I was going to say that this was an odd one, but then again aren’t we all.

 

I say ‘We’ when I’m talking to myself.

 

Yes it could be the chocolate

I suppose it is quite possible

Chocolate being a catalyst

That swells up my belly

Slows me down

Not eating any for a full week

Would easily show this

But that just isn’t possible

So how will we ever know?

 

 

Here is an old home:

 

Home Building

 

Expecting a repossession order any day

I redesign the display in the window

Taking out fairy castles

And building a seascape for a change

Is this what you might call,

Having faith?

 

 

And an old man’s allotment garden:

 

Allotment Dilemma

 

I don’t have the need for an allotment

Not with my life

Not in this day and age

It is only worth keeping up

Because I need the exercise

 

 Oh and the veg

 

 

And an old pal

 

The Dan Tragedy

 

Yes I really do remember it that way

We talk of the bakers

Of the tour, and the bakers

The places we’ve been, and the bakers

The gigs!

The venues!

And the pies and the cakes

Some of those places!

We recollect on our rule;

The poorer the area

The better the baker.

 

Then Dan mentions

That pie

Yes

The

Chicken and pork and stuffing pie

All in layers he says

He doesn’t do the Homer Simpson sound of course*

Because this is the pie that we never mention

Despite all its lovely layers

Because this is the pie that is related to the tragedy

That stirs up all the memories

I don’t know what of, I never dared ask,

I imagine,

They found it mouldering in the bottom of the car that everybody drowned in,

He forgot to light the oven and the house went up,

It got knocked off the table and killed the new kitten stone dead….

It must have been something as bad as this

I don’t know

I never dared ask

Because if you mention it

He just gets terribly sad

 

But now is the time

The time I should ask

‘Dan,

What ever happened to the

Pork and chicken and stuffing pie?’

He sighs

Stirrs

Breaths

“My mum and my sister ate it all….

 

 By the way….

 

Suffering from depression

Well no that’s not true

I’ve moved on from that

Into

Survived depression

Which is as bad really

You just won’t admit it quite

I look round

While on the loo

At all the books on array

And I realise

I don’t really read anymore

No – No

I really don’t read

I don’t read

Then I remembered – that

Magazine a friend left

That I looked at,

By the way

Do you call them – girly mags

Or – men’s mags? –

Got right through that

That raised a level of interest

So

So

I – don’t read

I – just look at the pictures.

 

 

By the way… this poem is actually entitled;

‘By the way… That magazine a friend left!?’

 

And an old love:

 

Eons on

I’ll be here

Trapped in the sand

Flickering through your hand

I look upon you

Darkened skies yield purple lines

As the orb of gold denies

The dark to rise

You stand there

Depths still hold your eyes

As waves of passion

Fashion tracts of rippling sand

I reach your hand

Dawn’s silhouette

Your hair within the breeze

Is flowing yet

Eons on

I’ll be here

Trapped in the sand

Flickering through your hand

I look upon you

Love you

 

 Is this worship

Does love always echo deep

Am I within

Or without

I hurtle in

Lost in the vision of your eye

Love happened now

And in this moment

I can fly

Home

Contact

Last issue’s poems

A well old one:

 

Lycanthopy is

Not as bad as this

I’ve got the syndrome

I’ve felt the lupine kiss

 

When I get out there

Just on the street

I can’t help staring

At women I meet

 

Forget my family

Responsibility

Just keep focussing

Availability

 

I eat you up

I meet your eye

Undress/caress you

Or make you cry

 

No I’m not married

I make you worried

Oh I could love you

Until you die

 

Lycanthopy is

Not as bad as this

I’ve got the syndrome

I’ve felt the lupine kiss

 

They shouldn’t do it

The way they move it

Asking for it

And I’m the one

 

I change direction

For your attraction

Hear you move faster

I’m prowling on

 

Look you’re naked

And at my mercy

A prowling wolf now

You’d better flee

 

You’re all attractive

I’ll clock for later

But some reactive

Smile right back at me

 

Lycanthopy is

Not as bad as this

I’ve got the syndrome

I’ve felt the lupine kiss

 

Sometimes I’m cornered

Caught in lusting

Pretence is gone now

This one’s reacting

 

She’s looking at me

Oh no she’s smiling

My god she’s speaking

When am I free?

 

Well not tonight

I’ve got a family

My wife is waiting

I’ve got to cook tea

 

I run away now

Feel so embarrassed

I am quite harassed

But look at this one

 

Lycanthopy is

Not as bad as this

I’ve got the syndrome

I’ve felt the lupine kiss