I admire poets.

I read a bit of poetry here and there from people who seem to know what they are doing. I can’t claim to understand all of it and it’s hard, sometimes, for me to tell the difference between the poetry which goes way over my head and the poetry that just doesn’t make sense. I was never good at poetry during school. But that goes for a lot of things ….

Most of all, though, I admire poets for their bravery. The very best poems come from poets who are willing to hang their emotions out for everyone to see.

Now, I don’t really know how to write poetry, but even if I did I just don’t think that I’m capable of such bravery. I prefer to hide my emotions behind a sort of slap-stick carnality.

I read a poem from Ivor, here. I’m sure a lot of you are familiar with Ivor’s body of work and the deep well of emotion that he draws from. I was inspired by this one sufficiently to create an alternative version – not as any sort of competition but rather to indicate that I keep my own well of emotion tightly sealed, and that’s why, perhaps, I will never be called a poet ….

***

I’m hot for you, baby

I’m burning red

Want to rip off all your clothes

And throw you on the bed

You’re glowing like a beacon

And I’m seekin’ your heat

Going to lick you all over

Starting at your feet

Your love is like an ember

I remember, how you scream

I want to jump into your fire

My desire. So obscene

Is it some kind of virus?

Is it something I can catch?

I want to keep that fire smokin’

Keep it stokin’. Light your match.

***

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

Here’s some more silly stuff representing 10 minutes of my morning that is gone forever.

The important thing is, however, to point out the fact that this is my third post in three days. That’s correct. You read it right. 3 out of 3. Possibly a new personal record.

The idea (though I may be a bit off track about where it was supposed to go) comes from Yves and you can see the photo prompt with her or with Cheryl.

I don’t really know what it’s all supposed to mean but who of us has not posed in front of the mirror (or just in our minds, perhaps) and revealed other incarnations of ourselves that we would reveal to no other?

**

No one knows

How you pose

At home

Alone

And reveal those

Others within

Safe from prying eyes

Take off your disguise

A so to begin

Another life

Mother, wife

Lover to another

And then forever

Whatever is true

Whatever has been

Can be seen

Only by you.

**

Actually … to use the word poetry must be a bit insulting to actual poets. I apologise unreservedly.

Let’s just call it a post. But take note. I posted yesterday as well. So that’s two days in a row! I’m on a roll!

This comes in response to Eugi and via Rugby843. (with all football in hibernation I just like saying the word ‘rugby’ … it gives me hope of returning to a normality in which nothing really matters all that much).

It is supposed (according to the prompt) to be about harmony and that seems, to me, to be a rare commodity these days and probably always has been.

*

If God created all we know

She must have done so long ago

And then lost interest half way through

Found something else she’d rather do

Lots of bits left unconnected

Major errors uncorrected

Oh God! Why did you leave us here?

Your last instructions so unclear

Those Ten Commandments. What a curse!

We daily make things so much worse

And so we know we’ll never see

A universe in harmony

*

Just to be clear … I’m a staunch atheist, but I like having God around to share some of the blame.

My pal Kate wrote a post about overhead drones scanning her local secluded beach. Was she suggesting that our government are watching our every move looking for signs of socialist uprisings? Are there emotionless invisible men with secret code names hiding in underground fortresses somewhere out in the desert monitoring our every move and registering any hint of anti-government sentiment? Maybe. I wouldn’t put it past them. But I think, more likely, such drones belong to giggling fourteen year old boys searching for nudists.

Anyway …

It made me feel a bit insignificant and unimportant. I can’t think of a single thing I do that anyone would want to know about … much less watch.

I’m waving to spies

Who don’t wave to me

I’m guilty as hell

But can anyone see?

They hover above

Ever so near

They’re tapping my phone

But does anyone hear?

Let me pay for my crimes

At the end of the day

Just put me in custody

Put me away

Lock me up tight

Bury the key

The community needs

Some protection from me

You have my address

I’m not hard to find

I have evil thoughts

Aren’t you reading my mind?

I’m not paying taxes

I’ve had an affair

I’m taking drugs nude

Doesn’t anyone care?