I cannot stand it, it weakens my core, it stifles my breath

The thought of him, forcing himself inside you

Making you whimper, unutterable sounds

Your unconditional complicity a gift, a given

Your abandon knowing no bounds

My manhood shriven

While I have dropped off the edge of your world

Your shapely limbs around him furled

And he, firmer, faster, harder, smarter, younger

Scoops up your jewels and riches with ardent hands

And hungry tongues, to burst your lungs

And all you can eats from your smouldering smorgasbord

And I don’t know him, nor where he lives

But I know he lives

And dies, and dies again in your scented garden….

If you love someone, let them go, though your ego be dragged kicking and screaming to the exit....though your dread and tears foretell great lasting longing and regret.....let them go if they must -- because you must....and anyway what choice do we  have....?

Bluto, the world’s strongest man, could tear bread loaf-sized pieces off a steel-belted tractor tire with his bare hands.

But he could not lift a single smithereen of his sensitive Piscean heart when Lily, the luscious, leggy Leo trapeze artist, left him for steely-eyed Arien Karl, the literate and literary lion tamer.

Horoscopic Circus, Act II

She was a Cancer Dragon. Like catnip to the Piscean Tiger, whose feline DNA was his Achilles heel. Especially when she wore heels. And nylons. The end is nylon, he thought. I love you she said. I love you more he affirmed. And firm he soon became. Then being the ringmaster, she opened her mouth and incinerated him -- as only dragons can….

One is teetering slightly, lurching almost, aiming a bottle of Tempranillo towards a seemingly moving, sufficiently empty goblet ……..and speaking to oneself (not talking, speaking)…….”What can one do?  “What can one possibly do?”……..a reflective wave of heady benevolence rushing upwards from the ***** to the lobes……"with these yet untangled thoughts and abandoned hopes of love, and those that can never be…..?”

An answer stole past its vacant sentry position too partial to be noticed. Of course! That's why…..all those blues songs and torch songs, those hurtin songs and love gone wrong songs...

Yes. It makes the world go round…. like an old record....

The bravest thing I ever said to her:
I love you and want you
To have a happy life...

I thought I had told you many times.  But here for the record:
Because you are feminine yet strong.
Because you are extremely capable and can do things I know not how to do.
Because you are productive and extremely hardworking.
Because I can see how much you fight for the things you hold dear.
Because you can give others a lot of love and care (sometimes that was me!).
Because you have a gift for interior decorating.
Because you create a sense of home which for me appeals at a very sub-conscious and visceral level.
Because you're good with cars.
Because you love cats almost as much as I do.
Because you love a lot of the other things that I love; movies, wine, beer, fish and chips, sandalwood and more...
Because you opened my eyes (and ears) to new kinds of music.
Because you had the same PIN number.
Because you slept so soundly you couldn't be disturbed by my snoring.
Because you liked my thighs and didn't think my mouth was too small or "mean".
Because you made me two beautiful cushions, that are in colour schemes that show real artistic ability, and which I shall cherish till the end of my days.
Because you look vulnerable with your hair up in a chignon.
Because you are the first woman who ever helped me make marmalade or cookies.
Because you look cute in pigtails.
Because you pout your lips upwards when someone is taking your photo.
Because you study really hard to improve yourself, and achieve great marks through sheer will and determination.
Because I see qualities in you that you probably don't see in yourself.
There are probably many more, but it's 3.30 am.

Oh yes, one more:

Because I find you beautiful to look at.

