Inspired (inspired is perhaps not the right word) from here, where mind apparently loves misery or loves, at least, inflicting it upon others, with a list of seemingly unconnected words to somehow connect.

There is no rule suggesting that the completed work needs to make sense, at least.

Did I miss any?

*

 Let’s play a game

My little dish

Reveal to me

Your every wish

Tell me what you really want

Come dine at this here

Restaurant

I’m flush with love

And extra good

Let that not be

Misunderstood

And there’s a bonus

Yes, of course!

They say I’m hung

Just like a horse

Don’t let such talents

Go to waste

Indulge in your

Expensive taste

Don’t be embarrassed

Just have faith

I’ll keep you warm

And snug and safe

Please, no laughter

Just come across

Where you’ll be working

With the boss

 *         

Here’s todays resurrection from the tomb of shitty stuff I’ve written.

I think it’s about consent. But even with all the education and publicity there seems to be a grey area in there somewhere that we can’t define. So, with absolute respect (I mean it) for the #metoo movement, maybe it’s time some of us look back upon past behaviours and form a #youtoo sort of movement.

There’s a bit of nastiness in there somewhere, and that’s not autobiographical I wish to stress. I am not perfect, but I’ve never really got a handle on the ‘bad boy’ persona.

*

I am a rogue

I cheat. I lie.

A fact to which

You’ll testify

For you are weak

And I am strong

You felt beneath me

All along

Did not repel

My crude advance

Did not hold tight

Your underpants

Did not protect

Your fragile pride

Did not eject me

From the ride

But now you know

Just who I am

A substitute

A fake. A scam.

Do not assume

I feel your pain

You won’t make this mistake

Again

*

Here’s another one dug out of the depths. I’m not sure what it was originally about, but now it’s about meeting an aging prostitute on a street corner and finding a beauty more than skin deep. Maybe it’s also about recognising the prostitute in all of us. Or just in me – I don’t want to point the finger.

*

 

 

Look at you there

With your thinning  grey hair

A body to share

But no-one to care

 

Lift your skirt, feel the air

A tired old dare

Little boys stop and stare

Without seeing who’s there

 

These boys are your honey

But these boys have no money

They look at you funny

And run home to their mommy

 

Me? Old and wiser

An emotional miser

Out of date womaniser

But no compromiser

 

And the Gods have conspired

That we’re both sad and tired

Pretence not required

We’re no longer desired

 

We both understand

We’ve become old and bland

We have tarnished the brand

And no more in demand

 

Let it be no disgrace

That we’ve slowed down the pace

It’s the end of the race

Might we now just embrace?

 

Let me lay down my head

Let me sleep in your bed

While we’re not yet quite dead

And our blood still runs red

 

Just this moment we’ll steal

And just do as we feel

We’ll pretend that it’s real

And then call it a deal

 * 

Not drowning, waving. So not sinking, really. Just saying hello. Hi.

It’s actually hard to tell if I’m headed upstream or downstream. Either way I’m not getting anywhere. But is there anywhere to get?

Anyway, I keep stumbling over little bits and pieces that I must have done in the past and, looking at them in the present, I cringe.

So I try to repair them, normally by adding something, when subtraction is actually what’s called for.

Here is an example ….

*

Love lives in a castle of paper-thin walls

On a boat on a river approaching the falls

We head for the rapids, from there see the end

The paper is fragile and yet we pretend

That the walls stand forever and the river flows on

Though the structure is crumbling and soon will be gone

The walls will collapse and the boat will capsize

One last tender moment, one more look in your eyes

 

One more touch of your skin, one more taste of your breath

Whatever has life must one day face death

Dip a hand in the river, feel the cool of the stream

Feel your life start again as you wake from the dream

Love’s an illusion, a trick of the light

Love lasts forever, but just for one night

But love is a moment we cannot regret

Love is a gift. Lest we forget.

*

I am thinking that the word ‘life’ could be exchanged for the word ‘love’ in this piece, and perhaps the world would be a better place if we always thought of those words as interchangeable.

Maybe I’ll do another one tomorrow. Why not? But also …. why?