Lovers entered a forbidden forest bower,
And as they stalked that range, with eyes glazed,
She offered up her hind. Now, with doe eyes,
Deep as his, deep in arousal's sleep, heels fell,
As he knocked and pulled her dark honey hair
And whispered, surrender, into wanting ears,
Softly he drove his hunting command, homing
To his huntress.

Her body braced, yet bade, with heat and vibrance.
Ruthlessly, he ****** his arrow deeper and then
Once more and then again.  She bucked fiercely
And defiant, goading his prodding lance ever more
Ever longer, and parting the pink lines of her white
Rose, he was, and once again, Prince to the dark
Dominion of her quarters.

In the middle of this carnal match they paused.
And looking into the forest beyond they saw
A yearling fawn, a feral Goddess, grazing still,
Bathing in a vale, virginal, wholly unmoved
By their act of venery, lustfully playing, in the innocent
Leaves.  It was as if they were among her kin, a gentle
Doe and a noble stag. From that moment on
The human hunters did not speak.

Falling, again, rolling eyes were deep in arousal's sleep.
Her back was a crescent moon pocked and wet with dew.
He could feel her heart beating in time with his piercing
Prong, her arching back glistened in the suns spittle
As it broke through the dark and vernal ceiling wood.

In the final shot her quivering buck lowered and broke
And a sound not heard, made a scene, a sweet murmuring
Shuddered and sank onto the floor of the forest leaves
With her tale, taken and told, her breathless breath,
Her nostrils cold and her heated and lanced openings
Dripping, draining; here was a New World’s beginning.

Sated, solemn and softly quaking, his woman sweetly laid,
And now, doomed with her doe eyes, two lovers, fated, made;
She glowed, divine, like the rolling brook that mellowed
Slow, in the vine-dark and golden forest stable,
In Artemis’s wood.

Sitting next to Father Time,

Warm in comfort,

Tucked up in memories.

I can hear the ragged breath

Fading like a sunset,

Slow but sure;

The unthinkable

The inevitable.

A gentle hug

Of mortality

Reminds me

That nothing lasts forever.

Who falls too far from the tree?

The unlucky,
The unwelcome,
The misfits,
The free.

So save your broken wings.

You'll never know
When you'll find them
Whole again.

What have we here?

A shy boy who wouldn’t swing

When all the other monkeys played,

Who didn’t like to speak

In case the others laughed and brayed,

Who didn’t quite fit in

With the other boys in school,

And ducked and dived

And hid from sports

When he couldn’t grasp the rules.

The boy who missed the girls

While he hid within his room,

And couldn’t speak when they were there

In case they spoke his doom

And wished and dreamed

For something more

Than others would assume.

The boy within the man

Who argued to the end;

The man of right and wrong

Who fought the standard trend,

And stood up for

The little things

That no others would defend.

The sad pathetic loser,

The one who had no friends,

Fought the fight for all of us

While we scrabbled to ascend,

And, at the last, the misanthrope,

When he could do no more,

He stood beside his principles

That he learned so hard before.

He watched the so-called good

Sell out their souls for lies,

Either to themselves

Or the devil in disguise.

He stood for truth and honesty,

And was typically despised,

But now he’s gone,

We’re all alone;

Slaves we realise.

Faces lost in blank expression

Wait in stasis for their stop,

Shuttled from one potential

To the next like letters

In a mailman’s bag.

The sounds and smells of strangers,

The uncomfortable touches,

The squeezing in spaces,

The jerking rhythm of the ride,

The pram queens who sag

Against the railing

While their kids twist and turn

And scream at the lack of fun

In the faces of blank expression,

While couples tongues quietly wag.

Youthful monsters sit at the back

Playing tunes for the irritation

Of the old school music hacks,

While grandma dozes against the glass,

Shopping drawn up like a wall

To protect her from her past.

Father and daughter

Playing a game,

Sitting next to two lovers

Who are doing the same.  

The tickling natter of friends,

The glare of phones,

The lying dog’s stare.

Life on the buses,

A slice of people

For the cost of a fare.