Late Love

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LATE  LOVE

Eagerly he jumped into bed
His vows to now fulfil
His lady fair sat on the bed, 
Took a little pill. 

Seductively she stripped and then
Slipped on her pink silk gown;
Opened the drawers beside the bed
She twirled and then sat down. 

Slowly she took her dentures out, 
Popped them into a box. 
Beside this she placed her spectacles, 
Her things, her rings, her rocks. 

Off came her hair, a huge blonde wig, 
Into the drawer it followed. 
A few more pills went in her mouth, 
Then these she swiftly swallowed.

Next a glass eye was taken out, 
Put in a velvet box, 
Then placed sedately in the drawer
Beside those golden locks.

She then unscrewed a wooden leg, 
Wrapped it in a napkin. 
That also went into the drawer
“What else to come?” I’m asking.

Until, she said, “At last my dear, 
Now I am all yours.”
But I was undecided, p’raps
I’d be better in those drawers.

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Not Nice

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Scoundrel, ruffian, thug
Villain, rogue, and gangster 
Slimeball, badass, scum,
Miscreant, knave and monster. 

He wears the habit badly
Unkempt and badly shod
His words are dark and dreadful
No asset to man or god.

Given to coarse bad mouthing, 
Selfish to the core;
No thought but for self pity;
A monumental bore. 

His paucity of language
Discourteous, full of spite, 
Repeating without caution, 
Each word is made to bite.

Disdainful, unforgiving, 
Unpleasant and uncouth. 
A nasty slice of manhood, 
A product of his youth. 

And now he’s reached adulthood
His world is black and grey. 
Unheeding those around him
He intends to have his say. 

He’ll always be remembered
As a nasty piece of work;
A blot on the horizon, 
A slob, an oaf, a birk.

A throwback Neanderthal;
I thank my lucky stars
I never really knew him, 
No page in my memoirs. 

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A Father’s Idiomatic Advice

people meeting workspace team

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Advice from Father to Son
consisting of a collection of popular idiomatic phrases

 

Just gird your loins 
And grit your teeth, 
Above, below, 
Beside, beneath. 

Staunch the flow, 
Don’t quit the race. 
Don’t pinch your nose 
To spite your face. 

Scratch your back
And hold your tongue;
Never old, 
Forever young. 

Take my hand
Don’t hang your head;
Fly your kite, 
Don’t swing the lead. 

Grab that chance
To play the game;
Seize the day
And end your shame. 

Stap not your vitals, 
Sling not your hook, 
Dish not the dirt, 
Don’t spoil your looks.

Yes, kill the time, 
Then make my day. 
Play the fool, 
But make it pay. 

Crash the car,
If you must, 
But count the cost. 
All ends in dust. 

Don’t pull my leg, 
Don’t make me sick. 
Don’t twist my arm, 
No ‘Kiss Me Quick’.

Don’t dig your grave
Or cook the books. 
Just take your time 
And fill your boots. 

Life is short, 
Not what it seems,
So split those hairs
And spill those beans. 

Here today, 
Gone tomorrow. 
Good grief, goodbye, 
Beg, buy or borrow. 

Prick your conscience, 
Burst the bubble. 
Pop the question – 
Don’t ask for trouble. 

Don’t tie me up 
Don’t tie me down;
Just hold your tongue, 
Don’t act the clown. 

I hope these help, 
Tropes you should heed. 
Take them to heart, 
Wise words indeed. 

For after all
Is said and done 
You are my
One and only son.

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The Arrangement

closed up photo of man in black blazer facing tablet

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Yes?… No! 

Why not? … Headache!

Later? …  Maybe! 

Tomorrow? … Unlikely! 

When? … Sometime! 

 Soon?  … Perhaps!

Here?  … Somewhere! 

Where? … Dunno! 

Any ifs? … Plenty!

Affair?  … Don’t you dare!

Separation? … Impractical! 

Divorce? … Costly!

Forget it? … Better! 

For now? … For ever! 

As we were? … As we are! 

OK? … OK! 

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Reverie #4 … Still Waters

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STILL  WATERS

 

No. Not Muddy Waters,
Nor even Crystal Waters.
It was Still Waters.
Yes, that’s what we called him.

He called himself Walter.
Walter Waters from Watford
And places South of the Gap.
My one-time boss
Head man
Big chief of the Trendy Tribe
Leader of the Pliant Pack.

I could never fathom him.
Not him
Nor his fawning hangers-on.
Still waters run deep they say.
I’d say that still waters are stagnant,
Not much running there
Algae-filled, dark green and smelly
– Rancid in fact,
And deliriously avoidable.

Yes, that’s him without doubt.
Going nowhere – fast or any other speed.
Him to a ‘t’ ;
a Capital ‘T’.
I’d say that fits his bill.

Yet he thinks he’s life and soul of the party.
God’s Gift to the Agency.

