fingertips

Shame such love does not last
As old time ticks away
This old man longs for her
Walking up that steep hill
Through a field of golden buttercups

Image found at www.pixabay.com

Sunday, May 21, 2017

Such bliss


Lonely is a soul without love
Not a touch, nor a kiss or embrace
Remembering only what if I...
Had only said some words to her face
Or even dialled her number
To hear her sweet voice
Just one last time
Instead I did
But steal away
Like a thief

I've been those days since college time
Confused thus rued my foolish wrongs
Tossed at night an insomniac
Never to cleanse my troubled mind
Yet did but see her today
Who then waved and smiled
Came up to chat
It was such bliss
To make a date 
With a kiss

Image found www.blog.yanidel.com

Saturday, May 20, 2017

Must get away


Urban traffic
Cars and noise
Peoples voices
Scent of decay
Shouts and smells 
Must get away

Tire tracks have ended
A lines was crossed
Now I am me
The wild place begun
All birds sang out
My world was now free

Flimsy clouds high above
Birds stilted voices
They now sang out loud
For their message is clear
Sun shines down on us
So far from the mad crowd

How wonderful is nature
We trip and dance with glee
To breathe in that message
Three great gasps of this freedom
To bask in this heaven
And glory in its visage



Image 1 found at www.america.aljazeera.com
Image 2 found at www.jimmccormac.blogspot.com.au

How did I lose you?


How did I lose you
Sweetest princess in my eyes
Beauty to behold

How the rain did fall
On my dreams of life with you
Lead has come from gold

My eyes see darkness
Far from your radiant light
I'm feeling so cold

Now I walk alone
Who can I find to match you
Whose hand can I hold?


Then I met young Sue
Who brightened my life again
Who me did enfold

She's my morning sun
Her sweet love is true indeed
Gone those days of old

Image found at www:pixabay.com


Thursday, May 18, 2017

In the English pub


I have always enjoyed playing billiards and snooker right from my teen years, Oh so very long ago.
In fact my father had been the last but one billiards champion at the Men's Institute in the town where we lived while I still wore short trousers.
It was my young uncle who was only three years older than myself who introduced me to the game soon after I was old enough to frequent inns and hotels in England in the 1950's.
We would play on the tiny Bar Billiards table all evening with me drinking a light beer or shandy and making it last as long as possible.
We hogged the table by the traditional ruse of placing a coin on the tables edge that the table had been booked after we had finished whilst having the billiard cues in our hands all the time.
Of course we were pressured off the table if the newcomers looked angry and that was our cue to go and play darts in another corner of the bar as our long lasting drinks got warmer in those days before refrigeration!

Image found at www.mercuryleisure.co.uk



Wednesday, May 17, 2017

Panic


It was a crisis and I was delayed
Making a mess of all the plans I made
My girlfriend would be meeting me at noon
And that time was coming up quite soon

I've tried her iPhone but that is no good
Oh, where is she, has she misunderstood?
Then with embarrassment I checked the date
It's tomorrow, she is still out of state

Image found at www.dscastingcompany.com

My pushbike


When birthday number twelve did come around
Fed up with all the walking round and round
I was allowed to have a proper bike                                             
Even though I was still just a little tyke                                        
As in our town traffic was very light                                              
And battery headlamps were used at night  

I was then allowed to ride off to school
And of course did ride through each muddy pool
Back home all our bikes were kept in a shed
And were locked up when we were abed
In those days most bikes were coloured black
I painted mine red, flair it did not lack

Me and my friends rode about everywhere
By streams and villages without a care
To the main railway line to observe 
Steam trains thunder under the bridge we were
Then on homeward way by a country lane
Through river ford we'd splash which was insane

I feel sad when I recall my pushbike
For it was my best friend in my minds psyche
Much like my motor is for me today
Who is my trusty friend I might say
But remember just how good it did feel
To hear the whirring of my cycle's wheel
Image found at www.pinterest.com      

Monday, May 15, 2017

Truth about writing


How I wish that I was fit
Even just a little bit
To walk across fields of green
Or run on the beach serene

But my legs don't want me to
Active days are now all through
My fingers though are all right
On the computer they tap all night

My mind's busy as a bee
Sometimes a sailor at sea
Or a lover in a bed
As on her breast I lay my head

She whispers sweet words to me
Rogue I am, through dreams I see
I write them down unaware
As her fingers run through my hair

Now at my desk I tap away
Break of dawn 'til sky turns grey
Nourished by a coffee cup
Until those sweet words all line up

Then the writer's fantasy
To the readers seems to be
So real as they read each word
Which of course is so absurd



Image 1 found at www.rd.com
Image 2 found at www.videoblocks.com

Please note neither of the men illustrated is me!

