Saturday 29 June 2013

Songs for Second LIfe. Maybe true for you?

The music for this first song is a traditional morris tune going back to the 18th century. It was collected by folk song collector Cecil Sharp, who in turn got it from morris dancer William Kimber. Australian composer Percy Grainger had a hit with a piano arrangement of the tune in 1919. Robert M.Jordan added the lyrics "An English Country Garden" in 1958.  I have added my own words to the tune. I don't expect it to make the charts. But you never know.
 
My Second Life Inventory.

How many items do I really use in my Second Life Inventory?
Most of the stuff has never paid its dues in my Second Life Inventory
Dances and a dancing floor, animations by the score
textures and sounds that called to me;
Years of hunt things I get I've never opened yet
In my Second Life Inventory.

How many objects do I really know in my Second Life Inventory?
I am convinced they multiply and grow in my Second Life Inventory.
Shoes and boots of many hues, outfits that I never use
sit in their folders patiently;
There are freebies galore from lucky chairs and more
In my Second Life Inventory.

How many snapshots languish alone in my Second Life Inventory?
Some in a viewer, others on their own, in my Second Life Inventory.
Photos of my avatar, looking like a movie star,
some with my boyfriend no one will see
There are even a few of of folk I never knew
In my Second Life Inventory.

Then there's the place I haven't yet explored in my Second Life Inventory
Lindens provided yet another hoard in my Second Life Inventory.
Avatars I'll never need, probably they also breed,
raising the total needlessly,
If I don't get it clear I'll simply disappear
in my Second Life Inven-tor-y…

© 2013

The second is my version of what became Bob Hope's signature tune, written as Thanks for the Memory, by Ralph Rainger and Leo Robin in 1938.

Thanks For the Memories. 

Thanks for the memories
Of dancing so divine, of playing concubine,
The smooching and the skybox and the times that we entwine
How lovely it's been!

Thanks for the memories
Of starry nights and moons, and Michi Renoir tunes,
the arguing and making up, the countless honeymoons,
How crazy it's been !

Many's the time that we broke up
And many's the time that we made up
and even when Second Life played up
We sure had fun and no harm done

And thanks for the memories
Of lions, birds and more, of avatars galore,
You might have been a headache but you never were a bore
So thank you so much.

Thanks for the memories
Of lingerie and lace, expressions on your face,
And motor bikes and aeroplanes you crashed with so much grace
How funny it's been!

Thanks for the memories
the good times and the bad, the happy and the sad
and times we made our friends all think we'd gone a little mad.
How crazy it's been.

We said goodbye so often
Then I got as high as a steeple
But we are such passionate people
To be apart would break my heart.

So, thanks for the memory
And strictly entre-nous, my darling how are you?
I guess we had a lot of dreams that never will come true
but I'm really glad I met you and I know that you are too
So thank you so much.

© 2013

Friday 21 June 2013

Aspects of Depression. Updated.

Going Slightly Mad

She sits on the floor
in the corner of the room,
knees tucked underneath her chin
encircled by her arms,
rocking, rocking,  back and forth,
softly crooning some old song
eyes unseeing, fixed and glazed
lost in thoughts of long ago
escaping from reality
a life too full of pain to bear
too frightening to contemplate.

Somewhere in her secret soul
deep within her wounded heart
she knows she cannot stay here
Her family will soon be home
and she must pull herself together.
They must never know about
the secrets of her time alone,
the inner workings of her mind.
But just for now, this little while,
her mind lets go of reason,
flirts with momentary madness,
heeds oblivion's call.

And so she sits upon the floor
in the corner of the room
and wishes she could die.

Nov 2001

A Glimpse Into My Private Hell.


Like swamp gas from its foetid lair
that bursts forth into clean fresh air,
so my thoughts arise unbidden
from the place where they lie hidden
in some stinking mental midden,
bringing me to near despair.

These demons from their souterrain
now come to haunt me once again;
memories awash with sorrow,
love I only ever borrow,
fears about a bleak tomorrow,
percolating in my brain.

They seem so very saturnine
these dark and dreadful thoughts of mine.
Is some monstrous madness lurking
grinning greedily and smirking,
watching, waiting, slowly working,
making me it's concubine?

Why must my mind be so steadfast
and cling so grimly to its past?
Why can I not just cease this travel,
let my tortured mind unravel,
hear the judge bring down his gavel
giving me some peace at last?


© Nov 2001.

Drowning


My subconscious mind once opened,
like Pandora's box, releases its evils.

For Pandora, Hope remained
for consolation, mitigation, reparation.

My Hope, a mischievous sprite
lifts me high only to send me
hurtling back to earth.
A malevolent Tinkerbell taunting me.
And yet I cling to her;
like one drowning I cling to her
but my grip is weak.


© Dec 2001


Ride Out the Storm


Once again the mind descends
spiralling out of control

down

down

into a deep dark well

sorrow rises unbidden
filling me
till it overflows and runs
cascading down my face

unstoppable

unendurable

where does it come from
this grief
this sadness?
why won't it let me live in peace?
what reason can there be
for this sense of desolation
which tempestuously
overwhelms my reason?

Once again I must ride out the storm
stay hidden within
peer through the gloom
till the sun breaks through
bringing a new dawn
of tranquillity

© may2002


Sad and Pointless

Loneliness
a cancer
eats into the soul
extinguishing
destroying it
bit by painful bit

each passing day
is longer
emptier
more bleak

each sleepless night
is darker
quieter
and cold

all sense of being human
is lost within these walls
no voice, no touch,
no sight or sound
exists for reassurance

emptiness is all now
all vacant eyes can see
anticipating hell and
eternal desolation

as courage steals away
reality departs
and takes with it forbearance
of this sad and pointless life

© June 2002




Another Crazy Day

With closed eyes I see them
huge and repulsive
insects entering my brain
destroying rationality
demolishing my sanity
reason in freefall
doomed to crash and burn.


A Fragile Thing


How fragile a thing is the mind

Sixteen years of arduous crawling
out of the dung heap into the light
clawing and scrabbling, inch by inch
learning the meaning of blood sweat and tears

becoming too confident, thinking you're strong
till a few ill-chosen, innocent words
hurl you back headlong into the shit

sitting here shaking with re-opened wounds
bleeding afresh down my nice new persona

Oh Tinkerbell, you sorry sprite,
how long will it take me this time?


© June 2002


Old Memories Awakened.


I found an old diary today.
which stole my peace, just briefly.
March sixteenth of ninety five
I wrote these words in bright red ink:

Have decided I've had enough.
When I feel I'm ready I'll just
kiss it all goodbye.
Life's a bitch.

I didn't do it as you see,
I was hospitalised instead,
but the memories that came to me
when I found those words and read...

I've thrown the diary away.
Such times of overwhelming grief
are dead and gone, or should be,
and deserve a decent burial.


© 2003


Becoming Nihilistic

Once more the ground beneath me starts to crumble;
once more my errant psyche takes a tumble.

The black bat, night, descends upon my soul,
as long days spent inactive take their toll.

Reason lost, thoughts heavy and ballistic
plummet now, becoming nihilistic.


© July 2003


This World is Not My Home

I've never felt at home.
Any place I've ever lived
was just like passing through
since my neonatal welcome -
a slap upon the rear - which is
somewhat depressing but
unfortunately true.

Living can be lonely,
lonely as the last leaf
clinging to a winter tree.
All alone, in company, from
first gasp to dying breath
that's how it's always been
and how it will be.


© Nov 2003



Demons Rise


Demons: again they rise
out of the dank and dismal depths;
mocking me, deriding,
taunts insinuate and seethe.
I can scarcely breathe
for the stench of my deficiency.

Too much alone, I'm preyed upon
by echoes of forgotten voices,
shadows of the past.
Malevolent, they torture me
with devastating barbs:
Failed again! How typical
of damaged goods; faded, cracked,
a ruin of a once-bright hope
in need of restoration.

How many tears will it take
to drown these pestilential imps?
So strong, it seems, their grip so tight
by night or day.  Away! away!
What would you have me do?

© Nov 2003


Me and the black hound
have this kind of uneasy truce;
mostly he just hangs around
out of sight, out of mind
but every now and then he
ups and bites me where it hurts.

© Nov 2003


Killing Time

Why do I do it? Struggle
through each dreary day,
the weariness of leaden limbs
matched only by my heavy heart,
my world as dry as dust and grey.

Physically, emotionally,
I've reached an all-time low
the effort is enormous
and I'm tempted, very tempted,
to give it up and just let go.

Still, if this goes on much longer
feeble as I am right now
with no one here to lend a hand
or fetch a sip of water
I'll perish quite soon anyhow.

It seems a welcome prospect
seen from here, within my room
and yet, and yet, there's something
- God knows what, for I don't -
that wants to keep me from the tomb.

The spark of life is strong though,
stronger than we realise.
The pull of preservation
does battle with the intellect
and tells me tantalising lies

about the need to carry on,
for other people if not me,
tomorrow brings the hope of more
and if I quit today there's things
I'll never even get to see.

