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Dirty 30 in 30

4

Composed in my head, just before sleep,
the perfect poem, the one to draw
worldwide acclaim and shower down riches.
So where did it go? Out there
with the dream people
clutching at my memory, just out of reach
lost n the sinking sands of reality.
 
5 Clerihew

Attila the Hun
was never much fun.
Deprived of a wife,
in her name made more strife.
 
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1-1

What was...

I used to think I could open
any man’s pages,
run my finger
along the lines,
hover over a word…
let it sink in
slowly, like a salve
under layers of skin.
Feel how it tasted.

Perhaps it was my own book
I wanted to open,
spread my pages wide,
feel his index finger
run down the inside of the spine.
I offered simple words
and too little wisdom,
hoped only that I, too, could
connect with the universe.

I’ve misplaced that lifetime,
and it me.
 
6

Are you another page n my life,
or merely a bookmarker
temporarily underlining
unfamiliar words?
 
7

In knots of candy coloured bonds
you set my spirit free. All responsibility
now yours, lead me blindfolded Master,
for I have no need to see, this orgasmic
pleasure rolling in, sweeping over me.
 
8

Lilac and Choisya Ternata
vie in the night garden,
scented Springtime promises
of seasons yet to come.
 
9

What do you write when you're as tired as hell?
Sitting staring into space awaiting a muse,
any muse would do, as your eyes close
only to jerk awake with a stiff neck.
............ This........ and that's nothing
to write home about. Maybe a witty title
might save it from oblivion.
Nightmare on Epigram Street? *deleted*
zzzzzzzzz .......... wh.. what?
 
10

Clutching self righteousness
round her like a cloak,
Annie fended off less considered
arguments with a stubbornness
that drove her friends to wonder
if she was right after all
........... or just delusional!
 
12

What if this isn't the real life
but the dream one is?
When this body dies
do we go back to that one?
Is dying really only the end of a dream?
 
13

Your children will change
the face of the earth
like nothing ever could before.
We've waited a very long time
for you, and now
we have you.
 
14

I sometimes think I'm nearing
the end of this life and yes it's a cliche
but where in the hell did those years go?

The hands that once earned me a living
on a keyboard, now shake uncontrollably,
are steered by some essential tremor.

I don't sing so much around the house
anymore, too many fags break the top notes
like the ash they leave in the ashtray.

I should give up but I won't, I'm stubborn
Diabetes took away so many pleasures,
so it's not taking my cigarettes too.

Yes I know 'fags' is an antisocial word to you
but I'm English and it isn't here, it's a normal
everyday slang word for cigarettes,

As i said I'm stubborn, too stubborn to die
when it should have been my time.
I've already met death and spat in his eye.

I'll go when I'm ready and not before
because I believe it's like groundhog day
I'll be round again. Maybe I'll get it right this time

But don't bet on it
 
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15 ish

Stuck here in Summer
nearing the Winter of my life,
hope Springs eternal.
Do you think "Shades of Autumn"
hair dye would suit me?

(Only kidding, I don't dye my hair, I like being blonde) :)
 
16

A golden day of early summer,
with the scent of sweet roses
wafting in from across the gardens
meeting the taste of Pimms
upon my tongue as we chatter elegantly,
old friends and new.
My husband is away somewhere
laughing among his friends,
as you press your hardness
against my leg and whisper in my ear.
Yes even here I want you.
 
17

On the days when I feel so tired,
wondering if it's worth even going on,
I think of you, who amazingly
still finds me sexy and enticing.
 
18

Tonguing him back there
produces a hardness like no other,
and as he twists her body
for palm on buttocks
she probes it to the rhythm
of ... smack, smack, smack.
 
19 .... Grenfell Tower

What words could be enough to mourn
those lost, those saved now homeless,
scarred beyond belief?
The heroes awake to break the fast of Ramadam,
unthinking of their own danger
rushing through the block
saving lives.
So many stories to rend the soul,
a baby thrown to waiting arms,
The Mother fleeing with six children,
but only four made it out.
So many still lost ........
England cries for you .............
 
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