My doctor as you
Call me your sweeties
I want your fleshy needle
I want your love
I want kisses

I fantasize about holding ands with you
While riding your fleshy needle
Our eyes smiling at each other
As I lean in to kiss you

Doctor
Examine me with your fleshy needle
You tounge and your
Hands
Explore my body
As I explore you sweetly

If I was a candy
I'd be a sour
warhead.
Pink.
The longer you
let me sit,
the sweeter I get
and at the very
center
is a gooey bit
that goes down
easy.
Everybody loves
a peppermint,
but I'm not that
plain.

As I ponder, perplexed by the possibility
Of a premature passing that may present itself to me
I consider and calculate
Though my conclusion may be crude
That the finest fix for my fear is a feasting of food
I munch on a morsel, my mouth making moisture
Overwhelmingly open to offal and oysters
I'd take them, temptation takes its toll
Curiosity for calories that I can't control
I'd have them, Hoover them, heck I'd hoard 'em
But by now I believe it's basically boredom
Not a necessity to nibble the nosh
It's late I ate a plate at eight, I can wait my gosh
No, I know there is no need
To slurp on soup or scoff some seeds
Only fatigue fuelling the feeling to feed
Got to get to grips with this gross and grotesque greed
Choking on choices, trembling in my chair
Do I punt for the pudding, the peach or the pear?
Selecting such seductive sweeties
Or dealing with death, diets and diabetes?
While I wonder and weep about what will win
My insatiable starvation stumbles on a sin
Not funny you'll find when you're finished and fat
'Cause in the kitchen on the counter there's a KitKat
Four fiendish fingers fascinate the feeling
So seductive, my senses soaring to the ceiling
Try to meet it, cheat it, beat it, defeat it
But what the hell, I don't care, I'll just ****** eat it.

Created me
Re-animate me and
love me
On the very slab you made me
I want to spend my re-animated life with you
So you smile at me as we make love on the slab
You hold me hand
And say you created me
Out of love and desire
You hold *** if not to let me go
Sweeties
I love you
Make no mistake I am your bride

The flowers fall like sweeties
in the packet of my mind.
The answer flows completely
from the hand that stops the time.

The questions that were seeking
could potentially leave us blind
to the poetry that's creeping
to the rhythm of the times.
  
The finders fees of finding gold
are deeply grained in laws.
The crawling finger grasping
for the love of ***** ******.

The sailor tongues are swaggering
with anticipating  throws,
of innocent and eloquent
shows of pretty hoes.

As I decide to make love
To you
My loving Herbert
My beautiful MD
I not only cross the line
Between doctor and patient
But I expose my vulnerability
To you
Am I too trusting
Sweeties

We need to speak more in
terms of endearment.

More honeys, darlings
sweeties and dears
don't appear to be important
but they are.

Love can be so subtlely
slipped into conversation
by simply placing a
term of endearment
after the phrase
you wish to say.

I'm tired tonight, dear.
versus
I'm tired tonight.

*There is no comparison!

Do you remember that day
when I gave you a candy
made of deep senses of mine?
You were glad like a child
and I also felt blessed.

Then I came with sweeties
with strong cognac inside,
you felt dizzy for a while,
then suddenly brushed aside.
Thus, I was deeply distressed.

You said - 'no more sweeties!
I have no heart to digest.
They are too bitter for me
and are full of poisons
so, my feelings they ******'.

They were in fact medicines
prepared from the pains.
Needed to add them your love,
but you gave them back to me
just for their bitter taste.

Certain, Fresh Lad, your Craft's Promise apply
Matter subtract from the Plym's pheromones late
Your own Best Soul; Youth enhance and reply
The Tanned One's Lights; And Career concentrate
One Message sent from your Parents abroad
Which mentored by your Tweeting Aunt confirm
Clip fast your Arms; And Feet embrace the Board
Kick the Meerkat's fears and your Lion burn
So when these Sweeties witness your Best Art,
That same Pastel you carry everyday
Is in you - not There - complete on your Part
And may these Blessings always come your way.
Being your own Boss, your Goal's smile conquer
Burn those Judges; And douse them with Water.

drip fed,
being fed on drips and dregs and how many campylobacter in six dairy fresh eggs?
raw meat, diced, sliced or crushed and
pushed through,
acts by the government *******, nothing's your own,
go it alone but the eye in the sky, on the wall, up your **** always follows you,
what's the world coming to and how many bacilli in the ideas that you see in your minds eye?

fed up to the back teeth? rip them out with the pliers and you get no relief, not from the welfare and you share and share and only when no one is there do you get your sweeties and treats from the N.H.S.

