"diddling" poems
They were like two peas in a pod
Holding hands
Exchanging tongues
Being prissy and laughing at those
Who long before saw their act
Though those two queers, they don’t see at all
They are midgets, and little, and erectly small
With puffed up chests
Stroking hens of the Cornish variety
All of them dregs of a social society
Slum lords and criminal minds
Under the sheets where no one sees
Which one is giving the other the shaft
**** and span they use after, oh so daft
One erotically whispered to the other
A Pain in the ***
As they kissed over their biblical wine glass
Seeking solace in each others arms
Licking their wounds with grammars charm
Grown men, committing sin after sin
Then blaming others for saying
God wants you to begin
Acting like men
And not emancipated boys
Stop diddling and twiddling
Leave alone your petite toys
One day Jehovah will make clear
Belittle others is worse than Queer
Little queens swallowing their own vile
While Ladies and Gentleman laugh
At the ****** and the Clown
In their lingerie and gown
God decried, let those two drown
Even Lucifer laughed under his frown
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 10:48 PM UTC
Along the lane
towards Diddling
you stopped
and looked
at the church
on the horizon
between
the hedgerows
beneath
the blue
and white
clouded sky
Jane
stood next to you
her hand
holding yours
the softness
of her skin
against yours
her dark hair
tied
by a green ribbon
one of my favourite sights
she said
the church
becoming
more visible
the closer you get
her voice disturbed
birdsong
from the hedgerows
a blue ***
took flight
the flutter
of small wings
we never had hedgerows
in London
you said
no blue *** birds
no wide fields
or Downs
just streets
and houses
and pavement
and grass
around our flats
where pigeons
or sparrows
settled
for thrown out
bread
from windows above
Jane gazed at you
her dark eyes
focusing
I’d hate that
she said
I love my countryside
and fields
and birds
and open sky
she sniffed
the air
and you walked on
along the lane
she pointed out
wildflowers
and hedgerow plants
and talked
of the farmhand
who died
when his tractor
turned over
in a field
and the first time
she remembered
visiting
the small church
and her father
holding her high
above his head
so she could see
the expanse
of the Downs
and you listened
to her words
the language
holding you
and drawing you in
her lips opening
and closing
her summer dress
moving
as she walked
her sandaled feet
treading the lane
you wanted
to captured it all
to recall it
years later
all over
again.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 9:31 AM UTC
And Jane held the butterfly
in the palms of her hands
gently opening up
a mere gap
so that you could glimpse it
it tickles
she said
and she laughed
and that aspect of her
thrilled you
the way she held
her head to one side
her eyes in wonderment
of the captured butterfly
her soft hands
as if she were caressing
the head of a first born
see?
she said
see its beautiful colouring
and you glimpsed
the bright colours
it's a Peacock butterfly
she said
and she stood there
on the narrow road
to Diddling Church
in the grey dress
with yellow flowers
and the muddy shoes
and white socks
her hands opening
and you both watched
as the butterfly
fluttered off
across the hedgerow
out of sight
one of God's treasures
my father calls them
she said
still gazing where
the butterfly had been
a butterfly was a butterfly
to you
fresh from London
unused to the country fare
the clean air
the wide expanse of space
did you see many
butterflies in London?
she asked
guess so
you said
can't say I paid them
much mind
you are funny
she said
all this beauty
and it doesn't strike you?
you stared at her
standing there
her eyes wide open
her hands gesturing
as if to include
all about her
her dark hair
neatly brushed
her dark eyes
focusing on you
getting to me
each time I'm with you
and you explain things
you said
she smiled
and o that
really held you
in a sway that smile
that spread of lips
come on
she said
let's go look
at the gravestones
in the church yard
and so you followed her
up the narrow road
feeling the warm sun
of the Saturday afternoon
wanting to hold her hand
feel her fingers
in yours
sense the smoothness
feel her pulse of life
and you entered
through the wooden gate
along the stones
which made a path
the tombstones
high and low
chiselled names and dates
she stood by the church wall
and stared at the
beyond the hedge
you stood next to her
and touched her hand
with yours
your fingers touching
warm
soft
and she looked at you
and said
you can kiss me
if you like
and stood there waiting
and you unsure
wanting to but shy
not wanting
to mess things
or get it wrong
but you kissed her cheek
and then her lips
holding her
feeling her arms
about you
and you sensed
her waist slim
your fingers touching
and lips to lips
o God
you mused
confused
moved apart
she smiling
you uncertain
and she said
my mother likes you
says you're different
from the local boys
something that sets
you apart
you frowned
and said
am I?
