If I were like air then I'd breathe you.
As I sit in the the bowl and observe.
I'd never succeed in the quest that I'm freed.
I'll rot though, if I had the nerve.
Just take me and pick as I ripen.
Bite me, as nectar escapes to your chin.
Enraptured by spell to entice you again.
And feast on sweet secrets within.
But leave me and pass with your ignorance.
Overlooked as I signal my true end of days.
For I will repay you with sorrow.
As my beauty fades, waving farewell decays.
I see love.
But I think they are just married.
With their piled plates and their.
Squeezed faces and head flicks.
Head flicks away from the groom's groomed hand.
This doesn't bode well.
Despite the pancakes.
In the value hotel with their soft luggage.
Eating pancakes as they check their phones.
Deepest darkest chocolate fur
Honeycombed with jasper eyes
On my terms you'll make me purr
Love and calm became your prize.
Through dark days I was here for you.
I'm strong when you were weak
I was around when lost, then found
I shone when times were bleak.
Evermore in your heart I'll be
No thunder, treats, or fireworks wake me
Pain and hurt, of which I'm now free
So now this slumber comes to take me.
Our lives are not forever, friend
And time's up with no choice
I'll visit you in dreams again
I'll recognise your voice.
I'm your knight in shining armour
I'm your bane, your adipose
I'm the reason you're not happy
I'm your ****, your tuberose.
You're my shock, my half cooked omelette
You're my biscuit never picked
You're my very painful fracture
You're the fur ball cats have sicked.
He's the one you should be courting
He's the one that hides distaste
He's the martyr, self inflicted
He's the life that's gone to waste.
She's the one that smiles at no-one
She's the girl that lives alone
She's the happy, carefree songbird
She's the chocolate scoffing crone.
Count your blessings maid of plenty
Lucky that you've never cared
Comatose to squires, to gentry
That beating lump you've never shared.
Far and awa fae the light making shadows.
Sight to behold in the afternoon snow.
Gallant destruction in wall tumbled ivy.
Tight as the hack of the hobbling crow.
Parson and gardener, nipped on their fingers.
Wrapping up, fenced, for the winter to come.
Cauld is the cloak on the journey to pasture.
Tilling the field and the prayer book hum.
Frost blaws to thaw as the sun yawns, persistent.
Batter the drum as the hail thumps in time.
Speed through the wind as it gnaws faces, twisted.
Slush churns to wet as the welcome bells chime.
Winter yir song, as it puffs into whisper.
Herald the twilight for new days to speak.
Underfoot crack as your hold starts to weaken.
Buttercup sun tips her hat to the bleak.
I'm part of the exclusion zone.
Of you and them and me.
I'm lost in past, forgotten fast.
Old news, and ceased to be.
All well and good in time to brood.
For memories remained.
I'm outside staring, sightless, glaring.
Forget me not, refrained.
I hope for love's sweet comfort.
In shattered future's loss.
When I'm remembered fondly.
And swept away the moss.
If recall be painless.
Reminded with a smile.
Sit aside my resting place.
And think of us awhile.
You've got to have some rhythm if you're going to boogie down.
At the latest tango hotspot at the Roxy in the town.
The principles of foxtrot and the sways of swing will show.
That dancing with your heart will always make your passion flow.
When the bossa nova starts and the lady sings the blues.
The time is now to shake your hips and don your dancing shoes.
You trip the light fantastic, your shoulders shake in time.
Your fingers snap and feet will tap along to mambo rhyme.
The rumba stirs the frenzy of your heart in Latin beats.
You feel the crazy samba in the footsteps on the streets.
Your ready for your spotlight doing cha cha cha and jive.
You can never stop the lindy hop to keep your soul alive.
I am the pip in your apple.
I am the cloud in your sky.
I am the air that you breathe in and out.
I am the tear in your eye.
I am the reason you're weeping.
I am the season you love.
I am your favourite colour.
I am the sun up above.
I am the coin in your treasure.
I am the prize in your win.
I am the drought in your river of doubt.
I am your heartbeat within.
Your teeth are the colour of off milk.
Your odour is of rancid butter.
I see you and I feel sorry for everyone that you spitter on.
I'm sorry for your loss.
You took the **** from the current.
You wiped the floor with your wit.
You helped yourself to the hate on the shelf.
And now you're left stirring the ****.
You put the bad in the *****.
You took the **** out of me.
Your bitterness trait, your mouth spouting hate.