We live in the cesspit and they smell of roses which in turn look like dog **** and we're still being drip led by the rich and the well fed and it's doing my head in.

Skeletal?
I want to go back to pre-foetal
before fertilization was an i or the dot on some distant horizon,
untapped as potential and potentially dangerous.

Down the entry ..up we ran
Fighting ,shouting, laughing cans
Days of old where nothing mattered
Play outside until ya shattered

Knock on doors and make a scarper
Light a banger .. could n be dafter
Chase ya mates on bikes all rusty
Pulling wheelies ...fetching plasters

Build a den from scraps of wood
Hide for ages till its grub
Bottles sought to take to shop
Swap for sweeties gobs that stop

Not a phone nor worried sight
When you turn up late at night
Eat ya nosh see Kojak chase
Fire lit ya in dads place

Jimmy's on all snuggled in
flick 3 channels theres nothing on  
Of to bed with ***** feet
Only bath time once a week

It's dandy
Finding randy girls
As macho guys seem to
I drool at scenes
Like tight blue jeans
When a wiggle warms the view
I'm a gangster
For ****** samplers
And sweeties that crowd the beach
I used to shop
Till my eyes would lock
Where my right and left eyes meet
And when I gaze
At perfect sways
A tom-tom fills my chest
And I still cheer
For a lovely rear
But I race back to the best
For I love the one
That shares our home
She stirs me quite enough
In her gown
It flutters down
When we peel down to the buff
I can't afford
The babes on Broad
And cheating is too drastic
But I've long chose
My perfect rose
And hmmmmm she's still fantastic

Off to the shop at the top of the road, to spend a lot of money, that I know I ain't got.
Need to get myself some sweeties,  provide me with a toothless grin.
Can't think what else I need to buy, maybe just,  maybe a little slice of humble pie.

i always aimed at returning Nietzsche's ping-pong serve of poet-philosopher, as philosopher-poet... well, you know, any vanity project will do these days, given our current celebrity culture... there's nothing celebratory about it, so my little festivity of hope in establishing a self-style vocabulary might be too much for Gucci... but you got to try and whiff up a tornado of absinthe sweeties in licorice black (lee ko reesh).*

there's only one argument i cling on to,
it is theological,
i'm biased toward the theological argument
always,
because i've seen the ontological argument
become desecrated by oncology -
every theologian argues the same:
there's a god, because, to be frank,
whatever ontology provides us, it leaves us more
bewildered than anything:
how we expressed our freedom will
never be compensated in terms of how
others expressed theirs...
so even Kant said: my ontology is based on god...
so his contemporaries said:
my theology is based on no god...
    which is why Kant professed a theology
  without an ontology, and his contemporaries
professed an ontology without a theology -
or as the other, in existentialist terms might have
suggested: timing - but no one desires a godly status,
so even his promenade timing made affinities
with serfs begging for a watch rather than watching
their shadows dwarf at noon...
                                            this is called
translating rhyme into philosophy, or philosophical rhyming...
words of close proximity are prime exponents,
given the spelling, i.e. the suffix - but which are totally
antonymous - they look so alike, but then thinking
provides disparity of intention, not so lazily done
with red
                  and dead...
                                              head
       and Pb...                                      is it?

you know
to lofty heights
they praise
the spirit and the other cliche, the soul
(something they can’t see)
and they deride the body
(something they can touch, but don’t)

But O sweethearts
you’ll never get into other dimensions
if you don’t know your present
so touch your bodies, sweeties...
never fear, sweethearts
of legit joining of body and body
just enjoy the *** with no guilt
it’s OK to exhaust yourselves
to moan and sigh and lie tired
loving body side by body
and to whisper:
Oh...that’s good, isn’t it?
and to answer:
*Hmmm....We ought to do this again soon, baby...

A tube full
they may be smarties
they're different colours
so I suspect they are.

