In the afternoon
Below a grey blue sky
I hear the chatter
Of the magpies.
And they talk in bird talk
In words unknown to me
As they bob their little heads
By the amaltas tree.
Glad I am to hear them
I listen carefully
Happy to be in their -
wondrous company

I’m feeling quite elated
My spirits have been lifted
I’m On a natural high
The sun is out and smiling
it’s going to be a lovely day
Every thing seems rosey
But you know what they say
With a rose comes thorns
But they won’t burst my bubble
Today I will be happy
No matter what they say
No thorns will get in my way,
I will have a very happy day!

Established landmarks removed test the fates—
Burning wind in a vacant sky.
Rearranged cosmic hemispheres of mind—
Oracle of day not seen with naked eye.

The need for warmth a thing of the past—
Frigid waters the basis of new-fangled cell.
Tortured derelicts kept from spiritual vision—
Oracle of night hangs in day’s empty shell.

Dubious means to generate a sun of artificial light—
But a fling cannot replace a love that is shunned.
Yet warm rays of sunlight still flow above the temporal—
Still hanging in defiance of the 60 cycle hum.

Regain your bearings oh heart of true light—
Everything in its place: oracle of day and oracle of night.

"I say, darling, would you care for a glass of gin?"

"Don't mind if I do. Could you kindly pass me a roll-up?"

"Why, yes. Here's your gin, and if you open your mouth, I'll pop this cancer stick in."

"Thank you, kind gentleman. May I have a light?"

"Oh, how remiss of me. Here you go... there... you are fired up."

"That's delightful. My lungs are eternally grateful."

"Darling."

"Yes, my love?"

"May I be so bold as to kiss your neck?"

"Right, that's it. Enough of this posh *******. Get over here and ravage me, you **** *******."

"It would be my pleasure, you ***** *****."