kiss good
she said
not greedy
or too passionate
or too sensuous
but like holding
that butterfly just now
something tickled
inside me
she said
you gazed
into her dark eyes
as a Peacock
butterfly
fluttered overhead.
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 4:20 AM UTC
Flippy Hippie, what the heck is your trip?
We get things going fine and then you flip.
Your political lips are criminally zipped.
Because you are obviously losing your grip.
Tripping hipster, what were you thinking?
The ship of state is so obviously sinking.
Are you diddling with your own erections?
And too good to vote in our elections?
Hippy dippy, Flippy Hippie, you’re mental.
Apparently your adulthood is experimental.
You’re just tourists in your own realities
Blathering a lot of brainless banalities.
You make excuses not to use your brains.
You’re making choices you can’t explain.
To you all politics is just a boring game.
When we ask, you say they’re all the same.
Flippy Hippie, you make not much sense at all.
You’ll die too when they stand us to a wall.
We know you quit thinking in elementary school
And that explains why you’re such a big fool.
We understand the reason you are so dim
You don’t see it’s us or them. You’re not them.
Later, if they get their way and the US is dead
Just remember a lot is because you stayed in bed.
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 12:55 AM UTC
Jane waited for you
by the narrow road
that led to Linch farm
the water tower visible
against the afternoon sky
of pale blue and white
cold clouds
she was dressed
in a grey coat
and her dark hair
was pinned back
with grips
you noticed
blueness
about her lips
the cold taking toll
wasn’t sure
if you would show
she said
the coldness
and such
I said I would
and I say
what I mean
you replied
once you were close to her
she took her hands
out of the coat pockets
and linked her arm
through yours
where shall we go?
she asked
you know it better
around here than I do
you choose
you said
let’s go up
the dust track
to the hollow tree
on the way up
to the Downs
she said
ok
you said
and so you walked along
and up the dust track
side by side
and she talked
of the wintery trees
and what birds
there were still about
and how she liked
spring best with the coming
of flowers and birds nesting
and you listened
looking at her
as she spoke
watching her lips move
how when she spoke
her white teeth showed
and now and then
her tongue would show
and it reminded you
of that kiss she gave you
up by Diddling church
as you stood looking
at the grave stones
and she gazed at you
and then kissed
and her tongue
touched yours
and it was like heaven
as if someone
had opened up
your heart
and stuck
their tongue in there
and as you thought
about that kiss
she talked of some girl
of a cowman
who’d got pregnant
and how did that happen?
she asked
and you said nothing
but listened on
and then you reached
the hollow tree
and climbed inside
and sat down
looking out
of the hole
in the side
and it felt cosy
in there
like a small home
and she leaned
in against you
and there was silence
and you looked at her
at her eyes
and hair
and how her lips
were parted
and her white teeth
showed and her tongue
waiting to speak
and you wondered
about that kiss again
and whether
it would happen this time
there in the hollow tree
out of sight
of others
and she showed you
tucked between
her small *******
a small locket
which used to be
her mother’s.
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 7:47 AM UTC
go to sleep
godless heap -
goddess leap
...gotta sleep
It's 2am,
for Siddartha's sake,
you ain't gonna find zen
at the other end of this computer screen.
****** I mean -
No creative dam is gonna break open tonight
(this morning)
you're all stopped up, or drained
so just stop drying.