I'm done with you, now let me be.
You **** the life from the living.
You should just walk to the door.
Exit stage right, with your hypocrite *****.
Your company needed no more.
So glad I got that off my chest now.
New chapter, we're clear, no more stress now.
So beat it - retreat, turn sour into sweet.
Our future no longer depressed now.
I don't know who or what this is about, other than tedium.
I never remembered needing you.
Or craving your hand on my back
I never surrendered to love
I intended to never be broken, in fact.
I never had dreamt that I'd long for your touch,
And oftentimes thought I was stronger.
But days without seeing and crazily being
The one who was needed no longer.
I'll hold up my hand when you choose and demand that I be by your side on this journey.
But hopes have been halted, my heart strings assaulted,
By truths and decisions that hurt me.
I'll heal and take glory
That I'm in your story
And hopefully thought of with care.
We said we could try.
I'm sad it's goodbye.
It's now that my heart can repair.
The apple of one's eye.
The creme de la creme.
The buffet at the wedding.
Where it's us and them.
The glow of the neon.
Instructing us to buy.
The latest moisturiser
For wrinkles round the eye.
The canvassers cold selling.
The need of starving cats.
The aforementioned wedding.
The shopping for the hats.
So come give us your money.
Your precious hard earned cash.
We'll offer you perfection.
In your supermarket dash.
The things you'll buy tomorrow.
Are better than today.
The new improved conditioner.
The advertisements say.
Consumers to be nourished.
Big spenders treated well.
You'll need a coat for winter.
And scarves and coats as well.
Your funeral arrangements.
A monthly simple plan.
Your loved ones fear when you're not here.
You've left them all you can.
So now our claws are in you.
Please kindly move along.
The facts and claims are always true.
We're seldom told we're wrong.
We're business types converting.
Your little wants to needs.
We'll squeeze you dry until you die.
From birth we plant the seeds.
Margaret Murray, the one with the glasses.
The psychic, the mystic, her tarot card classes.
Told Sheila her mangoes were ready to eat.
Told Mary her cousin'd be back on his feet.
Beverley Spence was a sceptic, tough cookie.
In seeing her fortune snapped up by the ******.
Decided to tell her her ulcer would heal.
It's better than sharing with friends what was real.
Patty was eager to hear from her mother.
Jessie bereft at the loss of her brother.
Beatrice needed the skills of a healer.
For Margaret saw death and she would not reveal her -
True destiny seen in the cards at the clubby.
Preventing a scene with her hard drinking hubby.
£20 fortunes, no refunds, no worries.
There's no better tarot than Margaret Murray's.
Clubby is a social club in Scotland
****** is bookmaker.
I am my Mother's son.
She shines where darkness prevails.
She lights up a room like a comet.
She soothes where illness ails.
I am my Mother's son.
Through troubled days ahead.
The constant love throughout my life.
Where sunshine fears to tread.
I am my Mother's son.
She's the moon and stars, you see.
The warmth and kindness of a saint.
The reason I am me.
Mother's Day 2017 (UK)
You’ve gotta be in it to win it.
You’ve gotta put in to get out.
You’ve gotta keep living.
The life that you’re given.
You’ve gotta ignore all the doubt.
It’s time that your destiny
Gave you a clue.
It’s time that your heart knew
The right thing to do.
It’s time that’s not stopping.
The clock that’s tick-tocking.
The right here right now is for you..
So never give up on your dreams.
Despite all the **** in betweens.
You’re destiny’s waiting and never abating.
Decide what your every move means.
We die in the end and we know it.
Whether success or we blow it.
Go live in this minute.
For fail or for win it.
Just sail with it –
Board it and row it.
A seldom ill-natured arrangement.
The owl and the pussycat were -
Wound up to a frightful derangement
At the sight of the entrepreneur.
The rascal decided to venture
In hiring their beautiful boat
The owl nearly choked on his denture
On finding it steered by a goat.
The owl and his friend
Set out to pretend
To not even care about steering.
So on it's return
They planned that they'd burn
The sails so they both started cheering.
The goat was no longer a sailor of seas.
He took up employment in processing cheese.
The owl and his mate would never berate
A contract with dodgy tycoons.
They're happier though to go with the flow,
And sail with the help of balloons.
The owl and pussycat series finale (so far.)
A fallout at dinner
Saw no outright winner
On the quest for a marvellous trip
The owl said that Venice
Could stave off the menace
Of wind from the nibbles and dip.