Sweet lies and sweeter promises
with no means of fulfilling
but maybe if I wait awhile
this melancholy mood will pass.
It's only time I'm killing.

© 2004


Words

Words. Just words.
Echoes of a former life
dredging up forgotten feelings;
fucking with my head.

Foul words, calumnies
spawned from insecurity;
jealousy and accusations
filling me with dread.

Words. Just words, but
words have unimagined power.
Will I ever really heal from
all the things he said?


© 2004 

Trying

Trying, trying, to see the light
from a gloomy deep dark well of doom.
Despair and hopelessness prevail,
the future seems uncertain,
as hope once more bids me adieu
and sweet oblivion beckons.


© 2005



Losing it.


Losing my shit
falling apart
can't seem to hold
love don't come around
any more but hey
I wasn't worth it
anyway
life is a bowl
of Jell-O
hello
something not quite
right there
fright there
lot of fear
lonely here
can't seem to hold it
together
no more
there's the window
there's the door
love don't come
around here
any more.


© 2007





Crisis


Is this what they call a crisis then?
Nothing makes sense any more.
I'm out of control, losing the plot,
thoughts and feelings run amok.

Reason is lost, takes flight and flees,
hides behind absurdities.
The desire to die or harm myself
is becoming quite persistent.

There are some spells of lucidity
when it's hard to believe the other me
who says and does things that appall
the me who would never do them at all.

Euphoria takes turns with fear,
some thoughts erotic, others, drear.
Amid the maelstrom one stands clear:
your heart is beating, listen!

Nights aren't for sleeping any more,
I lie awake for hours;
make cups of tea and listen to
the one who writes my poetry.

Right now the tears won't stop.
They roll, slowly, interminably
down my cheek, then drop.
Drip, drip, drop,
from jaw to lap,
or floor.

At other times I'm numb.
No thoughts at all, no feelings,
just cold and eerie nothingness.

Often I feel bewildered:
is this what it's all about?
I can't I won't I shouldn't I must
and who in the world is there to trust
and when and where and how on earth
and why in the world did she ever give birth
to me.

It's all too hard you see.
Too hard, too hard, too hard, too hard
and I'm coming apart at the seams.

They have to question, can't accept,
they never see, never see...
It's what? It's me? You're sure about that?
Of course it is, why wouldn't it be?

I sometimes say the stupidest things,
no thought behind them. Words have wings,
like wasps they fly and sometimes sting.
No wonder people doubt me.

I doubted too, for far too long.
They called me stupid or worse, a liar. 
Now I know better but still desire
acknowledgement; but it's just the same
they don't believe me so what's the point
of having a view at all.

Yes, I'm not easy to understand,
I know I know I know I know
I don't have to be reminded.

It's all too much; retreat, retreat
and find some peace, for a while at least
but I'll pen my thoughts for posterity
until the storm abates.


© 2007
  
Reflections in the Aftermath of Depression.

When black clouds descend
and all is unremitting gloom
no-one seems to be a friend
there really isn't any room
for folk who say "Cheer up".
That's like describing rainbows
to a person blind from birth:
it hasn't any meaning
validity or worth.

For in that place of darkness
it's impossible to comprehend
that light will come again;
that hope, like springtime, will return
dispelling once again the frost
that penetrates the heart and mind
and petrifies the soul.

Like those who lived in ancient times
who saw the passing of the sun
and feared it's failure to return
it seems some primitive response
convinces us that all is lost:
there's no escaping, no way out;
no words, no logic, penetrate
the icy grip of winter.

Yet in its own good time the sun
breaks through the pestilential cold
and banishes despondency
til winter comes again.

© 2010


They Come

Very down again.
Lack of sleep? Too much alone?
Or the thoughtless words of a friend?
Probably all the above.
Tears fall, can't concentrate,
I need a cuddle but that's a joke
haven't had one for many a year
and none in the offing either.
Days like this I really don't need
but still they come, they come.


I'd thought that this was over
but no. It's here again.
The deadness of soul,
the feeling unsafe,
the longing, the feeling
of hopelessness.

At least I know it will pass
in time. 


June 2013.


Fraught.



From a place of seeming security suddenly I plummet.
Down, down, into the dark, a dark I've known before.
In just one hour of talking I hurtle from the summit.
How can he say he loves me then wound me to the core?

After years of hell and heaven I achieved a kind of peace;
all was smooth serenity, nothing in our way.
Now the trust I attained so hard flies like a flock of geese.
Maybe I was fooling myself, it's very hard to say.

Does woman ever know her man? Or is it just illusion?
Honesty is limited, frankness may be rationed.
The joy of yesterday is gone, my mind is in confusion,
I'm just not sure now who he is, how his mind is fashioned.

What is loving anyway? It's not what I had thought.
I keep forgetting the limits, you see, maybe it's just that.
It seems to be for such as me relationships are fraught.
Perhaps I should admit defeat and settle for my cat.

June 2013

Down Again

What do you do
when the urge is strong
you know it's wrong
but the urge is strong
the urge to self harm,
to hurt yourself
to take away pain
which sounds insane
so what can you do
instead.
Suddenly fragile
once again
tears fall
but that's all.
No harming today.
It's not gone away
but buried once more
for now.

2013

Thursday 20 June 2013

As From a Dominatrix : X rated.

I must point out that these pieces are NOT autobiographical.  I wrote them merely to explore these things.  You may judge whether or not I was successful in my imaginings. 


Why Men Come To Me

In case you may wonder why men come to me
I will tell you what I think of this.
They come not for sexual favours you see
not even so much as a kiss.

No. Men wielding power can never let go
the burden they carry is great
but while they are with me - an hour or so -
I relieve them of some of the weight.

They are once again children, submissive and weak,
for here I tell them what to do
also I punish - that is what they seek -
so a kind of confessional too.

They tell me no secrets, I tell them no lies,
they get satisfaction and leave;
maybe their wives or their sweethearts despise
what makes these men secretly grieve.

So just for an hour they let it all out
and grovel and plead at my feet
and when the chastisement results in a shout
I know that my work is complete.

© 2001

What Is Normal Anyway?

Just who do you think you are?
Standing there
staring at me
my clothes
my appearance
judging me
contempt in your eyes.
What do you know of me?
Of my way of life?
Of my raison d'etre?

You, with your well-bred ways
and your narrow-minded morals.
Pinched lips and half closed eyes
betray the leanness of your soul.
How can you ever understand
the value of my kind?
You with your nice neat
"normal" existence.

"Nothing wrong with that," you say. 
Oh no
except perhaps a lack of -
what? compassion?
No. For that suggests
I need your sympathy.
Not so. 

Tolerance then. 
Live and let live.
I say tomayto
you say tomarto.
And when a man,
your man perhaps,
comes to me
seeking satisfaction
you would deny him
I am happy and,
more than happy,
privileged
to give it.

© 2001





Not A Hooker

Please do not confuse me
with prostitutes or hookers
although we may look similar
to casual onlookers.

What they give their clientele
is simply not for me
but then we deal in different
commodities you see.

A substitute for love perhaps
is what the harlot offers
but there is no pretence with me
or how I fill my coffers.

I give straightforward discipline
- they like humiliation -
for me there is no sex involved
no sense of great elation.

This is a service I provide,
easy, clean and neat
though I do get satisfaction
when they grovel at my feet.

© 2001


Excuse

Used by men almost everywhere:
the oldest excuse in the book.
"I cannot be blamed for this, my Lord,
the woman tempted me. Look!
I am merely a creature of flesh and blood
with feelings I cannot control." 
True.  He who blames women for his own sins
has a poor excuse for a soul.

© 2002

Fantasies.
They come to me with their dreams
expecting that I will fulfill them
I comply with their sick little schemes
just as long as I don't have to kill them.

I'm not in the business of killing
- deliberate or accidental -
not even if they appear willing
but it's not because I'm sentimental.

Doctors and lawyers and clerics
judges and  - yes - politicians;
their wives would collapse in hysterics
if they knew these men's kinky ambitions.

I'm persona non grata, so what!
I know that I keep men contented
for whatever they're needing I've got,
but it's never for sale, only rented!

© 2002

Fetters

Oh how I love to see people in fetters
tied at the ankles and tied at the wrists
all their appendages bound and resistricted
making their toes curl, their hands into fists.

Why they enjoy it I cannot imagine
I only know that it quite turns me on
Somewhere inside me lurks something quite cruel;
it bothered my conscience but that was soon gone.

Flesh turning purple is quite interesting.
Veins start to bulge as the blood is retained.
Eyes looking worried yet oddly excited
watch as he waits to be beaten and caned.

Does it disturb you, this picture of punishment?
Do you know how many people do this?
Why, you are thinking, would anyone want to?
Why receive torment instead of a kiss?

Civilisation has not altered anything;
people are just as barbaric today;
always they crave some excitement and danger
to bring some adrenalin into their play.

