There once an old dude,
who was quite crude,
the town folk thought him rude.
After many a year in love he fell,
his flame however said “go to hell”.
His desires she’d never quell.
A stormy winter slowly passed by.
Accustomed to rejection, the dude wasn’t shy.
And persistent he was to always ask why.
The spring finally came,
his flame stayed the same,
himself the dude thought to blame.
The summer surely hot,
the dude surely not,
his cool long since shot.
Autumn’s bluster in the air,
his flame did flicker, he did flare.
The time had tempered each with care.
With a Christmas snow soon to arrive,
fire and ice made water to dive.
His flame’s heart thawed and their love did thrive.
Sitting in silence alone with my thought,
thinking of time when quiet’s sought.
But time it seems does not align,
to my plans or grand design.
Intersections come to bear,
a train of thought gets us there.
Whistles and bells are sure to please,
with some steam we’ll never freeze.
We’ll shovel shit to eat some bread.
Or dig ever deeper into our head.
Pain’s always felt to reach the goal.
The track we choose carries our soul.
I play with words cos it’s fun.
And when I’m hollow, I’ll be done.
Shades of perfection –
a pause for reflection.
Softness felt on shapely curves,
a goddess of light, calming nerves.
Time stands still shaped in stone.
A memory forged, never alone.
Shadows illuminate visions anew.
Shades of perfection – as are you!
Special thanks to the unknown photographer and inspirational model 🙂
Her scent lingers, I flushed away.
I sense the push of another shitty day.
She polluted my mind and soiled my bed.
Leave me alone, get out of my head!
We fed our needs and ate our cake.
Her outside sweet, her inside’s fake.
Her taste and touch I felt were real.
Now pinched cheeks is all I feel.
My hand shades so not so crass,
this burst of gas I hope to pass.
And groan some notes for a while,
refreshing again this steaming pile.
Time trickles naturally.
But stand I must eventually.
A gentle pull will clear the residue.
Her memory wiped but some sticks like glue.
Beyond the Glass
My windows are closed.
The air cold and leaves fallen.
Yet birds sing somewhere.
With the glue of two,
broken hearts can mend anew.
Or someone gets stuck.
is much like one hand clapping,
Syphilis at seventy is no one’s first choice.
But after the shots you will rejoice.
For the seconds enjoyed in youthful bliss,
it’s worth every minute of that long painful piss.
Second chances are rarely found,
chances less when soon in the ground.
The time is now to sow those oats.
So munch away you horny old goats.
For every flip there’s a side.
Land on your feet and save your hide.
Land on your ass and you may get a pass.
But land on your head, you’re probably dead.