Noli Me Tangere (or Keep Your Distance)

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Hugging him, Embracing her,
Are very clearly now ruled OUT.
No Touching, feeling, gripping, grabbing,
That is a law we must not flout.

A kiss, a cuddle? … Better not,
Intimacy is not allowed;
Feel, pinch, rub are all verboten,
All off-limits – Shout it loud!

So please don’t touch me, don’t come near,
Stay apart, just keep your distance;
Take a powder, keep away,
You cannot come to my assistance.

No high Fives, no shaking hands,
No contact sports, no postman’s knock.
Life is grinding to a halt,
They’ve got us in a strict headlock.

So, if you feel like being contiguous
Remember the two metre rule,
Intimacy’s not now permitted,
It’s just like being back at school.

Courting couples, you have been warned,
Stap your vitals, Cool your ardour,
Or sure as rotten eggs is eggs
You’ll find yourself with a court order.

P ‘raps tactile anaesthesia’s needed
To stem our need to interact,
For touchy-feelies are no more,
Now that is just a matter of fact.

NOTE:  Noli me tangere (‘touch me not’) is the Latin version of a phrase spoken, according to John 20:17, by Jesus to Mary Magdalene when she recognized him after his resurrection. The biblical scene gave birth to a long series of depictions in Christian art from Late Antiquity to the present. Pre-Raphaelite painters of the mid and late 19th Century were particularly fond of this as a subject for their paintings.

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An Act Of Creative Disappointment

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I sit and I look at my keyboard,
That world of words unexplored,
The umbilical cord to my computer,
All else completely ignored.

I stare at those magnetic keys
As they draw me into their world;
And so often to start I just freeze,
Before slowly ideas are unfurled.

As enlightenment slowly is born
My fingers react to my brain;
At their touch then the words will emerge,
A true feat of legerdemain.

Every jot, every tittle I fix;
The whole keyboard is hot to my touch.
Then I look at what I have written –
Do I like it? – No not very much!

Stop the world I want to get off

green and multicolored globe

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Stop the world I want to get off

 

Stop the world I want to get off;
Incarceration does not suit me;
My home a prison;
My life is given.
Inertia rules, no remedy.

Four walls do now a prison make
And cabin fever is setting in.
On my study walls
Depression falls
Since holding you became a sin.

It has to be this isolation.
How can I live missing so much?
So please I ask
God speed this task,
I’ll give forever for just a touch.

 

Chambord-Loire-France

A touch will be enough

monochrome photo of couple holding hands

Photo by Min An on Pexels.com

A touch will be enough

I think of my first love
who escaped south
and who now faces old age
with a brightness
far better than death’s impending despair.

My last love,
All passion spent,
Was of a quiet deep fulfilment
of silent bliss
engaging me
while the blackbird
for both of us now
sings in the highest tree
and, with a distant touch of the hands,
a slower walk with the waves
on that distant shore,
bird and sea,
my soul is fed,
listening to their songs
keeping at bay life’s end.

For now
I dream converse,
I listen to my memories,
resisting that clouding of the vision
which elapsed time brings.

I allow perception of days to come
in which appreciative eye
and halcyon heart
will enable a new closeness,
one of being together
in harmony with both past and present,
and the future becomes again
brighter.

A touch will be enough.

 

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