I'll never render, only lie
through teeth so cracked,
so broken. By the fluid of
desire that has tainted me.

Forgive my splinters and
excuse my scars which
scream in your face and
strangle you, Father.

Idle consoles and dusty
comics. They lie upstairs,
with much more honesty
than me. Your bearded child.

It took short of ten years,
to grow long, *****, and
poor. I have been taken
by the concrete of London.

I have a new found love,
a libido for burn and for a
*****. ***** of the promise
land. Intravenous fling.

But I am back now, Father,
with some chocolate,
sweeties and smack. I am here.
And I want all that you have.

Daisy you always loved me,
As I loved you from the first
We played together, talked
Ate sweeties and cakes
Watched television.

To be with you each week
With my bag of goodies
They are special memories
They are what is meant
By a life.

Love Mary x

O FORTUNA!
("You Will Become Yourself")

She's three.
A distinct reek of Old Spice!

"And who's been splashing on
my aftershave!"

I growl in my best
Daddy Bear voice.

"Me...me!"
she answers in her best George Washington.

"Mummy's perfume
smells yucky sweet!"

She a good judge of smell
this little girl.

What is...what isn't nice
sides with the Old Spice.

"So. Are we right then?"
I ask.

We go for a walk.
The cat on the leash.

Because.
We haven't got a dog.

And so we head off.
Dad, cat and little girl.

The cat none too pleased
at "What's that meow smell!"

Old Spice
not for cats.

Only for
Dads and daughters.

*

Old Spice is the smell of my Dad...it is forever him.... deeply ingrained in the olfactory memory of many generations...the essence of childhood thus becoming an archetypal perfume that stands for all things that he meant...safety, warmth, and security.
It was what I always gave him as a birthday and Christmas present....saving up all my pennies to be able to do so and foregoing chocolate and sweeties all during the year. My mum on the other hand
was always the equally iconic 4711. I still have both in my bathroom even now...how Proust like!
So it was odd to pass it on to...my daughter.
Her mum said it always reminded her of a Mexican drink called Horchata de arroz which is flavoured with the Aztec Marigold. and made her feel drunk even if she hadn't imbibed.
Darling daughter said it smelt of mummy's potpourri on the coffee table.
Oh and of... Daddy.
Old Spice was founded in New York by William Lightfoot Schultz in 1934. He was a soap and toiletries maker, and his first fragrance was, ironically, a woman’s scent: Early American Old Spice.
It is said that Shultz was inspired by his mother’s rose jar when creating this early version of Old Spice. A rose jar usually held a moist potpourri of rose petals, spices and herbs in a base of salt to preserve them. Those notes can still be detected in Old Spice’s products to this day. This perfume was released in 1938 to great acclaim, and he followed it with some men’s products in time for Christmas sales at the end of the year.
Although the original scent of classic Old Spice has most likely changed with time and reformulation (as a number of fragrances do), it still retains its primary scent profile, and it could be argued that it represents its own classification. Unlike many other men’s scents that fall easily into labels like fougère, leather or musk, Old Spice brought carnation, pimento, nutmeg and cinnamon to the forefront, omitting some of the classic men’s notes of pine, vetiver and lavender. This iconic mixture summoned up images of seafaring explorers and adventure, but the image and reality were often the same: Old Spice found its way wherever American G.I.’s were stationed during and after the war, and this helped to influence its proliferation around the globe.

As James the first of Aragon was supposed to have said in his best Valencian: "Açò és or, xata!" ("That's gold, pretty girl!")

You said that you were abducted by aliens
At age 13
Me to my love but I was autopsy by them
It makes me giggle that your jealous of my encounters with the fifth kind
But sweeties
I have been severely bullied because it too
I want to cuddle with you want tell
My story to you
While loving you
Will you tell me yours
Sweet West

i
love at the center
bursting and melting
like chocolate cordials
with irish cream filling
one bite bursting
not out but in
my mouth open and
ready
awaiting
sweetness and cream
sweeties
surrounding lovers
look on
with warm honey eyes
waiting and warm

halloweens upon us get the sweeties in

put them all in bags let halloween begin

children at the door doing trick or treats

you are at the ready with a bag of sweets.



dressed up in there costumes witches vampires too

looking very scary to try and frighten you

carrying there pumpkins lighting up the night

happy smiling faces a halloween delight.



bringing lots of memories when were children too

and all the trick or treating that we used to do.