In this I can help, I am ready and willing
for it is arousing for me, as I said,
and when it is over and they have departed
I live it over again in my head.

© 2002

Really Rather Nice




Hard-hearted Hannah I am not
though I may appear to be.
I put it on with the leather and chains
It is just a game you see.

For men who like that kind of thing
the harder I am, the better;
they expect a Mistress, yes? and I
fulfull it to the letter.

In my dungeon I am queen,
a goddess, cold as ice
but outside working hours I am
really rather nice !


© 2002




Call Me Mistress

Call Me Mistress, vermin
Don't look at Me that way
avert your gaze at all times
or by My life you'll pay

What do you call Me? Yes that's right!
You smile, but this is no game.
You are just my obedient boy
you have no other name.

This is the way you will speak to Me:
"Whatever Mistress pleases."
Mistress's obedient boy
should not think Mistress teases.

Mistress now will sit right here
while you take off your clothes
I have some clamps here in My hand
now where should I put those?

I see the thought excites you
you sad pathetic worm
Come over here! Kneel at my feet!
Ah, now you begin to squirm

I think it is time to tie you up
and see how much you can take
just keep that horrid thing away
from me, for goodness sake

You really are disgusting.
What are you? That's right.
I can take no more of you
Now get out of my sight.

© 2002


Submission

Do not try to control me
I will not submit to anyone

I like to please, it is true
but what pleases me
may not always please you

I have my own ideas
about what feels right
and what feels wrong
I live by my own rules
and my resolution is strong

Some things I will not do
no matter how much you pay me
while other things I will do for free
you will owe me nothing
I do it for you

There is no-one who understands
what goes on in the mind of another
not a father or mother
a sister or brother
or anyone else at all
yet each may hold out a hand
a helping hand, an olive branch
a gesture of peace in a troubled world
a bridge across the great divide
that lies between your world and mine
whether it be of race or breed
of culture or creed
of morals or needs
or even the generations

but do not seek to control me
for I submit to no one

© 2002

Ice Maiden

I always considered myself to be
a girl of impeccable taste
but then I found I wanted to see
arrogant men debased.

So I changed my style and advertised
and the phone began to ring;
I never imagined so many guys
would enjoy that kind of thing.

I tie them up and treat them rough
and use their bodies for fun
and when they think they have had enough
I have only just begun.

I have recently seen some men around
I would like to get into my clutches;
though possibly strutting in, I fear
they would hobble out on crutches.

On reflection my tastes are still
impeccable and precise;
but now they possess a kind of chill
like menthol poured over ice.

© 2002





Kneel Before Me

Come here and kneel before me!
You may lick the Mistress's boots -
being willing to beg is one
of your better attributes.
Stay where you are, you cockroach !
How dare you try to rise!
If I catch you doing that again
I shall cut you down to size.
So what if your knees are hurting?
You are not dying yet.
You can get up when I say so;
I need a cigarette.
Hold out your hand to catch the ash
Yes! Of course it is hot!
What! Are you now complaining?
No, I should just think not!
I need you to clearly understand
that I give the orders here!
Learn to simply obey me -
is that a groan I hear?
Is that how you treat superiors?
Then do not treat me that way.
You WILL bow down before me
or believe me, you will pay.

© 2002

Lick My Boots

Not all the men who visit me
wish to be chastised.
Some submissives come; should they be
pitied or despised?

I treat them with derision;
they treat me like a queen,
bowing, scraping, grovellling;
it really is obscene.

How pathetic are these men;
they irritate me so!
I treat them just as what they are:
the lowest of the low.

When they are dressed as I require
with leather straps and chains
they must fulfil my every whim.
Humiliation reigns!

On hands and knees they serve me
as tables or as seating.
Of course they must not fail in this
for that would bring a beating.

I use their hands as ashtrays
to put out my cheroots;
what hair they have to mop up spills,
their tongues to clean my boots.

Also there are other things
I do not care to tell;
your stomach may be sensitive,
your intellect as well.

One thing I will not tolerate
is any sign of ardour
but rising passions tend to be,
in such restraints, much harder.

So what if they get hurt a bit?
It matters not at all.
They pay me for the privilege
of being in my thrall.

© 2002



Religion

What do I think of Religion?
To be honest, I rarely do.
But when I do I think of this:
men exercising power,
seeking to control us -
nothing new in that.
Some try persuasion:
If you love me swallow this;
while others use brute force:
Obey me or be punished.

Purgatory, gehenna, hell,
(where people like me belong)
or for the "good" there's Elysium,
heaven, nirvana, paradise,
it's all the same to me;
pie in the sky when you die.
If it's all the same to you
I'll enjoy myself here with a beer.

Then there's the numbers game:
10 commandments, hundreds of laws
7 deadly sins
5 pillars of faith for some
the trinity or three in one
many representations
or the one true god?
and then of course, which one?
They cannot all be right -
perhaps they all are wrong!

Perhaps it is every man for himself
as some would have us believe
but personally I like to think
that somewhere there is a higher power
one who watches over us
and helps us day by day
encouraging us with a kick in the pants
who wants us to be the best that we can
while holding out a helping hand
to others along the way.

© 2002


Satin And Lace

He stands there in the dungeon in a pale pink satin dress
of course I cannot laugh though it is funny I confess
his hairy body contrasts with the satin and the lace
and makes it very hard maintaining such a serious face.

He's wearing nylon stockings which are sheer and white and long
on legs which are as hairy as they are immense and strong
add to this the fact that he is six feet tall at least
wearing high heeled shoes is is adding sugar to the yeast.

I feel the laughs fermenting, but have to keep control
he wants to hear his Mistress compliment him on his role
I comment on his make up, admire his lovely wig
and notice certain parts of his anatomy grow big

Telling him that he's a slut, a shameless little tart
makes him quite delirious, bless his little heart.
As he parades in front of me I always hide my mirth
He has paid a lot for this and gets his money's worth.

I do not know why certain people want to do such things
or why some people seem to need the help of clamps and rings
I only know to each his own, whatever tilts his kilt,
what makes one man excited, will make another wilt.

So do not deem to judge these men, or women such as me
just because you cannot understand the things you see.
It's really very simple, they want what I can give
It's quite extraordinary how some people choose to live.

©  2002


Satisfaction Guaranteed

I hear the sighs, the grunts, the cries
and wonder if I've gone too far.
A look, a questing eyebrow raised.
I wouldn't want to leave a scar.

A smile that tells me all is well
accompanies his muttered word
so I continue as before;
onwards, upwards, undeterred.

How much more can one man take?
When does need turn into greed?
Still, I must make good my claim:
Satisfaction guaranteed.


© 2002


The Tyrannical Tool

I should make clear, before I am lynched, I speak here not of all men.
Just certain of their number.

Once I was told by a man I know well
that the biggest untruth you will hear a man tell
is "No, of course I won't come in your mouth."
That's as far from the truth as north is from south.

Ladies, take warning, and take it from me,
the most hideous lie, I am sure you agree,
is "Darling I love you," when what they are saying
is "Here's what I want; you had best be obeying."

Our mothers were right, these despicable worms
see our bodies as something to fill with their sperm.
They want to pump semen, slimy and hot
into every last orifice, like it or not.

And such subterfuge they will use on occasion
to make you agree to this penile invasion.
I thought I'd heard everything over the years
but still I am learning, with laughter or tears.

"I'll teach you to handle this powerful tool,
and then when it happens you won't feel a fool."
Well you don't have to swallow, you don't have to cough,
just tell them, if that's not your thing, to "Fuck off!"

© 2002


Over To You

I would tie him to the bed posts
and watch him as he lay
stretched out like a letter X
is how he liked to play.

Gagged, he could not say a thing
but silent, he would plead;
his eyes spoke volumes, so much so
my heart would almost bleed.

Almost, but not quite, because
that is why he was here;
he wanted all this torture,
he got off on the fear.

He liked me in black leather
it really made him hot;
the mask, the thigh high boots, the whip,
the fishnet tights, the lot.

I would let him see me first
approach him with the whip
then very slowly run it down
his body, just the tip,

Tantalising, teasing him,
making him perspire,
play it very cool and watch
his temperature get higher.

When I thought the time was right
I would go to town;
taking him to untold heights
before I brought him down.

He does not come here anymore,
his wife took up the call.
Now she makes him suffer, in
a room just down the hall.

© 2003


Depravity

What are some men at heart?
Beasts perhaps, or worse.
Peel away the thin veneer,
revealing what lies hidden,
but be prepared. Unpleasantness
lurks just beneath the surface.

Dark desires and fantasies
fattened on pornography
lie in wait, bide their time,
til fate and circumstance permit
the acting out of dreams.

He sits, he thinks, he wonders,
until his mind, depraved,
no longer shrinks from it in horror;
suddenly it's possible
and someone, somewhere, suffers
all the agonies of hell.

© 2004


Nothing like it.

Another satisfied
customer;
a pity he couldn't stay.
There's nothing
like experience,
that's what I
always say.

