Annie's shoebox

My composure is as thin as the skin
I was born in, but why?
My Skylark sings distantly out of sight,
a fluttering of wings grasping frantically
at the air, before falling, falling
seeking sanctuary in her nest
just taken, scattered by life's mower.
 
Next time some group tries to tell you
they're not British, then think again.
Christians, Sikhs, Muslims, all of them,
fought for your freedoms never in vain..
No matter the skin of our brethren
who staunchly fought by our sides in the war,
hang your heads with shame and remember
these men gave their all for us and more.
 
The soft warmth of your long time friendship has grown
like a Summer storm, building on the horizon.
Heavy air a mood of suppressed emotion as the storm brews.
Your words so perfectly conjure a sense of foreboding,
of anticipation and waiting. The eerie stillness
before the first fat drops of rain, when storm light
makes luminous all roofs and fields and stands
black silhouettes of trees on the horizon.
This is the storm of expectation, a solution about to be offered
or all hell about to break loose,
stranded in that strange light that stills my heart
until I'm drenched and waiting..........
 
When you bend to tie your laces,
when you wipe away the blood
from the head wound that was taken
from a misplaced landed stud.

When you stuck inside a scrum
just waiting for a pass,
do you ever wonder why, your
head's stuck up someone's ass?

As you limp away defeated,
this time you are the losers,
when you limp like Quasimodo
from a hundred thousand bruises.

Yet when your age has you finally
relegated to yelling on the line,
You're of the breed of people, who
know that Rugby's mighty fine!
 
Daisy ... Staffordshire Bull Terrier

She was so small when I brought her home,
but sitting between my feet all spit and fire
at Bugsy's enquiring nose, his head bigger
than her whole body and he loved her.
Bugsy my big, bold Staffy who didn't like
any other dogs, was her slave from day one.
Daisy was mine, she claimed me, wouldn't
work in the show ring for anyone but me.
She loved to show, positive every applause
was for her and often it was, she was my beauty.
But oh she was black hearted out of the ring,
for all she was so small, barely showing size.
Ready to fight if another dog looked at her funny,
I was forever calling her off and apologising.
But she was my girl, stood between me and
a herd of bullocks, barking until they ran.
Stood between me and any approaching man,
just a warning that she was guarding me.

But she couldn't fight the big C
and I lost my darling, dearest girl.
Daisy I still mourn you, and I talk
to you, where you lie with all my
lost dogs, under the Hawthorn tree.
 
Aboriginal Dream time

Beyond the leaping tongues of
rainbow serpents shedding sparks,
we feel the shadows, never close,,
never seeking the glow, but watching,
Dream time spiritual ancestors
from the beginning of time.
 
Roundelay
I'm not a praying person, dear
with this new and fragile passion,
any misconstrued line can tear,
so my love check how you fashion
everything although you care,
for losing you's my biggest fear.
.
Any misconstrued line can tear,
so my love check how you fashion
till I'm strong that you are near
and I no longer must refashion
everything although you care,
for losing you's my biggest fear.
.
Till I'm strong that you are near
and I no longer must refashion
for I adore your writing flair,
Not all mine and you must ration
everything although you care,
for losing you's my biggest fear.
.
For I adore your writing flair,
not all mine and you must ration
what I receive while waiting here,
Pity me and show compassion
my everything is that you care,
then losing you I'll never fear.
 
I close my eyes, head buried in your shoulder,
and live your hands travelling a strange landscape.
Soothing and caressing, peeling back the sheet
of my nakedness, shivering with anticipation.
A finger spreads and delves into warm wetness
until I gasp, moan and whisper please.
Please what Annie? Tell me what you want.
You, you inside me, gently he enters me,
First time lovers, neither young but still a passion,
strong enough to move mountains, cross oceans.
 
Would you want to
change this woman?
Turning back to his work,
a throw away line.
Hell no, you're perfect in every way,
and made my day.
 
When the one that should know better
beats me down with scathing swords,
you lay my head upon your shoulder
and soothe my soul with gentle words.

When hot tears of hurt are falling,
your arms reach out with strength to hold,
to warm a heart torn, broken,
your love shelters me from cold.

So when I have to go to sleep tonight
I'll feel safe tucked within your heart,
although life's tough realities, awakes
to a day of more tearing me apart.
 
When your head is filled with the craziness of love,
all the clichés one is advised to never cross thy pen,
so that your foolish poems speak of heart and dove,
the stars or moon, I'll love you there and back again.

Everything. we're told, has oft been writ before
and these much more than any other, truth be told,
but I cannot seem to shift away, so write je t'adore
until once more I can you in my loving arms enfold.

From all of this I only may surmise, and still suppose ,
what is love if not to bring alive in hearts across the globe,
the biggest cliché of all time, and yet to us new prose?
I fall into your arms with eyes of love as you disrobe.