Half a pound of sweeties, all shades of your choice
Drape a couple of teddy bears around for luck
Light some fragrant candles and relax
You will be surprised how little time it took.
Pour hot melted smooth milk chocolate
into little piles topped with fudge and toffee
find the cream all whipped just waiting ready
and sit right down with a cup of steaming coffee

Leaves falling effortlessly,
Elegantly grasping the ground,
Trees holding tightly,
To amber creations
That have been worked on all year round.

A gust of icey air,
Foreshadowing future cold,
Rain and hail battering down,
All begging desperately,
To have their story told.

A colour faded hoodie,
Swallowing in its size,
A warming mug of cocoa,
Comforting us through,
These shadowed lies.

The fire tinted season,
Filled with sweeties and disguise,
In it the roots are hidden,
A dark and clever monster's,
Slow but scary rise.

Lollipop ladies and lollipop men
guiding the children over the road
to school and then back again,
I like lollipop men
but
like lollipop ladies more.

Sixpence could buy you a lot
A plastic doll from Woolworths
Crayons and cut - out books
A pair of socks
Packet of curby grips
Box of handkerchiefs
Half a yard of lace
Cheap lipstick
Flannel for face
Pears soap
A remote boat.

The counters of Woolworths
Were stacked with joy
Something for all the
Boys and girls
Suspenders for mother
Shaving stick for dad
And packets of sweeties
That we all had.

Love Mary x

Paper Bag .

In a cupboard above the fridge,
Containing dinner plates,
And useful letters,
Stamped with dates,
Was a shelf,
Deep and wide,
With hidden things,
Kept inside.
The cupboard had a door,
And a shiny latch,
Not actually forbidden,
To open that catch.

And so it fell on a Summer's day,
That mother peeped inside,
Feeling as she often did,
For the bag of sweetiepies,
And all the day she nibbled,
Tempted by the taste,
The nearness of the sweetness,
She could not erase.
By four o'clock she worried,
The bag was getting thin,
Better go out shopping,
To replace the toffees in.
And so it was that father,
With his generous heart,
Offered in the evening ,
The sweeties,
Without remark.

I too ate the sweeties but never let the bag get too thin.
Love to my dear parents Grace and Bill  from Mary **

Getting past your sell by date
Hinges creaking,
can't open the gate.
That's life.
Can't remember what you've  just done
Cup a tea lately,
not taste of fun.
That's life.
Sitting in gods waiting room
Accepting age with impending doom
That's life.
Sitting in your comfy chair
Feeling more dead than alive
Ooh dear you silly old ***
You've just reached 95.
That's a life.
no more aged isms
No more blood
in the heart
That's it my sweeties
I'm just about to ****.
That's life.
The end.

When you were a little girl
I came to play each Monday
We had such fun as did Mum
Sitting at the covered table
Drawing pictures and writing poems
Cutting and sticking
Our hearts were glowing

We loved the dollies and the flowers
Cuddled up and played about
Barney came and looked around
To see if I had sweeties found
Milo in his pushchair
Dark brown eyes and softest hair
Always gave a smile to me
When I came and stayed for tea.

At your house I loved to be .


Love Mary

Thank you to Daisy ,Barney ,Milo and Katie , love Mummy ,Grandma ***

GERTIE.  

A family of nine
Mother died
Father took a gun but no one knew
He blew
For the sorrow was too much
I heard.
But you my children's Nana
With your country life
Potato digging
Outside toilet
Did not expect
A Rolls Royce
You came to visit regularly
And at our door
My children stood
Arms wide for your smile
The smell of lipstick
On their cheek
At each third weekend
Roast beef in paper bag
Toys and sweeties galore
At first I found it hard
Different flesh I suppose
But came to love you
As my own
A second mother
Not home grown.

And when you died
At eighty
From a brain tumour
I felt I had lost
Someone I could trust
Stoic saviour of my soul
Whose knitting
I have still.

Love Mary

To Aunty Betty my children's wonderful Nana from Walthamstow. Thank you for all your love and I m

There is a brimming cup of rapture
When the blooms bow for buterflies;
There is a cup for me, too, the sucker
If you let me kiss thy lips of sweeties