Today my long tall tulip fell
His pearl-pink bulb had dared to swell
But blushen hung now like a bell

His slim and slender stem once towering
Arced to earth with posture cowering
Burdened by his glory flowering

How quickly he had seemed to climb
To bask in sudden sunlit prime
The longest flower, the shortest time

His adolescent orb once closed
With youthful promise, then exposed
More beauty than we all supposed

And eager straight he stretched to see
The furtive squirrels’ revelry
And blue jays jostling high in tree

His handsome head became a hand
Outstretched to welcome wide and grand
We who’d pale beside him stand

But now his palm points to the ground
Where loyal subjects once were found
A fallen king with withering crown

I saw you flower – be sure of this
Your scented cheeks I bent to kiss
Nor did a day of beauty miss

Though brief your waxing and your wane
Your colours left the purest stain
That in my mind’s eye does remain

In all the world where flowers grow
We sallow souls rush to and fro
Preoccupied, we miss the show

But when we pause to smell the blooms
Held captive by arresting plumes
Forget the sundry that consumes

Thus precious harried minutes take
Our reverie to gaily break
I noticed you -- make no mistake

I studied you that rare of gift
You gave my care-worn spirit lift
Then cut its soaring hopes adrift

Today my long tall tulip fell
Surrendering to Nature’s knell
And left us where he deigned to dwell

I resist the temptation to concede that I am all at sea…since the end of you and me.
No, not me…
**** it up and be strong I cry. And cry.
You cannot know how I once trusted us to go swimmingly, not to sink beneath your wave goodbye...
After all the effort and energy of loving you – before so disappointing you.
Once I was alone and petrified rings in my head. Can I? I’m the man here. Am I?
I can’t believe you’re leavin' me – different tune now – stay with me baby. Please.
But hey, it’s already happened….now I must lie awake in your wake.
And even if the tide were to one day bring you back to my shore….
I know we could never be sure again….

High art briefly glimpsed be thou
Oh waving, wispish blossom bough
All pink your precious petals preen
Through nature's narrow window seen
Come April sun, thy tresses flush
For we to scent all in a rush
By May thy garlands too soon strewn
Do fade to pale below cold moon
From gaiety to frailty,
'Tis surely nature's cruelty
Why must the wind so urgently
Deflower the gentle blossom tree?

I long for you

I long for us

I long for our song

And laughter

I long to be long for you

And you to belong to me

My Father’s Clothes

My father left a rack of suits
And on their cloth still hung cologne
Hand tailored navies, greys and mutes
And one plus-fours in herringbone

He had a drawer-full plump with ties
Rolled silks and regimental stripes
But none with matching handkerchiefs
For dad was not one of those types

He favoured good strong walking shoes
And walk he did with fancy cane
“If you look smart, then you are smart”
Was Duncan Baxter’s wise refrain

Some thought my dad a gentleman
He opened doors and doffed his hat
And rose when ladies entered rooms
Now why don’t people still do that?

Folks called him “sir” when he’d arrive
He had that bearing in his blood
Though widowed with a brood of five
He did the very best he could

He taught us rules are hard and fast
And manners make you who you are
And please and thank you always last
As first impressions take you far

Another thing he used to say
“To thine own self always be true”
Has helped me even to this day
When sometimes unsure what to do

Occasionally he’d raise his hand
To keep his errant sons in line
I didn’t understand it then
I wonder would it work on mine

We children could have had much more
Our aunts and uncles used to say
If he’d been wise enough to store
Some money for a rainy day


In truth he lived beyond his means
As men of taste are wont to do
And never realized his dreams
To live the life he wanted to

He moved among a group of friends
Who drank pink gins at social dos
And puffed on Turkish cigarettes
And daily scanned the racing news

He should have been a country squire
Perhaps what he was born to be
With open fires and hearty stews
A labrador beside his knee

To ride about in hunting pink
My brunette mother by his side
Alas there was no joy I think
For father after mother died

My mother left her darling ones
All spirited and out of hand
Three lovely daughters and two sons
On Valentine’s in Newfoundland

Now father lies in simple ground
Carnations flutter at his stone
Across the road, a pub he’d found
Where he would never drink alone

The day he left, the landlord’s flag
Was billowed half along its pole
And locals gathered, glass in hand
To send a tribute to his soul

And when I gaze at hillsides green
Or hear a Richard Tauber strain
Or think of places where we’ve been
I see his weathered smile again

My father left a rack of suits
Those things that last when you are gone
And life is short and love is rare
No matter what clothes you have on.