My Lord, this heaven here on earth, yet far, far away
is ours, I'll love you for now, and until my dying day.
 
Can I grow old with you?
You there and me here

Too late to grow old.
We'll have to try for really old.

We could forget we're old,
I'm acting like a lovesick teen already.

It's adorable. I'm sure you have
a notebook filled with you practising
how to join your name with mine. :heart:
 
The words I love you
can never be enough,
when I want to paint
through the tallest treetops
autumn leaves ablaze,
write across the sky
with fireworks.

Yet whisper,
so only you can hear.
 
Today is the day of clearing out,
it's been put off too long.
In the long shed I hear Patty Sue clad
in denim dungarees, squeal
then a distant clanging.
Opening the door to what was once
the chicken shed, I'm met by a rush
of stale air and a smell
difficult to decipher, sort of a cross
between fruit and rubbing alcohol,
and there's that hole in the wall
where Grandpa (God rest his soul)
proved giving hammers
to kids wasn't his best idea.

Today is the day of clearing out,
throwing out is another matter.
 
Remember Me

Will you miss me in the Winter
or when the dead leaf flies?
Anything but Spring, the new life tinter.
Will you miss me in the Winter,
or Summer's rivulet swept away to splinter
those tears no longer gathered in my eyes?
Will you miss me in the Winter
or never when my dead leaf flies?
 
Life has written many lines upon us both
scoured by happiness, pain,
and it must be said, of age.
I trace each one caused by the journey
that's brought you here to me.
I kiss the laughter lines, I'm glad you've
had enough to write it on your face
and pray nothing deepens
the sorrow also pictured there.
Scarred we may be, but along the way
somehow we followed paths,
chose the right turning,
until suddenly over the hill, when the time
was right we discovered to our surprise,
friends do become lovers
and the love is deeper for the waiting.
 
Combine butter and garlic, spread legs and roll,
in bed covers until oil heats in a 2 quart saucepan.
Mix creole seasoning and flour.
Dredge shrimp in flour then egg; roll in panko.
Fry shrimp in batches until golden brown.
Spread remoulade sauce on tits.
Top with shrimp, followed by shredded lettuce.
 
Looks like I should paint the ceiling again,
"Oh yes lover, yesss yes yes just there."
I wonder if 2 lbs of beef will be enough
for the pie if I pad it out with onions?
"That is so good you really have such a great cock."
When this plonker stops huffing and puffing
I can get the pastry made ready.
"Ohhhhh my god, I'm cominggggggg!!!"
Thank goodness that's over
dirty beggar leaked on my clean sheets again.
"Yes see you soon lover, phone soon"
Wonder if it's worth changing my phone number?
 
A Quadruple Acrostic, first letters of each line spell a word, as do the end letters reading backwards, plus top and bottom lines.

Sweeping high over weathered Elms,remember
How withered, dry leaves now spring to re-awake
Only to shed their weighty gathered overflow
When the heavens suddenly unleash a concerto
Enveloping far across the land and encroach
Rivers, endlessly wending onwards, hunting seas.
 
So many tell me that long distance love can't last,
yet here I sit and wait for the bit of you that's mine.
Stolen hours of bliss, still loving you, just as crazy
held over heels in love. Sure I know you're not perfect,
but my heart won't let you go, I don't have it anymore.
You stole it and tucked it safe within your own.
 
It's hot dammit,
almost too hot for those
sweaty embraces
that leave us breathless
with desire.
Love oozing from every pore,
as a finger tip traces
a line from nape to nipples
waiting erect and wanting
and as your lips find
these tempting morsels,
I whisper "Please, my darling".
again I'm begging " Please."
 
Sight: swallows
sound: wind in trees
scent: pickling vinegar
Taste: season’s first crisp apple
touch: bare feet on lawn.
.......................................................................
Sitting here what else is there to do
but to let my mind drift back
to those days so long ago,
days of innocence and the tickle
of grass between my toes
as we ran screaming with delight
into Summer, much as the Swallows
and House Martins screamed overhead,
seeking insects on the wing.
Daddy exiled to the kitchen, pickled
in vinegar shallots and red cabbage,
bottled for the days of Autumn,
when trees troubled by unexpected
gusts whistling through their leaves
drop green apples, tart upon the tongue.
 
Coffee cold in cup
not Summer's frappé - but more
my inattention.

Think this breaks all the rules! Oh well I like it!
 
The Michaelmas Daisies smothered with butterflies
are now gone, as are the roses once tended by my
Father's workworn hands. Bygones of a distant time
when Grandmas carried mints and smelled of Violets.
 
We gathered to sing hymns
for the Sunday School Anniversary,,
high on a platform smothered in flowers,
still the scent of Lilacs takes me back.
 
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