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Merry Sep 2018
Dear slender Aphrodite,
I have ne’er been overcome
With passionate, ****** longing
But I have felt the pursuit of the hunt
By Aries in Venus;
The child playing all is fair in love and war
But not a longing to disrupt
The weaving of thine words

“Do people really fall in love?”
Crooned the eccentric philosopher
David Byrne in hypnotic hymn
And in prismatic, psychedelic psalm
Avant-garde, aromantic heart
Expressions and impressions
That have etched upon my body
And become the truth that I accept

I have tasted the sweet of peaches
And I have felt the scalding of the sea
Lost in thought; all alone, but content
Yet the conclusions all draw back
To dulcet childhoods unfettered
By the snickering and abnormalities
That is infatuation ****** upon thee

“Raise boys and girls the same way”,
Jenny Holzer informed those in her bold dialogues
From commercial, photographic anonymity
But it is I, in gentle and embarrassed whimper,
Who would like to beseech of you
In sunny, platonic gesture
Tell boys and girls
They can be friends
Without it turning to wretched love
I wrote this for an assessment and got a distinction it.
Tommy Randell Jul 2017
Can I call you Betty? She was a friend of mine,
When I lived over in Scarborough, they were wicked times.
We'd stay out late going to movies and shows,
Sleep out on the sand if the wind didn't blow.
Can I call you Betty? You look a little like her,
Though after Twenty-some years it's hard to be sure.

She left, I mean I woke up and she'd gone.
I waited some weeks but she never returned.
I thought perhaps she was hurting so I asked around,
I never thought maybe she didn't want to be found.
Hey your name's not Betty is it, have I asked already?
Sorry, it's a time-thing, stuff's a little bit edgy.

Can you spare five minutes, just to sit by me?
We don't have to talk, not even in pleasantries.
It would help make it real, have the illusion again
She truly was once here, not just in my brain.
You've the look of someone who might understand.
Betty, she understood, like it was all part of The Plan.

I would never have hurt her, she was my Peace.
She made sense of it all, she joined up the streets
Like some kind of map that helped me be safe,
'Cause we were together,  in our own little space,
'Cause we were a couple, Betty weren't we, together?
We were, Betty weren't we? We were each other's Carer !

Sorry, did I call you Betty then? Sorry, I'm sorry, that was bad.
I must say I confuse things, the present and past.
They tell me, the Nurses, I forget more all the while
But meantime I must not be so “predatory and hostile”.
I miss her you see, the real Betty, in my world,
I hate all these days feeling lonely and being blurred.

Can I call you Betty? She was my Wife I think
Or maybe my Sister, I just can't work out the links.
She brought me here I remember and we had some tea
And then she went to the toilet and I have to wait you see?
Betty, could You ask the Doctor please if I can go home.
Betty, I don't like it, when I wake up and you're gone.

Tommy Randell 30th July 2017
My wife has worked in Mental Heath for many years nursing elderly and not so elderly patients suffering with Dementia diseases, Alzheimer's, and other conditions. All of us across the World now know someone who has suffered or is being affected as a patient or a family member with such conditions. I wanted to do a Talking Heads poem to attempt in my own narrative style to portray sometning of the huge sadness of such diseases and conditions. This attempt isn't about anyone specifically or any real incident I am aware of and it is my dramatic attempt to show something of the sadness.
Tommy Randell Jun 2017
I'm planning a day of Rage
But no worries I'm here on my own
So only a few bare walls
Will feel the wrath of my tongue

I've thought about grievances to bare
I'm going all out for cliché and rhetoric
When do I want it? I want it now!
So I'd best hurry up and be quick.

It'll do me the world of good
I'll get it all out in the open
Be great to be angry at something
Instead of just quietly coping

And the washing-up can just sit there
And my emails can sulk on unread
I'm mean and I'm ready to mean it
Some things will just have to be said

I've made up a couple of sandwiches
For you too in case you pop round
Can't rage on an empty stomach
All that bile going round and down

Being a Lone Rager I guess is okay
But even an audience of just one
Will give a good boost to the oratory
Get the old grandiloquence going

So I'll give it another hour or so
Maybe do a few extra chores
A quick flick round with the duster
And build myself up to the roar

What's that ... You're not coming?
Oh dear that's a bit of a pity
Well maybe some other time then
When you're up for a little propinquity

Maybe I'll get in some mirror practice
A few gestures of moody authority
Too easy though ranting alone
Not to find yourself in the majority

I'll let the rage go for the moment
I'll get settled in for the night
There's a film on later about ******
Now there was a Lone Rager alright

— The End —