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

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

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      

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!

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

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