Another successful
outcome,
another perfect day
A little bit of encouragement
goes a long

long

way


© 2004



Tuesday 18 June 2013

A Witch's Best Friend is her Broomstick

A Witch's Best Friend is her Broomstick


A witch's best friend is her broomstick,
It's long and it's round and it's stout.
She reaches some thrilling conclusions
when riding it out and about.

A broomstick, a broomstick,
effective at all kinds of speeds
A broomstick, a broomstick
can cope with all manner of needs. 


A witch's best friend is her broomstick,
it's round and it's stout and it's long.
it's always around when it's needed.
Thank heavens they make 'em so strong.

A broomstick, a broomstick,
effective at all kinds of speeds
A broomstick, a broomstick
can cope with all manner of needs.


A witch's best friend is her broomstick,
It's long and it's stout and it's round.
The size of it fits her exactly;
there's no better tool can be found.

A broomstick, a broomstick,
effective at all kinds of speeds
A broomstick, a broomstick
can cope with all manner of needs.


A witch's best friend is her broomstick
it's long and it's smooth and it's thick,
a faithful old friend in a crisis:
it gets her there easy and quick.

A broomstick, a broomstick,
effective at all kinds of speeds
A broomstick, a broomstick
can cope with all manner of needs.


A witch's best friend is her broomstick
it's thick and it's long and it's smooth;
when tension is mounting around her
the broomstick will instantly soothe.

A broomstick, a broomstick,
effective at all kinds of speeds
A broomstick, a broomstick
can cope with all manner of needs.


A witch needs a well seasoned broomstick
for safety between her old knees.
The last thing a witch wants is splinters
in places that nobody sees.

A broomstick, a broomstick,
effective at all kinds of speeds
A broomstick, a broomstick
can cope with all manner of needs.


Without her old broomstick for comfort
a witch would be lost and alone.
But once she's astride she's ecstatic,
a truly contented old crone. 

A broomstick, a broomstick,
effective at all kinds of speeds
A broomstick, a broomstick
can cope with all manner of needs. 


Three cheers for the witch's old broomstick
in my home it has pride of place.
I'm too old for dancing round skyclad
but I'll ride till I'm blue in the face.

A broomstick, a broomstick,
effective at all kinds of speeds
A broomstick, a broomstick
can cope with all manner of needs.


A wonderful thing is a broomstick
no matter how old it may be!
A true witch is never without one
though sometimes well hidden it be.
(and no rude remarks please from thee)

A broomstick, a broomstick,
effective at all kinds of speeds
A broomstick, a broomstick
can cope with all manner of needs. 


© June 2013

Sunday 16 June 2013

The Infamous Hedgehog Song . X rated For Discworld Fans Only

Sung to the tune of "Bonnie Dundee"
http://www.lspace.org/fandom/songs/hedghog1.mid.
Words by Janeel Kharg and others.
(A few verses from groups online to which I added some of my own.) 




Now you tail-lifting buggers from Ramtop or plain

If you take my advice you will save yourself pain

When the base urges strike you it's best to recall

That the hedgehog can never be buggered at all.

CHORUS 
So here's to the hedgehog, he's sharp as they come

You'll never get through his impregnable bum

With his nose up his arsehole and rolled in a ball

The hedgehog can never be buggered at all.


Mounting a horse can be tricky but fun

An elephant too though he weighs several ton
you may need a ladder or maybe a wall,

But the hedgehog can never be buggered at all.

3.
You can bugger a bear if you do it with care,
in winter, when he is asleep in his lair,
though I wouldn't advise it in spring or in fall
but the hedgehog can never be buggered at all.


The sheep is a classic, as well you may find,
the donkey's a danger for standing behind,
the llama's all right if he isn't too tall,
but the hedgehog can never be buggered at all.

5.
You can ravish a sloth but it could take all night

With a shark it is fast but watch out when they bite.
With koalas you're running the risk of a fall
But the hedgehog can never be buggered at all.


The friendly bonobo is willing to hump
and he'll do it to you if you show him your rump,
he'll do all his friends, both the large and the small,
but the hedgehog can never be buggered at all.


A hippo is huge so take care if beneath,
a crocodile's risky and choc full of teeth,
gorillas are good if you fancy a brawl
But the hedgehog can never be buggered at all.

 8 
A lion is frisky, a leopard is fun,

But to keep up with them you may well have to run.

You might try a tiger if you've got the gall

But the hedgehog can never be buggered at all.


You must take to the water if penguin's your thing,
flamingos might be your idea of a fling
you can roger a fox or a wolf or jackal,

But the hedgehog can never be buggered at all.

10
You can warm up a polar bear out in the snow
he'll put up a fight but he'll never say No,
a bison or reindeer may let you install
But the hedgehog can never be buggered at all.

11
You can boff a giraffe if it isn't too high

and a pig if there's not too much mud in the sty.
When passing the zoo, come in one, come in all,

But the hedgehog can never be buggered at all.

12
Now a dog is man's best friend as everyone knows
and always on hand which is good I suppose

But the fact still remains that if you want to ball

The hedgehog can never be buggered at all.

13 
You can hump a baboon if it doesn't hump you

And a wildebeest's really got something quite gnu

Carouse with a mouse if you're really that small

But the hedgehog can never be buggered at all.

14
If you're lonely in Lancre or down in Sto Lat
you may be enticed by a bird or a bat

but of all the sweet creatures that thrill and enthrall,

the hedgehog can never be buggered at all.

15 
Yes the hedgehog's a handful and cute as a bun

You'd think he'd be perfect for animal fun

But needle-like bristles just prove to us all

That the hedgehog can never be buggered at all.

16
Though they give you the eye and they tip you the wink,
Bringing you to the point where you're just on the brink,
Spurning all their advances will be your best call,
For the hedgehog can never be buggered at all!

17
You can bugger a whale if you're willing to swim
or an Orang Utan if you hang from a limb,
a tortoise is fun if you slow … to…  a …  crawl
but a hedgehog can never be buggered at all!



Thursday 13 June 2013

The Truth of the Affair. Poems of a personal nature.

Loving you is the sweetest
thing I've ever known
and the hardest.


The Lot of a Mistress



The lot of the mistress is sometimes hard.
Maybe I should explain:
she has to be constantly on her guard
against loneliness and pain.

No matter how much he tries to show
that she more than passes the test
she knows that as far as priorities go
she comes a poor second at best.

He can never put her or her feelings first
his wife and his homelife are there
no matter how much she may hunger or thirst
he has only a little to spare.

And yet she persists in this lonely life;
why, you may ask, does she do it?
Because she loves him, despite his wife,
even though she knows she may rue it.

Of course there are benefits wives don't have
she doesn't get any flack
she can do what she likes the rest of the time
without anyone on her back

But that doesn't really make up for the days
and hours she spends just missing
him and his tender loving ways
and the holding and the kissing.

The lot of the mistress is sometimes tough
as she watches the silent phone;
the time with her lover is never enough
and she fears she may die alone.

© Jan 2002


Every Mistress

I guess it is no mystery
every mistress throughout history
though pretty her face
has known her place
in the layout of his life

to be admired and adored
when her lover is feeling bored
and keep her distance
whenever his stance
is devotion to his wife

so I too must grin and bear
the times when my love isn't there
though all I have seen
are words on a screen
the messages he sends

often we enjoy some laughter
smiles which last for some days after
sharing our dreams
scheming our schemes
the very best of friends

Sept 2002


 Brain Fever

I've taken leave of my senses
now what am I going to do?
I've fallen in love with a married man
I'm really in a stew.

The sight of him across a room
the mention of his name
and willingly I burn my wings
a moth drawn to his flame

It must be a kind of madness
a fever affecting the brain
this kind of suffering seems to be
unkind and inhumane

but no matter how I suffer
this fever will run its course
a cure, if cure indeed there be,
is something I just can't force.

© Nov 2002


Fires of Hell

His kisses hit like heroin
and set my soul afire.
Like nothing else I've ever known
they took me higher and higher.
I don't know how this happened
I can't explain it well
but now my tortured body burns,
burns in fires of hell.

Reaching out a tender hand
he touched my fevered brow
and, trembling, I returned his touch
robbed of reason now.
I know the addict pays the price
I knew it when I fell
and now my tortured body burns,
burns in fires of hell.

There are no easy answers here
people say it's wrong
and yet I can't resist his kiss
the craving is so strong.
Across the miles they call to me
his touch, his taste, his smell
and so my tortured body burns,
burns in fires of hell.

Love's a word the poets use
and I am in its thrall
it's better to have loved and lost
than not to love at all
and love has got me in a whirl
upon its carousel
and still my tortured body burns,
burns in fires of hell...

I burn in fires of hell.

© Nov 2002




Jealousy

He's jealous.
Him.
The married one.
Wants me all to himself I guess
though he knows he's being unreasonable.
Funny thing is, I'm not jealous at all.
He loves his wife and family
and so he should say I.
I have to make do with just the crumbs
the odd hello, a hurried kiss
but let me get myself a date
and he gets all upset!
Men! What can you do?

