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Out of date womaniser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?

In response to http://Weekend Writing Prompt #377 – Reverberate A word

*

Sister, I’m not feeling great

For in my head reverberate

Echoes of both love and hate

That words cannot enunciate

A thunderstorm which won’t abate

And blows towards expiry date

This mortal coil, the endless wait

Before the grave I bow to fate

* 

Come on! Give me a break! It’s difficult to express anything in 43 words, especially optimism.

I was reading the response to a photo prompt From Fandango where he professes his inexhaustible love for his betrothed (I think that’s who he’s talking about, anyway) much in the manner that Mick Jagger did so many years ago. It’s important that you follow the link and read his poem before mine to embrace the sweet sincerity of his words.You’ll note that the original photo prompt is a little different to my own, also.

But I thought I might supply an alternative version – a sort of Yin to his Yang and a black to his white but providing, nonetheless, a vague sparkle of hope for those of us who, in the games of love, always finish somewhere outside the medals.

And I thought it time for me to be silly again. Sometimes I fall into the dark chasm of seriousness and have to drag myself back out. I think people like me more when I’m silly.

*

Wild horses. A mule

And me such a fool

With a love that must gallop away

For I have no defence

When just over the fence

The stallions are cutting my hay

 

For I’m clumsy and plain

With a fading old mane

With big hooves that just get in the way

I’m lacking the pace

To compete in this race

So no more I’ll implore you to stay

 

It is pointless, of course

They’re all hung like a horse

Whatever they have, I have not

But my love please don’t worry

I’m not in a hurry

Once you’ve galloped perhaps we can trot

* 

P.S. you might also note Fandango’s warning about the possibility of reading his material on an illegal site – he is apparently the victim of some sort of intellectual property theft. There is no such chance of reading my stuff anywhere else. But if you do, let me know. I’d be thrilled!