The cat had remained silent but drained.
At the threat of Italian air.
The fact that some spies had
The cause to surmise that
The dish ran away with the hare.
Sudan it was planned from the man
In the sand who gave discount
To dismount their boat.
The sandstorms provided,
The couple decided –
An irritant bad for the throat.
At pudding of comfit
And port and some Stilton
Conclusions were made on the fact
That they built in
Some cupboards for luggage
And two pairs of boots
And a lifetime’s supply of dye
For their roots.
They hopped off and popped off
And sailed to Capri.
To try out a brand of Italian Brie.
So sometimes discussions
Can end in excursions
To try out new islands with cheese.
The owl and the pussycat
Just should be sure that
They sail with a minimal breeze.
So the journey postponed
By the method of twine.
Twas decided they’d book on the telephone line.
A jungle safari with gin and Campari.
And lashings of kippers on toast.
Despite the location of bison migration
There was still time to fish by the coast.
At the end of the plodding in boots made from wadding.
They both had a wonderful time.
They couldn’t deplete all
The stocks of the meatball
From bellies of African swine.
There’s no moral this time.
As their trip was just fine.
Said the owl to the pussycat’s purrs.
Their next time in Turkey
Was rather more murky.
On their quest for some jewellery and furs.
The owl was resigned to the fact that the cat had designed a new method of travel.
The string that was handy presented by Mandy, the turtle, would never unravel.
Perpetual motion brought on by the notion that holidays calm the hysterics.
Providing the crew had those jobs they could do that didn’t involve balding clerics.
After owl asking about multi tasking the cat decided to spin.
The string that was dandy and near to the sandy and frequently visited bin.
Realising the method was not going to pass so harassing the mass of onlookers.
The couple decided despite being derided to disappear dressed as two hookers.
The moral is this:
That an owl and cat’s bliss can only be found on a shoestring.
With strings and a boat and a gabardine coat, perpetual motion’s no new thing.
Part two of the owl and pussycat alternative
I’ll pack in my youth, like Dorian Gray.
I’ll slip in a Bounty, well four if I may.
The scents of patchouli, pine needle too.
Wheels over gravel, twigs snapped with my shoe.
Aromas of coffee and freshly baked bread.
My goose feather duvet, asleep on my bed.
A brandy and ginger, Martini with twist.
My first Timex timepiece adorning my wrist.
The timeless “I love you”s, the ones I heard back.
My favourite ****** that cover my crack.
My warm winter jacket, my favourite hat.
My 30 inch waist, yes, plenty of that.
But most of all friendship, and family ties.
And love by the ocean.
And happy goodbyes.
Put some stuff in a box, she said. Nice stuff, she said.
Toys and soldiers
Madness, calm and shattering.
A banquet, a festival, a slumber.
Thump, thump, soft on felt
Like our beats of the heart
Leaving before entering
Tender fingers feeling
Desires and magic interwoven
Pitter patter in my mind.
All around me calling.
Come to me.
Come with me.
Float, breathe, deep in the depths.
High in the sky.
I am you. You and I.
There’s a party on the hillside, would you like to come?
There’s a Margarita ready or if preferred, some ***.
Come and dance in moonlight, the summer grass all dry
Take off your shoes, forget our blues
Our love will make us high.
Our party on the hillside will fill our hearts to full
Forget our past, our love shall last
Until the air runs cool.
The moonlit dance will cause a trance
With love and lust and heat
And now the still creates the thrill of hearing both hearts beat.
Now darling I must leave you
As night fades into day
Remember that I loved you
Remember me, I pray.
Inspired by a summer romance.
The owl and the pussycat went on the randan.
The boat was in dock for repairs.
Roller skates borrowed from friends of the Sandman
Proved helpful, but not on the stairs.
The Sandman was eager to help with the journey
The Ferryman told to watch out
The feline and strigidae rolled on the jetty
With meat pies and plenty of stout.
On boarding the ferry they found some dry sherry.
An Amontillado from Spain.
The owl soon felt woozy, all seasick and *****
The cat tried avoiding the rain.
At the end of the trip the two friends would quip
That the pies were amazingly nice
The filling consisted of mustard and biscuit
That compliments meat from blind mice.
Despite witty banter and skills of a chanter
The sun was elusive and grey
Twas then they decided to be less misguided
They’ll book all inclusive one day.
Scots for party/merriment/thedancin’
My take on the adventures of the owl and the pussycat. Part one.
— The End —