© Nov 2002


Divine Madness. 

Madness divine has me in its thrall
I feel no guilt, no shame at all
whether I shall stand or fall
is in the lap of the gods

Since first I heard temptation's call
like some helpless thing I crawl
a billowed sail before a squall
que sera sera

Engulfed as in some silken shawl
I helpless watch my own downfall
Cupid's game is rigged withal
and written in the stars

With love the stakes are never small
though out of luck I'm standing tall
the crown's to the victor after all
and the devil take the hindmost

© Dec 2002


A Promise Kept

A promise kept, a wish fulfilled
a taste of paradise
wise or foolish, who can say,
the terms are imprecise.

This one day only, possibly
a few brief stolen hours
but if this is all, so be it
we made the moment ours

And such a magic moment
a time of total trust
a precious time, a wondrous time
so much more than lust

A kind of love we've never known
has us enslaved it seems
but if this is all, so be it
we'll relive it in our dreams.

© Dec 2002


A Kind Of Hush

I lay in silent wonder as
you knelt between my thighs
and watched your hands
such gentle hands
move across the soft pale flesh
that lay before your gaze
an enraptured gaze it seems
as wordlessly you worked your magic
taking me along on
this journey of discovery
each moment bringing new delights
new sensations, first time feelings

mesmerised, you moved so slowly
silently and solemnly
giving me no clue
as to how you really felt
only now in retrospect
I know what I could not know then
that you were simply overwhelmed
too tremulous to speak

© Dec 2002

Journey of Discovery

To this unfamiliar land
he came intent on exploration
eager and expectant
he sought her secret heart.

Wonderingly he wandered freely
scaled her mountains
roamed her valleys
strolled her fragrant pastures
searched every crevice, high and low
photographed each scenic view.

Sadly, time was not his friend
and all too soon ran out on him
so though exultant, still he felt
an overwhelming hunger;
he knew that there was much much more
yet to be discovered here
so, heart aglow, he left her
vowing to return.

© Dec 2002


 One Perfect Moment.

Caught up in the moment
a moment so exquisite
so infinitely tender
words were quite inadequate
when, suddenly, tears of joy
emerging all unbidden
hesitantly trickled down
to mingle with my hair

Hastily I wiped them
the more to reassure you
but there, in your eyes
I saw the misty moistness
echoing my own
and knew that in that moment
- that one perfect moment -
we two had touched heaven
and survived.

© Dec 2002


Hibernation

There is a frog which hibernates
in frozen isolation
suspended animation
preserved by alcohol

I too have to overwinter
every time you're not around
in absolute seclusion
life suspended, barely breathing

What good is my heart?
It merely moves the blood around
without you here to warm it
it may as well be dead

When you reappear
you bring the springtime with you
quickening my pulses
with revitalising love.

© Dec 2002


Possibilities Undreamed of

Someone had to reach me
eventually

I'd have festered here
inscrutable                                                                                                                       
interminably
indubitably

but you came
from nowhere
insistently
insightfully

holding out your hand
you touched my lonely soul
opened up my mind

to possibilities
undreamed of

© Dec 2002


Woman to Woman

When a man's home life is all work and no play
it's then that he's tempted to play away
temptation's around him every day
and resisting it can be tough.

Don't let the romance wither away
you know how you'd hate to wake up one day
to find that the price was too much to pay
and your husband has had enough.

A woman like me he can meet any day
available free, so he don't have to pay
he gets all the loving he needs that way
and remorse? He won't give a stuff.

You think it's a price he won't want to pay?
You think it can't happen to you that way?
Believe me the truest of men will stray
when the bed you've made is too rough.

Of course it's not bound to go that way
you may have a husband who will not stray
but to gamble with love is a hell of a play
and he just might call your bluff.


© Dec 2002


Love's For Fools?

No man is useless who has a friend, and if we are loved we are indispensable.
Robert Louis Stevenson, novelist, essayist, and poet  (1850-1894)


If fool I be 'tis sad perhaps
but rather fool than lonely;
his love for me my heart enwraps
and not my poor heart only.

The first sweet kiss was powerful
but that was just the start
a sense of bliss most wonderful
each day pervades my heart.

I am to him, as he to me,
a friend and, more, a lover.
No passing whim or fancy, he;
as you may well discover.

You may deride my love affair
and say that love's for fools
but, starry-eyed, I often dare
to flout convention's rules.

And so, my friend, if fool I be
perhaps I am obtuse.
If love should end 'twixt him and me
at least I've been of use.

© Jan 2003


Lost

Lost my love? Oh no.
He isn't lost at all.
It's me who's lost
lost in his kiss
lost in his arms
lost in bliss
lost in these feelings
of absolute pleasure
utter contentment
moments to treasure
lost for the hours
we have together
lost as we hurtle
hell for leather
into a future all unknown
to reap what comes from
the seeds we've sown.
Lost my love? Oh no.
He isn't lost but found.
I found him and he found me
now we're lovers
don't you see?
with a love as strong
as a big oak tree
growing on fertile ground.


© Jan 2003


Cinderella

Life got so dreadfully dreary
as she sat on her own every day
waiting for that invitation
to hopefully hurry her way

When it came it was quite unexpected
not really a dream coming true;
though it felt like some kind of magic
it lacked the odd detail or two.

There is no fairy godmother
except for the one in her head;
no magic wand to alter the fact
that her true love was already wed.

So although she met her Prince Charming
there'll be no happy ending at all.
This is one Cinderella
who shall not go to the ball.


© Jan 2003



A Much Better Lover

I make a much better lover than a wife;
my domestic skills leave much to be desired.
I can cook and I can sew,
change a plug, make fires go,
I can even decorate if it's required.

But of all the many things I do in life,
of all the skills that somehow I've acquired,
there really isn't one
that doesn't feel like fun
it seems to me I need to be inspired.

Housework, let's face it girls, is strife;
yet a tidy house is one to be desired.
I know I should do more
but it's really such a bore
and besides I'm perpetually tired.

I make a much better lover than a wife;
my bedroom skills have never been reviled.
I make my lover glow
with a simple soft "hello"
and I think I know just how to drive him wild.

The clutter in my domicile is rife;
I admit I'm as untidy as a child.
I know I shouldn't play
without putting things away
and getting all my papers neatly filed

But I think I have found my lot in life;
to my ways I'm becoming reconciled.
I'll just do what I can
and make whoopee with my man
for as long as I can keep the guy beguiled.


© Jan 2003


 Three Minute Man

He told me his nickname was "three minute man".
Well, that proved to be a misnomer.
When he's with me he's like Desperate Dan
- just think of doughnuts and Homer.
He seems to have got him a new lease of life
and it may seem a pity that I'm not his wife
but this may be better, we don't have the strife.
Still, I think he deserves a diploma.

© April 2003



Bitter Sweet

A bitter sweet affair

honey and lemon 
in equal measure

growing pleasure
when together

time apart
more tart.

© 2003
 

Mary and Martha

Mary and Martha;
sisters, worlds apart.
Each loved equally;
appreciated separately and
valued in their variance.

My home, her home,
his world divided.
Each loved equally,
availed of independently,
desiring their antithesis.


© 2003

Memories

I'm accumulating memories;
a treasury of precious times
of scarlet, gold, and blue.

A day may come, a rainy day,
when all is lost, save thinking,
and that's when I'll remember
these outrageous things we do.

All they will see is wrinkles,
white hair and withered limbs,
eyes that look into the past,
a small secret smile suggesting
memories
of you.

©2003


Intoxication

'Tis heady wine, this love of mine;
an intoxicating potion.
My brain aborts all saner thoughts
and runs on raw emotion.
Without a doubt my mind can flout
all semblance of convention
though now and then I count to ten
with wisdom's intervention.

It seems to me where'er I be
I ought to act more shrewdly
but still I find my foolish mind
behaving rather crudely.
The kind of things that passion brings
to bear upon proceedings
are not the sort that I was taught
in all those bible readings!

Love's potent charm can quite disarm 
and leave one most unwary.
The mind is closed, the heart exposed,
which seems somehow contrary,
as if the pair, all unaware
were two opposing factions
whereas I find my heart and mind
desire the same attractions.

And so I live and take and give,
and suffer all this madness
for one who knows and comes and goes
to share with me this gladness.
We two are blessed but careful lest
it all should end in sorrow;
drunk on the wine we're feeling fine
but what about tomorrow?

© April 2003


A Lover

When I speak of a lover, that's just what I mean
He's married, if you hadn't guessed.
I'm his mistress, paramour, bit on the side,
and he reckons I'm one of the best.

I've had other men, even younger than him,
who contact me now and then
hoping to hear that I'm once again free
they're just waiting for me to say when.

But this one is special, above all the rest
and it's not down to fortune or fame,
it's got nothing to do with the way that he looks
or some wonderful high sounding name.