Seriously, quit diddling with your self
doing that horrid poemry
(po-mory? poor-merry? potpourri? poopoory?)
just *******
go
to *******
sleep.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 2:39 AM UTC
Look at that Tortoiseshell
Jane said
as you stood
in the churchyard
of Diddling Church
you watched
the butterfly
pass by
and took in
its beautiful
colouring
don’t you just love butterflies?
she said
holding her hands
together as if
she were about
to pray
she was wearing
a short sleeved
flowery dress
and her dark hair
had a pink slide in it
which you gazed at
as she turned her head
to follow the progress
of the Tortoiseshell
along the sky
Never saw many butterflies
in the part of London
I came from
you said
mostly white things
with patterned wings
well now you can see
many different kinds
she said
turning to look at you
her eyes settling on you
like the butterfly had
on the flowers
in the churchyard
sure I can
you said
maybe I’ll get a book
on them
you added
she smiled
and came to you
and took your hand
and you sensed
her warmness
in your hand
felt her skin
touching yours
and she led you
over the grass
and you both lay down
a little distance
from the nearest
gravestone
and she said
my daddy says
the sky above
our heads
is the promise of Heaven
and you gazed at her
as she studied
the blue sky and white clouds
moving above
and you sighed softly
at her nearness
and an unfathomable love.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 2:23 AM UTC
Once you entered
Diddling’s small church
it cooled you both down
from the summer heat outside
Jane looked about her
she’d been here
many times before
but wanted to you show you
and let you feel
the coolness
and silence
and peacefulness
I came here first
as a child
she said
but more often at St Mary’s
at the other side
of the village
I wouldn’t have thought
any place could be
this quiet
you said
the church smelt
of flowers
and old plaster
some one had placed
a mixture of blooms
in the vase by the altar
she walked forward
her hand brushing
against the tops
of the wooden pews
on either side
one could get married here
she said
if you had few guests
and friends
you said
gazing at her dark hair
pulled tight
in a ponytail
tied with red ribbon
her light green dress
fitted loosely
her sandals held
her bare feet
maybe one wanted
few guests
maybe just a few witnesses
and the clergyman
she said softly
turning to look at you
her dark eyes
captured you
and held you fixed
for a few moments
one day perhaps
she said
doesn’t your father
come here?
you asked
occasionally if the need arises
she said
mostly he’s at
the other church
come and stand
at the front with me
she said
you walked towards her
watching her eyes
and her mouth
the lips slightly open
you stood next to her
at the altar end
the light coming through
the high windows above
she smelt of lavender
you could breathe it in
your head swayed with it
imagine us here
she said
pretend it’s our
wedding day
and we are here
and the pastor
and a couple of people
as witnesses
she held your hand
in hers
her warm flesh
her thumb
on the back
of your hand
stroking slowly
would we sing hymns?
you asked
yes two
she said
closing her eyes
and we’ll pretend
the ***** played
at the start
and finish
she added
she sniffed the air
and plenty of flowers
around us
and bridesmaids?
you said
she thought
in silence
for a few moments
yes two small girls
from the village
she said
her hand got warmer
the dampness
linked you
and who
will give you away?
you said
father of course
she said frowning
she opened her eyes
and looked at you
too many people
have come
she said
it crowds my mind
and dream
then let it just be us
and the parson
and two others
you said
she nodded and smiled
it’s good to pretend
and imagine
she said
maybe one day
it will be real
the sunlight played
and danced
upon the floor
at her feet
her thumb rubbed
deeper in to your skin
and you both walked
down the aisle
in silence again
outside
came sound
of warm summer rain.
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 2:32 PM UTC
Afraid of the leather. Afraid of the wood. So I lived in the middle where nobody stood. Never once did I ponder on whether I should-if I could drift off maybe I would.
Quite riddled I fiddled with words in the middle and whistled a dwindling song. Alone I would kindle my love for the middle and diddled a world of my own.
And here I'd cocoon in the chill afternoon and await the June holiday soon. Raise my voice to the moon; sing a joyful tune that would leave me as gay as a goon.
I hear gravel?
I hide-
and I brace for the tide stare outside and prepare to collide. Did the middle subside as the diddling dried cos I lied!? I prefer that I died.
Hearing the door ringing I'm certain you’re bringing a beating of leather to sting. No crying or bleating! No pleading or weeping! No pity is left in your eyes!
