Just a picture of a cake.

For Cyranny’s one word challenge- enticing

A bit obscure, I’ll grant you. But she will know what I’m on about. This particular cake designed, of course, to be taken with a pinch of salt.

A picture’s worth

A phrase or two

A taste of me

A taste of you

A candle on the top

To say

We celebrate

Another day

*

It’s just a picture

Not a cake

It’s neither real

Nor a fake

Like a greeting card

I sent

Awkward words

With good intent

*

Let’s keep magic

In the air

Let’s laugh about

What isn’t there

Sweet and soft

And so enticing

A picture of the cake

We’re slicing.

*

Glamorous and Amorous

Look at you there

Blow-dried hair

You stop to pull your stockings up

The boys all stop and stare

Some they just want mothering

Or to see the bits you’re covering

Others maybe wondering

If they can make you care.

***

Me? I’m old and wiser

Emotionally a miser

I’ve seen what you are selling

And I know it isn’t real

But you are so very glamorous

And I so very amorous

Can we overlook reality?

Can we cut a deal?

Word of the day – Amorous

Bopper of a Copper

I owe most of these words to a friend of mine who wrote them 40 odd years ago and has probably forgotten about them. I am not sure how well I remember them either.

I’m a bopper of a copper

And I really dig the rhythm and blues

With my bright red socks

And my regulation blue suede shoes

My name is Jo-Jo Friday

And I’m always looking round for clues

You can see me chewing gum in the interview

After the news

I’m a cracker, not a hacker

A position I refuse to abuse.

Three things challenge …. shoes, chewing gum, cracker

Message in the sand

I owe thanks to my sensitive friend Stoner who gave birth to the idea of a message in the sand for me. I doubt that I do the idea justice.

I wrote a message for you in the sand when the tide was low.

Knowing that it would be erased, like memory, with the passage of time.

Speaking to you of things that could not be spoken

and yet I wondered if you might somehow hear it carried by the sea breeze that passed overhead on the endless journey towards the centre of everything.

Whispering.

I watched as the waves completed the relentless voyage across the oceans. Each with a message of its own.

Forever. Forever. Forever.

Every advance still closer before retreating, exhausted, back into the void.

The gentle invasion eventually eroding my carefully chosen words.

Letter by letter.

Until all was as it had been.

The grains carefully rearranged to conceal their secret.

Thursday photo prompt …. a bit late

Misreading the signals

Word of the Day – Emphatically

It was late in the afternoon and we lay together on a blanket spread out by the bank of the river. A young mother stood to our left with her son, both of them pointing excitedly at a family of ducks that had ventured out in fleet-like formation from the protective hideaway of the reeds. We could hear the little voice of the child as he carefully counted each duckling.

Other than that we were alone. A gentle breeze brought with it the first of the evening chill pressing light clothing against her skin. The sun, in the mood for seduction, made its way through the cotton of her dress and purposefully traced the lines of her body. Time, for a moment, stood still.

She smiled as I poured the last of the champagne into her glass and I could feel her eyes as she looked carefully towards me as if scrutinising my face for flaws.

“Brutus,” she whispered at last, “do you love me?”

It was a pivotal moment and one to be respected. It was a question to which the answer would remain forever etched into personal history. And so I paused momentarily and attempted to convey a look of romantic intoxication whilst I dug deep into my emotional stocks for a worthy reply.

“Absolutely emphatically,” I told told her with tenderness.

She sat up suddenly and pulled away from me. These were not, evidently, the kind of words she had been fishing for. I wondered, for a moment, if there may have been something wrong with my pronunciation. Something important that had gone missing in translation.

“What did you say?”

“Emphatically,” I repeated, “absolutely.”

I recognised my mistake in the shape of her eyes. She had been looking for something more spontaneous, more instinctual, more animalistic.

Not only her eyes, but her whole body had turned against me with contempt.

“What are you,” she hissed, “A fucking librarian?”