No, the thing that I value, the thing that I love
is the way that my lover loves me;
we fell for each other the first time we met
and we just can't deny it you see.

I make no excuses, what is there to say?
Our encounters are often quite brief
because time spent with me means he isn't at home;
some people would call me a thief.

Perhaps it is wrong to be happy this way.
I used to believe that myself
but I'll be here for him just as long as he wants,
till he puts me back up on the shelf.

© 2003


Heaven in the Midst

An oasis in the desert's heat
a refuge from a life of stress
a taste of heaven now and then
a respite in the midst of hell.
A loving touch, a warm embrace
a kiss or two, a yes, oh! yes
it's what we are, it's what we do
and all in all we do it well

Some R & R, some T L C
a time to find some peace at last
to just relax, unwind, and be
two happy bunnies, come what may.
Once in a while this comes about
hours which speed by all too fast
then life returns to what it was
until the next red circled day.

© Jan 2003


Extraordinary Moments

They met as friends and fell in love,
as can happen now and then.
Two ordinary people who will
never be the same again.

The love that bound their hearts that night
gets stronger as the days go by;
each stolen, scintillating, second
making two hearts soar on high.

Each sweet caress, each tender touch,
each melting magic kiss sublime,
is something very, very precious;
love is growing all the time.

Sometimes they share every breath
behind the carefully closed blinds,
sometimes sharing only words;
a distant meeting of two minds

but, near or far, these times of bliss
will last as long as love survives;
such extraordinary moments
in two ordinary lives.

© 2003

What Lies Between



A monochrome existence,
a technicolor dream;
a million miles and the thickness
of a street door lie between.

© 2003


Falling Apart

It hurts so much
when he has to go;
the highs are so high
the lows, so low.
He leaves each time
with a piece of my heart;
little by little
I'm falling apart.

© March 2003


Nothing Succeeds Like a Bird

Pushed from pillow to post, in fashion,
round the house
as we espouse
love, or precisely, passion.

Situations I'd once despise
now excite
through or despite
taking me by surprise.

Taking up a position of thrust,
making hay
night or day
before I turn to rust.

Bit by bit I love and learn;
grow, it seems,
fulfilling dreams
and fantasies by turn.

Whether I am dressed to thrill,
dishabillé
whatever way,
I'm out to get my fill.

I've always liked to get my kicks
with a man
but yes, you can
teach an old dog new tricks.

Words and phrases, modern, strange -
It's a biggie,
Gettin' jiggy -
modify my range.

Just because there may be snow
on the roof
I'm not aloof;
inside I am aglow.

Deep in me, the fervent blaze
your every stroke,
your kisses, stoke
and leave me in a daze.

You pander to the beast in me,
the primitive
who longs to live
fierce and wild and free.

Come now, fill my every need;
take me higher,
douse the fire,
and maybe I'll succeed.

©  Oct 2003


Grey skies

Grey northern skies fill me with gloom
another lonely Christmas looms
while secret love my hearts entombs

I love him but is that enough?
he loves me too I know and yet -
what is this thing called love?

caring sharing - aye
but there's the rub

sharing...

stolen kisses
stolen hours

always one eye on the clock
always talk of his and hers
always holding something back
lest some sign suspicion stirs

borrowed love - a sometime thing -
diminishes the borrower
but a bird in the hand is worth a lot
and beggars can't be choosers.


© Nov 2003


 A Desert Isle

An isolated desert isle
untouched and lonely to the core
until a work-worn traveler
should land upon my shore.

He comes here for refreshment,
his need is great, his hunger strong.
He'll drink of me, eat and be filled,
and leave before too long.

And though it's hard to see him go
I welcome him when he returns;
the fire first lit within my tangled
heart still brightly burns.

For he will come again, I know,
to seek the cool refreshing stream,
the warmth that eases weary bones,
a place where he can dream.

To be a city might be grand;
- exhilarating, heaven knows -
but I am where this man will come
when seeking some repose.


© 2004


Surrendered Passion

Surrendered passion
plucks the heart strings,
mournful melodies
chilling the soul.

Misery mingles
with fond farewells;
illusions lie
abandoned and cold.

© 2004


Still

Still addicted, still obsessed
still I find in you the best;
best of any man I've known
how my love for you has grown;
grown so overpowering
yet I don't regret a thing.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained;
nothing's lost that's been obtained.
Everything you give to me,
everything in you I see,
all is wondrous, all is well;
treasured more than words can tell.

All you've ever meant to me
lies here under lock and key,
safe within my inner heart,
safe lest we should ever part;
memories of you and I,
thoughts to last me till I die.

© 2004


One Single Hour

One single hour,
that's all we had today
to love, to laugh, to smile, to play,
to say the things we had to say.
One single hour.

One fleeting hour,
so soon it passed us by;
with loving word and poignant sigh,
ephemeral as a butterfly.
One fleeting hour.

One precious hour;
though short it meant so much;
providing, as it did, your touch.
Some things are worth the waiting, such
as one precious hour.

© 2004


Adam and Eve

Lancelot and Guinevere
Paolo and Francesca;
a story of illicit love
told time and time again.

Who can understand what
madness leads to infidelity?
None but those tormented souls
whose hearts are rent in twain.

© 2004


A Latterly Chatterly

A lady? Me? A latterly Chatterly?
Hardly, my dear. Oh no.
Humble beginnings: bricklayers, miners,
itinerant sorts - you know,
always working but never rich
and little education;
decent people, salt of the earth,
with guts and determination.

Anything I've made of myself
came from breaking free,
finding out what the world was about;
there was no silver spoon for me.
Yet still you call me a lady -
I really don't know why.
What can I do to convince you?
Should I even try?

You tell me ladies and gentlemen
aren't born or made that way.
It's something that they have to become
day by day by day;
growing into something grand,
not destined by descent.
But if I'm a lady in those terms
then truly you're a gent!

© 2004


Every Time

Every time we say goodbye
it's as the old song says;
I smile although I want to cry
through endless lonely days.

The time has come, the walrus said
to talk of many things,
and we should talk of this, my dear,
not cabbages, or kings,

but of the way my aching heart
just can't endure much more.
I'm weary of this kind of life,
of opening my door

to one who never will be mine
except for fleeting hours,
time tainted with despondency.
See how the sweetness sours.

The strongest rock is worn away
by tiny drops of rain;
with tears dissolving my resolve,
how long can love remain?

© 2004



On Being the Other Woman

Of course it's never easy -
if and when and hoping, but

the worst thing, the hardest thing,
is when we're out of touch;

the sometime silence that descends
when life gets in the way.

Then this awful thought arises: 
should you die I'd never know,

left in the dark to wonder
unable to move on.


© 2004




The Sub

He's missing the icing on his cake;
I'm missing my daily bread.
He's wondering when he'll see me again
I'm wondering if he's dead.
As much as he tries to understand,
we have two different views;
he's no idea what he means to me
for he isn't in my shoes.

Being a man he can shut me out,
compartmentalise.
Being a woman I can't do that;
he's ever before my eyes.
I've no other love in the times between,
it's him or nothing at all;
he can't understand how lonely it gets,
like being left out in the hall,

or sitting alone in the changing room
and rarely asked to play
while the others are out there having fun;
alive in every way.
I feel like a substitute of sorts
with an unattainable dream;
good, but not quite good enough
to make it onto the team.

© 2004


Emptiness

Out of touch for two whole weeks -
the hollowness inside,
like something vital missing,
like part of me has died.

The most god-awful emptiness
when I don't know you're safe,
or whether you still care for me,
oh! how the worries chafe!

Gnawing at my vitals,
draining me of life,
convincing me it's over and
I've lost you to your wife.

Whate'er the rights and wrongs of it
I miss you, times like this.
Oh, hurry back to me my love,
bestow your own sweet kiss.

Just to know you love me
and need mine in return
is all I need to stoke the fires,
these fires that brightly burn,

that turn my nights of longing
to days of ecstasy
illuminating all my life.
How much you mean to me!

 © 2004

You Turd

 Each day I seem to see your face
most everywhere I look
'cause I still love you babe,
I still love you

and yours is still the only name
written in my book
'cause I still love you baby,
I still love you.

Through an inch of whiskey
things get a little blurred
though nothing really helps much
and it's probably absurd
but I can't help feeling lost somehow,
bereft of you, you turd,

but I still love you babe,
I still love you.

© 2004


Drowning

Where does it start to go wrong?
When does it stop being fun any more?
Falling from grace, from unreachable heights,
to confusion and doubt and a mournful song.
Floundering now in a sea of unease,
not trusting the lifelines you throw.

What brings about this decline?
Just misunderstanding or something worse?
Some sinister motive, insidious and dark
or simply confusion, as overworked minds
and fertile imaginings go to town,
leaving discernment at home?

As we sink beneath waves of despair
we try to remember the way it was,
the day we met and the many days since,
the joy and the ecstasy, feelings we've shared,
overwhelmed now by a turn of events
that threatens to end all we know.

© 2004


Left?