Sunday, May 14, 2017

The Painter


The days of picnics are gone
Cold wintertime has returned
Swallows and finches now flown
Nails are hammered into coffins

Brittle ice, morning's greeting
As the wind sings a sad song
A good time for ancestors
To meet their relatives now gone

Next door scrawny kid cries out
Frozen hands can't open door
After running errand for Ma
While I watch from my studio

It is sketched on the canvas
That scene from my window
My cat looks out hopefully
Daubs of colour on cruel white

Paintings stacked against my walls
Much like an author's keen words
Gathering dust still unread
They call me the unbalanced one

Image found at favimages.com

Saturday, May 13, 2017

How do you interpret love?


How do you interpret love?
The touch of a hand 
The look in their eyes
A kiss on her lips
These are the signs to go by

Then the sighs at the first kiss
How soft her cheek is
The perfume she wears
Joy when you see her
Meeting after a days work

Visiting her family
Talking with father
About work prospects
And fussed by mother
With girl's siblings looking on

Then arranging the wedding
Me choosing the best man
And she the bridesmaids
The dresses secret
But orange blossom mentioned

And the list went on and on
Church to be chosen
Tassels and tinsel
Guests at reception
All were ticked off a pin board

The big day finally came
My speech all ready
I was there early
Lines of guests came in
We were finally married

How do you interpret love?
A touch of a hand
The look in their eyes
A kiss on her lips
These are the signs to go by

Image found at www.au.pinterest.com

Prime position


She lay there prone on the sidewalk
Seen her there before days nigh 
Surreptiously begging
Except when the cops went by

Then she would merely be idle
Still alert but with closed eyes
Ready to tell her story
Fibs told by her artful eyes

But this time it was different
Paving blood told of a hitch
Gone to meet the ferry man
Somebody wanted her pitch

Image found at www.projectbivouac.org.uk

Wednesday, May 10, 2017

Wife now sound asleep


Perhaps she would sleep now
Was there when she was born
And helping the midwife
Now we are on our own
Me listening each night

It was blowing a gale
Twigs slapping on the glass
Wife now sound asleep
Breathing quite steadily
Who says dad's sleep right through?

Baby daughter whimpers
Please don't cry I whisper
But she is unsettled
Tiny hand reaches though crib
With its pink wooden rails

Is she needing a feed?
Quietly I get up
Rocking her gently in hope
But now she wants to play
Coos and murmurs at me

Carefully I lift her up
Take her to the lounge room
It's halfway through the night
She's happy to play now
Gurgling her own sweet words

Crisp cold of next day's dawn
Wife finds me nursing babe
Now sleeping in my arms
And I ache all over
Dark bags beneath my eyes

"Been up long?" she enquires
Smiling happily now
"I'll get a cup of tea"
She looks so beautiful
So glad it is Saturday


Image found at www.huffingtonpost.com

This poem is one I have rewritten from an earlier one and seems to fit the prompt

Sunday, May 7, 2017

Australian Bush


We watched from our cave shelter
Where we had taken refuge
The heavy rain had now ceased
Easing to a thin drizzle
The old mountain ash trees sighed
Born hundreds of years ago
Their origins time forgot
Seemed to shake off the water
A few limbs had snapped off now
As sun radiates its warmth
And the forest birds called again
Their singing rings in our ears
To lift our spirits once more
Soaked to the skin, homeward bound
What stories we would now tell
Trapped in the Australian bush

Image found at www.australiangeographic.com.au



Just Jim


Just Jim was his name
He was old and thin
And his gaze told of better days

Wandered by himself
Scorning lifts in cars
Trudging the road was life for him

I saw him once 
In a clover field
Watching the clouds drift slowly by

Then by running stream
Did ease his parched thirst
In August's month of flaring sun

Tiny was his footprint
Broad his winsome smile
In sand dunes or the melting snow

He laughed with such joy
Midst some milkweed plants
Then thick with Monarch butterflies

He loved this wild world
And saw more than most
Happy no doubt to perish there

Image found at wwhw.sciencemag.org

Saturday, May 6, 2017

Life is like a book


Life is like a book
Hopes for a happy ending
Then lay down to sleep

Perhaps one last kiss
From the person we'd most miss
Who would surely weep

Cry not for me dear
As on my journey I go
In the Earth full deep

Image found at www.newhealthadvisor.com

Wednesday, May 3, 2017

What's new?


I can remember long ago
When news was a precious thing
It informed us what was new
Not just photos of stars in bling

Editors views were near the front
Headlines were important too
Now I search for everything
With adverts screaming at you

I think back to former times
Each word was important news
But now a paper's useful job
Is a place where I clean my shoes

Image found at www.designmum.com

Everything about her


I loved everything about her
For that is the way it goes
The tilt of her pretty nose
The way she wiggled her toes
The seductive look in her eyes
When I touched her, those sighs
Always tilting her sweet head
An urgent plea but unsaid
Like an invitation to bed
I loved everything about her

Image found at www.pixabay.com