My lipstick suddenly lost it’s gloss.
The sheen melted and dripped down my chin.
What was left was neither shiny or becoming
And I said - “no way - not having this - no way.”

So I stomped back to the make-up counter
And registered a vociferous complaint.
The cosmetic clerk attempted to regale me
With some convoluted hugga-mugga
About a glitch in the production line,
Attempting to gloss over the fiasco.

Now I really wasn’t having that,
So I put on a double thick
Lip coating of that diabolical
Oh-so-shiny red lip rouge
And kissed her clear glass counter top
A couple more than fifteen times.
So she will have to clean the gloss off
And maybe next time tell the truth.
ljm

Some days I don’t want to leave the cinema
I sit dead centre,
hope the screen will fill my field of vision,
each speaker will cover my ears
in numbing sound
allowing thrills and broken hearts
of others’ made up tales
to supplant my own for two hours
and change

The dark holds me anonymous,
lets me depart and drift,
try on the moods in lost safety
so when credits roll
choked tears and shiny blisses
are returned, rewound, reset
for what comes next

They'll tell you that you don't have a clue,
but you know what they're doing and what
they're doing to you,
who do they think that they are?

Posh toffs or ***** twots?
dripfed by nannies,
seldom leaving their cots,
getting dressed by their butlers
who then butter their toast,
coasting through life as if they're
the most in this life that anyone could be,

but they're not fooling me,
don't let them fool you into
thinking it's you that doesn't
have a clue

Or it'll be
Eton or Harrow
never
Toxteth or Jarrow
that gets the icing on
the cake.

Vague,
the expression of response
in a relentless jade,
conjuring up primevals
risen from her house arrest.
She lives through the days of tension
by her own fortitude,
clutching to her privacy
as if a means of escape
to which she can be locked within.
Mendacious moments,
walking towards a primrose path,
allude her to try and smile.
But she knows she need not pretend,
for just as her hair falls casually
over her face,
she winces her pain
into a controlled tremble.
Proposed to glide under
freshly minted skies,
in words filled with undertone
and in serenades
softly played by calendar
chimes.

tommy was a cat he had run away
neglected by his owner neglected everyday
he roamed around the country hoping he would find
a new place to call home put his past behind

he came across a barn that was full of hay
for a little while decided he would stay
then suddenly the farmer he came walking in
noticed little tommy  looking tired and so thin

farmer gave him food and some water to
farmer he was kind little tommy knew
tommy he was happy decided he would stay
now he had a home no longer have to stray

tommy had the care he was searching for
some one to give him love he never knew before
he could settle down in a home at last
cruelty he suffered was now in the past

tommy settled down with the farmer he would stay
happy and content to this very day

Life isn’t a poem
dive in it, splash in it,
celebrate the refreshment,
like a bird in a puddle.