It looks like my love is leaving me -
it's hard to believe, I know -
with everything we had going for us
why would he want to go?

I'm sure he hasn't tired of the fun -
he was anything but bored -
but lately he doesn't contact me.
I'm feeling very ignored.

Perhaps I'm being paranoid -
possibly being unfair,
maybe he isn't leaving but
he simply isn't there.

No sign of him on messenger
no reassuring word,
no call or text on the mobile phone;
it's getting quite absurd.

I sit and wonder what's going on:
has his pc simply died?
Is his cell phone out of order?
Has he tried and tried and tried?

Maybe he's lying ill in bed
unable to get to a phone,
or laid up in the hospital
with a horribly broken bone.

But, whatever the reason,
he isn't getting in touch
you'd think that he could find a way
if he cared for me that much.

The only thing I'll excuse him for -
and I don't think I'm being mean -
is if he's in a coma,
wired up to a machine.

If it carries on much longer
there's only one thing to do:
I'll find me another lover,
or possibly even two.

It's not as if I couldn't;
there are plenty of men out there
and it's not as if I wouldn't -
I have plenty of love to share!

I wish my lover would contact me -
I really miss him, you know -
but if that's the way he wants it,
I'll have to let him go.

© 2004


Love's Old Sweet Song.

Thinking now of his gentle kiss,
his slow sweet smile, his tender touch,
how can I help but yearn? I miss 
the look in his eyes that says so much.

A few short weeks is all, and yet
it seems so very long ago
since my beloved and I last met.
Time drags its feet and dawdles so.

I feel so empty, a hollow shell;
cold and grey as a winter sky.
I'd no idea one could freeze in hell;
perhaps its fires are just a lie.

He seems to imagine I'm all right,
that nothing I need could come from him
for, though the candle is still alight,
a flickering flame can seem to dim.

Wrenched apart by wretched fate,
lonely nights follow dreary days
but how could he think I would not wait?
He changed my life in so many ways.

I'm twice the person I was before:
twice as confident, twice as strong,
for he found a way to my frozen core
and placed within love's old sweet song.

© 2004



Perplexed.

Don't write me off just yet, you said,
before you went away
and so I settled down to wait,
day by day by day.

I don't think I'm impatient
although it seemed so bleak
when still I had no word from you
as week succeeded week

but now the weeks turn into months
and really I'm perplexed.
I knew I wouldn't see you but -
an email or a text?

I'm feeling rather foolish
and feel inclined to scoff.
So - how long do I give it then,
before I write you off?

© Oct 2004





Teddy Bear

Perched upon my bedhead is a little beanie bear;
one who has a secret, so he says.
His beady eyes regard me with a concentrated stare
yet bring to mind another's loving gaze.

Now you may think I'm far too old for things so infantile,
but that seems somewhat ageist and unfair;
this scarlet, soft plush teddy has more value, by a mile,
than any fancy diamond solitaire.

This small romantic token watches over me at night;
he tells me that my lover loves me still,
never out of mind, although he may be out of sight,
the memories continuing to thrill.

I treasure Secret Bear for he reminds me every day
that for a while, at least, such joy was mine.
The future is uncertain but I know that, come what may,
I have known love, and loved, and it was fine.


© 2005


A Love Like Ours

I guess our time is over;
it had to come some day.
I don't regret a single thing
whatever folk may say.
I had the best times of my life
and got as well as gave
a love that will survive when
I'm cold within my grave.
For love as good as ours, babe,
won't die because we do;
the flesh may fade and wither but
the love I have for you
will live on in eternity
inhabiting the stars,
softly glow in moonbeams,
echo from guitars
with every song of love, babe,
played in every place;
unmistakably observed
on every lover's face.
For this love wasn't ours alone;
we merely played our part.
Our love will live forever, babe,
in every lover's heart.

© Nov 2004


Neverland

My hair's forgotten how to curl;
I've had no love in ages.
Not for me the social whirl;
my diary's all blank pages.

Since my lover disappeared
I've searched for a successor.
Sadly, though, it's as I feared;
there's none that isn't lesser.

No other man can take his place
but why should any try it?
Who else has his loving face?
The richest couldn't buy it.

It seems I'm stuck in Neverland,
a heart without a dwelling.
Must I remain fore'er unmanned?
There's just no way of telling.


 © Dec 2004


A Cold Wind Blowing

There's a cold wind blowing through a hole in my heart;
it's been there since we said goodbye.
It's kept on growing since the day we had to part
and it's hard to ignore, though I try.
There's no going back but I miss what we had,
I thought I was over him. I must have been mad,
cause every remembrance just makes me sad.
There's a cold wind blowing through my heart.

© 2005


Equal Measure

Pain and pleasure in equal measure
is how it used to be;
I'd sit around to hear the sound
that said he wanted me.

Where's the gain in all that pain;
am I a masochist?
And yet I find no peace of mind;
to love is to exist.

God knows I've tried to put aside
my feelings for the man.
What more remains to tax my brains?
I've done all that I can.

My heart is lost, my feelings tossed,
once more I'm in a whirl.
For age presents no real defence;
at heart I'm just a girl.

But if I choose once more to lose
myself in this affair
I'll make sure he waits round for me.
It's time he had his share!


© Nov 2005


Not Tonight!

The man is a wanker, a bounder, a sham.
Now why would I bother with him?
He's manipulative and he don't give a damn,
be it vital or just on a whim.

He's no understanding of others at all;
he never considered my plight.
Just as long as I pleased him and he had a ball
he assumed everything was all right!

He's a liar, a cheat, an insensitive prick;
a faint-hearted, craven poltroon.
He's got all the subtlety found in a brick!
And he thinks I'll be seeing him soon?

I've got news for him: he had best think again;
I've had all of that I can take.
The best way to treat inconsiderate men
is throw them all into a lake.

© 2006


Old Flames

An old flame flickered once again,
a flame I'd thought was dead.
It flared up briefly in the night:
Look, I'm still here, it said.

I watched and waited then to see
if it would reappear
but all around was cold and dark
and desolate and drear. 

There's closure in a funeral pyre:
all hope is gone for good.
Old flames are better left to die
completely, as they should.

© 2006

Tuesday 11 June 2013

She Sits Among the Cabbages : A song of Old Ankh-Morpork

Cabbages and Leeks.


She  came to old Ankh-Morpork her fortune for to make
there wasn't much in Lancre so she said.
she wanted to be seen upon the silver screen,
but she had to find some other job instead.

Chorus:
Now she sits among the cabbages and leeks
fighting off the insects and birds with pointy beaks
She'd like to be back home away from all the freaks
but she sits among the cabbages and leeks.

She tried to be a dancer but she couldn't get it right,
and couldn't sing a single note in tune.
Modelling was out - she was really far too stout
and her face was like the arse on a baboon.

Chorus:
Now she sits among the cabbages and leeks
fighting off the insects and birds with pointy beaks
She'd like to be back home away from all the freaks
but she sits among the cabbages and leeks.

She thought perhaps a night job would suit her to the ground
but Mrs Palm has standards of her own.
The Seamstresses Guild was well and truly filled
and the Aunts said she'd be lowering the tone.

Chorus:
Now she sits among the cabbages and leeks
fighting off the insects and birds with pointy beaks
She'd like to be back home away from all the freaks
but she sits among the cabbages and leeks.

She had a go at catering but that was a mistake
and in Morpork that's a funny thing to say
but her goods made people frown, even Dibbler turned them down
and she couldn't give a single thing away.

Chorus:
Now she sits among the cabbages and leeks
fighting off the insects and birds with pointy beaks
She'd like to be back home away from all the freaks
but she sits among the cabbages and leeks.

She hoped in Ankh she'd find herself a better class of man
and thought she'd left the dwarves and trolls behind
Adding zombies to the mix really put her in a fix
for she had a sense of smell and wasn't blind.

Chorus:
Now she sits among the cabbages and leeks
fighting off the insects and birds with pointy beaks
She'd like to be back home away from all the freaks
but she sits among the cabbages and leeks.

So take warning all you women if you're looking to improve
the lot in life the gods have granted you.
There's plenty to to be said for the countryside instead
and especially if there's an indoor loo.

Chorus:
For she sits among the cabbages and leeks
fighting off the insects and birds with pointy beaks
She'd like to be back home away from all the freaks
but she sits among the cabbages and leeks.


Monday 10 June 2013

Jennifer Jane. A long single rhyme poem.

Jennifer Jane

Jennifer Jane was very plain,
her arms and legs as thin as cane;
no crowning glory was her mane,
it hung like washing in the rain.

Jennifer Jane did not complain
nor yet endeavour to obtain
the kind of looks which so constrain
some women, like her friend, Elaine.

Jennifer Jane was never vain
except about her wondrous brain;
as top professors went insane
just trying to unknot the skein

of thoughts which, like a counterpane,
blanketed her more mundane
achievements, such as to attain
perfection in legerdemain.

