Poeticity - feel the noize...

April showers...Spring blooms...Summer beckons...To lift the gloom!           (11 poems)

 

WAITING FOR SUMMER...  (a novel in 50 words)

 

April showers, water caresses her skin

But I leave, through the garden gate

I know this is madness

But the long, dark winter

Was too much...

 

I had to see her now

Smell her perfume

Glory in her beauty...

 

I waited.....

But Summer never came

I never knew why..... 

 

 

 

 

SPRING CLEANING

 

Gotta new job

got my own regime

a whole building

for me to clean...

top to tail

with mop and pail

I squeeze my squeegee

fluster with a duster

make hay with the spray

do all I can muster

polish with a flourish

buff with my cuff

all gleaming, all sheening

until I've scrubbed enough

everything shines

no smears or tide-lines

and every day, I give it my all

until I get paid, then I'm apalled

what a pittance, so good riddance!

I kick over my bucket

fling my cloth, all a-froth

I leave and say...'fuck it!'

 

 

 

 

NO TWO THINGS...

 

The difference may provoke indifference

similarities provide hilarity

but no two things are the same...

 

is a prequal the equal

or an earlier sequal

are sisters or brothers

like one another

or miles apart

only conjoined at the heart

is your mind, confined

or equally defined

by todays reality

a final finality

or acceptance of duality

where one is two in totality...

 

black is not white

except snow at night

stars are but a sun

each a different one

but the understanding

so demanding

can bring the refrain

that the dichotomy

of you and me

still leaves the same...

 

one is all

all bar one

and that one must still find

that one of a kind

as singularity requires parity

with a partner at heart

to share differences

with twinned love to impart...

 

so, as many things

are never the same

and equality in anything

may be just a game

never forget the needs of your heart

as two hearts, one mind, are impossible to part......... 

 

 

 

 

 

WOMEN OF TODAY...(part one of a never-ending story...)

 

All your yesterdays were conservative

powdered, perfumed, as a preservative

nestles buffled, tight-bound, never ruffled

tightened to the waist, strapped without haste...

breathing so short as presented to the court

to be caught - hushed,blushed, in expiration

rouge cheeked, sweet desperation...

 

All our nows may be flirtation

all awe-showing, aural expectation

'this is what I've got!'

'does it make you hot?'

 

where once the intrigue

draw-strung fatigue

once the teasing

pure in-mind pleasing

a slip or a glance

furtively askance

of a cleavage or ankle

forbidden, now hidden

will such rankle

turn to exhuberance

blatant, flowing protuberance

of a sweet chest

fully blessed...

 

and yet the age has not woken

the flirt remains unspoken

using alternative signs

pro-creative designs

sauciness, sassiness

business, badinass

no more backward, more forward

scarily un-toward

your fight and your fire

inflamed with desire

creeps out...

and then with a shout

says...take me!

and...make me!

scream!!!

not in a dream

but now

I avow

to enjoy and retaliate

with whatever I can sate

for you, something new

until.....

 

the redress of the undress

spent in full zest, but ne'er blest

has been scorned and ripped

from bounteous breast then hips

which combined

easily defined

makes the lady of today

make wild and willing hay...

 

and tho' more readily heard

then and now, thus thou..... is the word!

Are you modern and free?

Then please contact me...................X

 

 

 

 

IN THE LIBRARY

 

Oh for the library of old

sweet silence and chilled so cold

high ceilinged rooms

musty old tomes

an irrelevance of fashion

pure inventories of passion...

so many words to discover

idyllic beauty within a cover

turn a page, become sage

flick a picture, 'tween the scriptures

of life never-ending

imagination all descending

sifting through, uplifting views

a novel or reference

all treated with true deference

to hold, to love, to treasure

words spill, heart filled, with pleasure

caressing a volume, intensely consumed

return again to be resumed

with the beauty of words

and not a sound to be heard

except intellectual collation

gasps of joy or frustration

filed with the need to read

filled with yearning for learning

fulfilled yet not sate

the stamped return date

emboldens, the books you're holding

to treasure at leisure

spanned in your hands

that volume of expression

ideas or confession

many hours of reaction, satisfaction

sensations in relaxation 

with a book

pages to turn

so look

and learn.....