I cowered in fright.
Try to put up a fight-
or take flight before anger ignites!
I long for my middle! Escape from your plight
but no might could protect me tonight.
!
I'm leathered!
Belt weathered.
I cower and quiver so back to the middle I go.
Like shadows I slithered from pain you delivered that withered my love for your world.
Afraid of the leather. Afraid of the wood I retired to the middle where nobody stood. Never once did I ponder on whether I should-if I could leave then-
I never would.
Apr 20, 2021
Apr 20, 2021 at 5:30 PM UTC
This old man
rolled his thumb
in the door
of a beehive
while diddling
his knick
knack
into this shoe as
he sat at heaven’s
gate
knocking with the
spine of a
dying dog
chewing on
a bad bag of
bones.
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 2:01 AM UTC
Your pessimism is poisonous
Your apathy a drug
That I inject into my eyeballs
And try to call it love
I hate the way you frown at me
When you smile at your friends
Your curly hair is a bouncing castle
I can't wait for your empire's end
I try to wallow in your silence
Love you in your wall of hate
When you're sad because your boyfriend left
In a tirade of hate
I cry crystals of despondence
As you whistle your world away
I try to love you from the outside
And when I go in, you don't let me stay
I feel you text me just to pacify me
To hold in my cries and ratify the inappropriate banter that I'm scribbling
My fingers in your body as we're both fiddling
Diddling in your causes of danger and your mind is the manger
Where the savior refuses to lay his head
You must not be in the mood for anybody or anything
I'm just a sad little girl, there's only trouble I will bring
The ways in which you want me seem to change like the weather
Something in my head says I want us to be together
But i recall how temporary your intricate happiness is
But it all becomes irrelevant when I'm near your warm skin
-zaba
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 12:55 AM UTC
Jane’s parents
invited me to tea
one Saturday
(my mother said
it was ok)
so I walked along
Bug's Lane to where
she lived and knocked
at the door.
Her father opened the door
he had his dog's collar on
(he was a parson) and said
come on in Benedict
glad you could come.
I stepped into the passage
and he closed the door
and there was the smell
of polish and cleanliness
and religious pictures
on the walls.
He showed me
into the sitting room
and Jane was there
helping her mother
lay out the table
with sandwich and cakes
and other items for tea.
She smiled when she saw me
and I smiled back
her mother looked at me
and her eyes searched me
then she smiled too
and said
take a seat Benedict and relax
so I sat on the settee
and looked around the room.
There was heavy wallpaper
and other religious pictures
and crucifix on the wall
over the fireplace.
Her father disappeared
from the room and then
her mother went off
to the kitchen to get more items.
Jane said
glad you're here
I think they want
to get to know you better.
I nodded not sure
what to say
and she whispered
I said about us not having ***
and they know I wouldn't
but they just need to be sure.
I was unsure what to say
so I said ok I understand
(although I didn't
but said nothing).
The mother came back
with a huge teapot
and the father came in
with milk jug and sugar bowl
and set them down
and they hovered
about the table
like nervous hosts.
How are your parents?
her mother asked.
O they're fine
I said
Dad's working on the forestry
and Mum's keeping us
clean and well fed.
They smiled
and her father said
o that's good
I am glad they are well
and doing God's will.
Jane looked at me
her eyes bright and shiny.
Well help yourself Benedict
the father said
and we helped ourselves
to sandwiches
and the mother poured tea
and added milk and asked
about sugar
and then she talked
about my siblings and school.
Her father said
do you go to the church?
I looked at Jane
and her lovely eyes
and the small buds
of bosoms just pushing
her dress top out a little.
We go to the small church
at Diddling
I said
it's nearer and we know it better.
The father nodded and said
yes it's the smallest church
in the county
I preach there now and then
if the other parson
can't make it otherwise
I have my own church
to look after.
I nodded and saw
Jane’s lovely curve of body
the way her hips were
and I wanted to talk
to her alone
but didn't get the chance
as the parents talked
most of the time.
I listened and ate
and drank and smiled
gazing at their only child.
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 4:00 PM UTC