Poetry, Uncategorized

SIGNS OF SPRING

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Returning swallows bring

With them the smell of spring,

Of swooping, whooshing wings

As the tractor engine sings

Across a field of patchwork brown:

A crumpled chocolate eiderdown.

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Poetry, Uncategorized

POST NATAL DEPRESSION FOR MEN

So, lovely readers, this is a QUATERN.  What’s that? A sixteen line French form composed of four quatrains.  It has a refrain that is in a different place in each quatrain. The first line of stanza one is the second line of stanza two, third line of stanza three, and fourth line of stanza four. Strictly, there should be 8 syllables per line, but this time I’ve stuck to metre instead 🙂

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Ever since the baby was born

She hasn’t kissed him once,

Wallowing deep in self-pity and porn,

He flounders in the dumps.

 

She’s hardly looked his way

Ever since the baby was born

Will she make him stay?

Between freedom and them he’s torn.

 

No work and overdrawn,

She doesn’t care a bit,

Ever since the baby was born

His life has turned to shit.

 

Spends his days just watching telly

Feeling depressed and forlorn,

Drinking beer & scratching his belly

Ever since the baby was born.

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Poetry, Uncategorized

MEMORIES OF AMSTERDAM

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Winds blow in from the Zuider Zee

Showering leaves from the golden tree,

As we sat on the stoep of your canal-side house

(Around the corner from the Rembrandthuis),

Sipping our koffie as bikes pedalled past,

Warming our hands on the steaming glass.

 

 

The sweet, familiar smell of weed

Wafted along on the autumn breeze

Past towering façades with stepping gables,

Taking our time at coffee shop tables,

Exploring this city of carnal pleasures,

Winding canals & artists’ treasures.

 

 

Those redolent visions live just in my head,

The waterways speak to me instead

Of furtive infidelity:

These streets hold no memories of you & me.

The windmills and bridges, the cobblestone view

Now spoiled by cuckolded thoughts of you.

 

 

Is she sitting upon your stoep

Sipping her koffie?  Am I the dupe?

What small secrets do you share

In the gabled house with the winding stair

Beneath the tree with the golden leaves

Blown by winds from the Zuider Zee?

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Poetry, Uncategorized

THE NAKED TRUTH

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Let me into your bright morning light, 

to bask before your naked white,

through the transient space of dawn,

to the end of night where dreams are born

and take you as my sybarite.

 

Drown me in your milky gown

upon your cotton eiderdown,

and soak me in your sleepy cloak

I breathe, & feel my senses spin,

the musky smell of snowy skin.

 

Entwined in plaited hymns

our alabaster limbs

are mirrored in opacity, 

frail in their transparency.

 

Two hearts,

their counterparts,

superimposed

As through our pores their beating goes

a drumroll of carnal blows.

 

I’ll take you up to cobalt skies,

Can you see it my eyes?

Or feel it in my touch 

Of fingertips and lips – 

this blatant, latent lust?

 

So here I am, defences down, 

(you’re smiling at this amorous clown)

but this truth can set us free,

let me be me, and you be you 

we’ll find our equilibrium true.

 

Let me give you prurient highs

of infinite sapphire hue,

dreamy cerulean blue – 

 

A blissful blur of happiness

beneath my raw caress –

I’ll take you to the stratosphere

like some seductive puppeteer,

if you’ll just let me into here.

 

This could be our paradise:

just name your price –

Come, come my dove,

Your love fits me like a glove

My soul is bared

no longer scared

nothing spared.

 

You’re the one,

It’s done, 

 

Let me in . . .

 

Just let . . .

 

Just me . . .

 

In.

 

 

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