Jennifer Jane, Jennifer Jane,
oh did some power fore-ordain
that things which others can't explain
should be to you as cellophane?

Jennifer Jane would never deign
to labour for financial gain;
she felt it proper to abstain
from money and all things germaine

and so she sat in her domain,
an impecunious chatelaine,
and did her best to entertain
with cheap, inferior champagne.

Jennifer Jane would not sustain
a friendship which might cause her pain.
She treated men with high disdain
until their hearts were rent in twain.

Like Eleanor of Aquitaine
she married once and once again
yet always managed to remain
a cut above demi-mondaine.

Jennifer Jane, Jennifer Jane
how could she be so inhumane?
How could she possibly sustain
a heart of polyurethane?

One day a young and handsome swain
(who's brain was addled by cocaine)
made it his quest to ascertain
how he could win Jennifer Jane.

He followed her by boat and plane
from Bloemfontein to Bangor, Maine.
He followed her by car and train
to Spain, Bahrain and Dunsinane.

This plucky chap, who's name was Wayne,
was not put off by wind or rain
or even by a hurricane
but carried on with his campaign.

He courted her beside the Seine
and wrote her many a fine cinquain;
he gave his all, with might and main,
a twentieth century Tamerlane.

Reluctantly then Jennifer Jane
began to lose her heart to Wayne
and very soon this gallant Thane
made her Jennifer Jane McLean.


©  1995

Saturday 8 June 2013

Queues. A non-autobiographical poem :)


QUEUES


Have you ever been stood waiting in a queue?
Well of course you have, I didn't need to ask;
but have you ever noticed, if you're waiting for the loo
that the person who is standing in the queue in front of you
always wears a fixed expression like a mask.

I mean, you try to have a conversation,
just friendly like, to pass the time away,
you make a chance remark about not having constipation
and, goodness me, the looks you get of shock and consternation
well, make you wish you didn't need to stay.

Then someone else comes in and joins the queue,
someone with a lively sense of humour;
they start to make suggestions which are hard to misconstrue
about the need to find another secret rendevous
in a humorous attempt to start a rumour.

The rest stand there in silent contemplation;
it seems as though they're all afraid to speak
and because you're feeling bored and you can't resist temptation
you start to play along with the imagined assignation
till the one in front of you begins to freak.

So, feeling sorry for this ingenue
you make another effort to converse,
"Don't worry, love" you tell her, to avert a ballyhoo,
" I haven' t really come in to this toilet for a screw, "
but somehow that just seems to make her worse.

Slowly, one by one, this motley crew
see to their ablutions and retire;
you've waited all this time and now the next one in is you,
then someone who has just come in and doesn't want to queue
panics everyone by shouting, "Fire. "

Have you ever been in such a situation?
It may be that you've never known despair,
but right this very minute, far and wide across this nation
there are ladies in the LADIES in a state of agitation
and silently they stand devoid of all communication
- unless of course I happen  to be there

Man Isn't Monogamous. A poem.

Man Isn't Monogamous.


A lot of them fancy a bit on the side;
I've seen it again and again.
Their marriage is awful, or so they confide.
So many miserable men!

But who wants to live like a virtual slave?
They must like their harrowing lives.
Perhaps its the sense of adventure they crave
as they cheat on their power-wielding wives.

For none of them actually want to leave home;
an interlude only, no doubt.
And then there are those who admit that they roam
and boast that they spread it about.

Some have their reasons: ill health or old age,
or a wife who has gone off the boil;
they're left with a hunger they cannot assuage
and a fear that their tackle will spoil.

The birds and the beasts have a similar life
for most are unfaithful it seems.
The trouble occurs when a man takes a wife
for she's rarely the girl of his dreams.

Those vows are the problem, the promise to stay,
the bit about "death do us part".
Man isn't monogamous; "I'll never stray" 
was never engraved on his heart.

Testosterone driven, they scatter their seeds;
make hay while the sun is on high.
Of course, there are women with similar needs;
we just find it harder to lie.


© 2006

Cyprus. An autobiographical poem.

Cyprus

I spent a week in Cyprus,
well, two to be precise,
I went there for a holiday,
I thought it would be nice.
Well you do, don't you?

It says so in the brochures
and all the travel books
and I've always liked Tavernas
for the food, and for the cooks.
Ouzo's not bad either.

"Come to Aphrodite's Isle"
it really sounds romantic
but Aphrodite's long since gone.
I know that I'm pedantic
but romantic, it wasn't.

The place was disappointing,
I mean, it wasn't cheap;
the hotel was inferior
and the pool was far too deep.
I couldn't touch the bottom!
And when you're a non-swimmer
things like that are important!

And I didn't like the beaches
they were most of them man-made
all grey sand and pebbles
and without a spot of shade.
And covered in litter.

I suppose I should be honest;
it wasn't just for fun
I'd coughed up all that money
no, I'd come to see my son.
He was in hospital with two broken legs.

He lay there in this private room
his legs done up in plaster
Lke some great statue made of bronze
with legs of alabaster.
Sounds almost biblical, doesn't it?

And like some Eastern potentate
with slaves to do his will
it's "Bring me this" and "Fetch me that"
"Be nice to me, I'm ill"
Men! They're all the same.

But when he saw me walking in
He nearly died of shock.
He said, "Oh mum, you shouldn't have,"
or some such poppycock.
Well, he wasn't expecting me you see,
and we'd lost touch ages ago

I'm glad I went to Cyprus
though I didn't like the place
I reckon it was worth it for
the look on my son's face.

©  1991

Thursday 6 June 2013

Smith and Mariah : a short story

Smith 3661(a Single Minded Individually Tasked Humanoid) was going about his business in his usual competent way. This is what he was programmed to do. This particular task and no other. At any point he could reprogram of course and would then carry out that task with equal efficiency. People like him, that's what they were there for. To just get on with the job at hand.  Nothing would distract him, or interfere with his single minded devotion to his set task.  He was hard wired that way and nothing anyone said would change it. 

Back at home  Mariah 2750 (a Multi-tasking Auto-Response InterActive Humanoid) was also doing her job.  Smith didn't understand people like her at all.  Why she was constantly thinking about so many things at once was a mystery to him.  How she did it was even more of a mystery.  He simply couldn't see that this is how she was intended to function.

Unfortunately this did mean that occasionally she would suffer from an extension overload, and then would freeze up or even crash, but on the whole she functioned very well, carrying out many jobs simultaneously. Smith, however, was frequently impatient with her inability to concentrate fully on the task at hand. Especially if that task involved pleasing him.  Why couldn't she just tune out the kids for a while? Was it too much to ask? He was sometimes heard to say that the M in her name stood for Muddle-headed and the I for Incompetent.

She for her part, didn't understand people like Smith.  Being hard wired the way she was meant that she was sometimes impatient with his inability to think about more than one thing at a time. It irritated her when she left him alone with their progeny and he failed to notice what they got up to, being totally engrossed in whatever he had chosen to do.  Why couldn't he just take his mind off the damn game for a few minutes; keep one ear open? She laughed with her friends that S stood for Stupid and the I for Inefficient.

It may appear to the casual observer that both of these types of people had design flaws but no, they were each well designed for their respective purposes. It just seems a shame that no one had thought to integrate understanding of the other's strengths and weaknesses into their intelligence banks so that misunderstandings would not arise so often.

The designer could have explained to interested parties that Smith's mental processes were somewhat akin to that marvel of natural engineering, the honeycomb. Every part of Smith's life was neatly compartmentalised, filed away under its own heading, and although there were obviously some fringe connections, nothing really affected anything else in a serious way.  So when he came home and Mariah asked him how his day had been, he had already switched programs and had nothing to say on the subject.

Mariah's mind, on the other hand, more closely resembled that other bit of ingenious natural design, a spider's web. Each thread or strand was equally important, and all were closely intertwined to make a coherent whole.  What affected one part would affect the whole design, and that's just the way it was.  Nothing he could say would affect her inability to see things as he did. Which was why, when Smith became interested in a program involving another Mariah, it was fairly predictable that Mariah 2750 was likely to be less than understanding. 

Smith had the two Mariahs neatly filed away under different headings. One under "Home" and one under "Outside Interests" and this worked fine for him. Neither impinged on the other, so he couldn't see why it should worry anyone else. 

Mariah 2750, however, could not be expected to see it that way.  Her life with Smith 3661 was a kind of mini-universe.  Everything involved everything else in some way, large or small. If one bit went out of kilter, eventually the whole thing would collapse.  Extensions would conflict big time in the background until her circuits just crashed and burned. And then, you can be sure, she would make certain that Smith would be made to pay in some way for his inability to see things her way.

Sooner or later, Smith was going to have to deal with this, but in the meantime all he could do was make darn sure that Mariah 2750 never discovered the new game he was playing.  He would have to make sure his files were securely locked at all times. 

And what of the other Mariah? She of course saw things as her type do. It was hard for her to be just a part of Smith's life. A game. His outside interest. But her involvement was total, She was committed to this game for good or ill.