Some party!
Some life?!
Worth a dream,
But never a second meeting.

 

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Scarecrow Collection

Photographs from RHS Wisley, Surrey, UK. 2008 . . . WHB. ©

( Click on individual photographs to enlarge.)

Scarecrow Collection

Scarecrow Collection
Get in the queue;
For your entertainment
Learn something new.

Ladies and Gents
Fops and Flappers,
Molls and Pole Dancers
Call Girls and Slappers.

Broads and Dames
Wide Guys and Tramps,
Hippies and Harpies
Sirens and Vamps.

Divas and Dandies
Nimbies and Yuppies,
Minxes and moppets
Harpies and Hippies.

Beatniks and Broads
Belles and Babes,
Dandies and Fops
Jacks of all Trades.

Coquettes and Milk Maids
Nurses and Nannies,
Mods and Rockers
Goths and Grannies.

Scarecrow Collection
Roll up and view;
Won’t frighten the birds
But might scare you.

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BREXIT ???

brexit

 

Euro? … EU? …  Eee You?
Let us hear your point of view 
You know, don’t you? . Last of the few.
Brexit ? …  Brexin ?  …  Brexout ? 
Let’s shake dem votes about. 

 

We’ll do the 
‘Yes Sir – No Sir’
In, Sir… Out, Sir
I say – you say
We’ll pay – they’ll pay 
Good deal – Bad deal
Some deal – No deal

So then, why not? 
Let’s vote again
As we did that summer
Yes, let’s vote again
As we did that year
Just remember when
We were younger then
Make us think again
All might not be in vain
(Though if we abstain
Will that dull the pain?) 

People’s Vote or Final Say?
Junker or Teresa May?
Talk of Backstops and red lines
A hundred thousand million times
Border hard or border soft
Must keep the Euro flag aloft
(Mine’s the Union, Jack!) 

Yes, let’s vote again
‘Cos that’s Democracy –
And we do like to vote
For that’s Bureaucracy
Then maybe let’s do it yet again
Long live Hypocrisy
So that Government
of the people,
by the people,
for the people,
Will be given birth
And shall not perish from the Earth.

Yes, that’s what it’s all about!

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The Vagrant

Berlin1930s

The Vagrant – WHB …  Pen & Sepia Wash

The Vagrant

Trapped in this
The world’s darkness
Imprisoned with the dead
Penned in this penitentiary
Another life I’ve led

A world unknown surrounds me
And never will unfold
For life exists without me
On such a slender thread I hold

Existence is my penance
My lot
The cross I wear
Nor health
Nor sickness please me
And who is there to care

Caged in perpetuity
Circumscribed by wire
Fettered by well meaning
Yet situation dire

Leave me here to rot
While no one waits my ending
No one guards my cradle
Situation pending

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A Politician’s Thirst For Power

person dropping paper on box

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Members of the British Parliament  are currently throwing their hats into the ring in the hope of becoming the next Tory leader and prime minister. The earlier number of 13 hopeful candidates has now been reduced to eleven.  Perhaps there are more to come, or maybe others will think again and withdraw their names from the list.  The Conservative electorate awaits  .  .  .bar-yellow

 

A Politician’s Thirst For Power

Give me hope and lend me foresight,
I must not wait till it’s too late
Perhaps I might
Join the fight,
Grasp at chance and seal my fate

Please, tell me to refrain from trying, 
Tell me now to stop and think. 
Am I helping, 
Ego-crying, 
Will I take things to the brink? 

Is it time to reconsider, 
Time to stop, not interfere? 
Time to ponder, 
Time to wonder, 
Will my offer cost me dear? 

My party needs me like a headache, 
Yet another cross to bear. 
I’m a chancer, 
Fate enhancer. 
Should I do it, should I dare?

Better not, time’s not quite right, 
. . . To be or not to be?
Don’t take a bet, 
My time’s not yet . . . 
Wait a year or two and see. 

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Let’s Go A-cooarting – A Tykish Tale

Roseberry Topping

THINK TYKE

Risk assessment
Forward planning;
Think ahead
Where you’re ganning.

Trip the Dale
I fancy that.
Today’s assignment
Meet Chop Yat.

Ower the moors
Lyke Wake Walk;
Risks involved,
But let them gawp.

Along the runnel,
Beside the beck.
Could I care less?
What the ‘eck!

Meet up as
Our way we wend
Up Sparrow Lane
Yon far end.

Off to see my bobby dazzler,
Sweet lass o’ mine,
For now and aye
For thee I pine.

Out o’ t’way lad,
Let me pass
Ow do then,
Mi bonnie lass?

Nether nowt nor summat this,
‘Twere thee thissen wot seddit
But now, for real, what’s next is here,
Just lie back and let it.

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  • Tyke (dialect), an English dialect of Northern England spoken in the English county of Yorkshire  (Wikipedia)

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