 

 

 

 

LETHAL WEAPONS!

 

Raised from the floor

impossible to ignore

magnificence in protuberence

lethal weapons of exhuberance

twin barrels of fun

as shelter from the sun

a not-so soft head rest

that is, a pair of plastic breasts...

lack of softness, no vibration

no quivering sensation

lifted and separated

any movement now dilated

your body sinuous except

these bollards, hard and erect

what was fun is now none

what was pliant and compliant

stand proudly defiant

unmoving, disapproving

static and stiff

unexciting, nor delighting

a question of what if?

give me softness

give me pleasure

give me moments to treasure

be au naturelle

bounce for me, ma belle!

 

 

 

 

SPRING LAMBS

 

Up amongst the hills so green

is a wondrous springtime scene

newly born and snowy white

running and leaping with delight

frolicking around without a damn

are this seasons batch of spring lamb

they carouse and jog

through the early morn fog

then joust and play all thru the day

til night descends with the evening dew

time to suckle and sleep til the morning anew...

 

 

 

 

TOO MUCH PACKAGING!

 

There's too much packaging

and not enough egg

all that plastic and cardboard

when it's chocolate I beg

paper cuts and foil

attempt to spoil

my easter surprise

of the chocolate inside

and then when I get there

I eat it all

even though it seems so small

so before I have chance to recover

I must fight my way into the box of another!

 

 

 

 

THE DANCING GIRL WITH GUITAR AND HARMONICA... (slow blues)

 

When she wakes in the morning

puts on her skirt and smiles

just another day dawning

another lil' 'ol song to compile

 

but when she straps that guitar on

strikes a chord to begin

the whole world lights up

and she begins to sing

 

with the voice of an angel

fingers rhythmic in time

words flowing freely

just a simple blues rhyme

 

chorus...

her hips get to shaking

whole body is quaking

as she then pipes out a lead

harmonica wailing

legs and arms flailing

sweet music with no notes to read

 

she got poetry in motion

she got passion and soul

she got blues in devotion

and a little rock'n'roll

 

a tune with great feeling

has just come from her heart

truly soul healing

still much more to impart

 

then it comes to a crescendo

of sensuous power

she dances and delivers

for many an hour

 

she's so exhausted, too elated

she drops down to the floor

she's smiling and sated

I, the audience, cry out for more!

 

 

 

 

A HIELAN QUINE...

 

She frolics in the pastures

effervescent, all a gleam

skirt a swirl in the brae

a wonderlust quine

dancing in the valleys

roaming tae the hills

a wil'o'the wisp of nature

seeking fresh thrills

she dances with the fireflies

sings with the dawn chorus

plays to the audience

of life, and all for us

over hillocks of green

thru' crimson heather

sirenic attraction

reels as light as a feather

which tickles and teases

ne'er muckles, just pleases

amidst fragrant delights

turned to heavenly sight

and amidst the earthly pleasures

pure poeticity in delight

freedom in expression

heartfelt confession

as she sways to the tune

of the silent full moon

passion deep growing

enchantment a-glowing

sini-uosity flowing

all the time, all a knowing

awareness and synchronicity

with natures infiniticity

enrapt, enshrouded

open mind, never clouded

in total escape

from restricted landscapes

just a purity of musicality

nae sign of finality

free to entwine

dance with nature, combined

from blood-filled lips

to swaying, rhythmic hips

and those dancing feet

which greet

every blade of grass or springtime bloom

with energy and light

to raise every valley from gloom

and as this dance waves thru' many a mile

there still remains

the hielan quine, and her smile...

 

 

 

 

A PASSION (FRUIT) PLAY...

 

She cuts a slice so nice

juices flow from the fruit in a thrice

full and firm on the skin

but succulent within

taste and flavour

pips to spit and plant

sensations to savour

flesh to entrance

each nibble, each swallow

fullsome with more to follow

ecstasy all fruitescent

arousingly tumescent

so much liquid passion

in a fruit of such passion

but that passion is a fire

each drip lifting higher

with stickiness within

a simple, sensuous sin

to taste or not

to waste ne'er thoght

each nibble a delight

that you're unable to fight

so you acceed

to suck seed

then

when

it's over - you spit

ready for the next bit....?