Last resort

Birdsong at max chat early evening
a celebration of the day or warning of the sunset
traffic knowingly passes below, out of view
its obscured random hum masked by the constant chirp

a vista across the manipulated matt greens and tasselled dull yellow
towards the mid-roof pool with unoccupied loungers, regimented
beyond to a sprawl of creams and sand, horizon
sea at calm, no longer bullied by gales and gulls

a soiled fish and chip newspaper cumulus
blurring charcoal and off white, crumpled, hangs motionless
a point of reference, not on any chart
autumn rays that had warmed flesh and soul earlier
illuminate western facades as they lose their grip, falling
premature symbols awake, bringing forth a neon blaze
later, their turn to lead us towards the next day.

Admitted

Eyes projecting fear and anxiety
self diagnosis infects those in turn
once over the yellow line, triage, assessed
a stream of new customers
anguished, reaching out for pain relief
blurred blue, bar coded hems
normal attire denoting authority
folds of turquoise privacy swish
ushered to a random tone chorus

Intimate information shared
questions draw no answers
detail overload, scarce conclusions
verbal short hand, translatable to specialists
loud nurses to the patient hush
test upon test
helpless relatives, situational aliens
random, fragmented chatter
dribble and trivia, useless beyond the day
Waiting, like for a bus, remained faithful
A verdict - life sentence or release on bail.

Lions mane

Cropped short, under control

Everything was as expected

Decades of similarity, about to be undone

Convention flouted, post a loved ones comment

Week by week, left unattended

Superficial containment, attempted though often to fail

Enhancement achieved, difference noted

The lion evolved its mane.

Earth, wind and pyre

Strikes and dismay gripped the land

Uncertainty fuelled by the stark and restraint bulletins

Homely focus provided by a bulky box

The entertainment centre, three options and off

Monochrome whilst some battle with garish magenta's and limes

Battered, hand me down board games, already in their death throws

Detached from the realities of the crumbling economy

The young absorb every letter and action of the captions

Beano for the boys, Bunty for the girls

In a time when each knew their place in the cultural fabric

Propaganda presses gushed aplenty in Dundee

Whilst rock and soul competed for the delinquents loyalties

And fashion tore at the stability of post-war Britishness and reserve

Stripped, like the vomit inducing floral emblem wall coverings, the 70’s.

 

In response to a @boinkaz challenge 22/10/2012

Littoral royalty

Spread out and lumped together
Like toys scattered across a bedroom floor
Dull colours and odd shapes randomly catching her eye
Attentive to her own enjoyment, she scours each foot step
Holding high her latest prize of slate pebble or incomplete shell
Simple pleasures for this princess of the beach
Before retaking her protectors hand.

Blots on the horizon

Static in line, soldiers on parade
Waiting in turn to evacuate their belly's
Hugged by the grey, anchored to the horizon
Distant from shore, not revealing of the fall and rise
These global travellers, temporary residents.

Salvo of Vigata

Startled by the crashing sound, though it happens every time
Catarella slipping at the door, his haste in fighting crime
Surrounded by skill and incompetence, he takes it all in his stride
His waning fidelity to Livia, once a constant pride

Cases that challenge him, that sealed someone’s fate
Invisible hands try to scupper him, Mafioso or state
A love of food guides him daily to mangiare at Enzo's
Bella women catch his eye, more subtle than Mimi’s, it shows

Chiselled looks that make many female viewers sway
Cutting through the water, it would seem almost every day
The shaven head detective, full of charm and expertise
Entertaining us every week, from Vigata, Sicily.

Choc Lit

She awoke in Bourneville, her luxurious hotel

Chocolat on her mind, the munchies the only topic

A boost she needed, would have to be more than a fudge,

Or the malt that teased her before bed

Packing her kit, Kat pondered her options like a lion

At the bar the previous night, minstrels dressed in green & black played

A final twirl before boarding a double-decker

To her the drifter, she would often revel at the galaxy

Searching for mars and the occasional milky way

With a crunch, the day still stood before her, yet all she wanted was time out

The marathon would be no picnic without any (s) knickers - she craved dairy, milk

At last reaching into the draw, she drew a wispa of a delight

This flake was all she required to feel divine.

another @frenzyofflies inspired piece

Here it comes again, here it comes again

Tones of Annie Lennox fill my head whenever it rains

Light exchanged for grey, summer days are packed away

Life of green being fed to plants and trees

Ironically, before the falling god-like temperatures take their fullest grip

Culling with frost and ice

Consciously unwilling to venture beyond the sanctuary of bricks and mortar

Expectations of the day bending to our wishes, blown away with the wind

When experience confirms we are the pawns, us weather obsessives.

The Human Smoking Gun

His grip of reality consistently patchy
Truths amongst untruths, muddled like a Rumsfeld explanation
Isolating collaborators, creating broken webs of secrecy
Freely scattering ill formed comments, that fall as bullets
Like a child soldier let loose with their first machine gun

Oblivious and arrogant of the damage inflicted to ideas, passions and common sense
Smug in his own importance and self worth
Careless with peers, yet creative with masters
Originator of rash decisions, borne out of little thought and knowledge
Loud, unaware, ploughing his way like a meteor scarring a planets surface
Speaking for everyone and yet no one, the human smoking gun.

Misjudged in donkey's clothing

Traditional in his ways, he carries his burden, dutiful like a mule

A mule who thinks itself a thoroughbred, when others see a nag

Loyal to its masters, experience in its abundance, disinterested in the antics of others
Yet cometh the day when the burden is relieved, to a replacement full of noise

Then led towards the gate, shut firmly behind, pastures new.

50 Cravings of Pear

Her life has been spent blossoming her beauty
Desiring more, as the scenery of each day remained the same
She would see him from time to time
Though he would pass by, paying her no attention
Unaware of her age she surmised him older, wiser, worldlier
Youth unappealing until the day he appeared to lure at her
Occasionally he would spend moments absorbing her
Rarely would he caress her gently, her fantasy

Feeling the maturity inside her building, her strong core, sweetness
Sun often falling on her fresh, young skin, its colour deepening
Abruptly one morning, he returned with a different, intent look on his face
And shook her, rattled yet invigorated
He gripped her, tighter than before, she felt his indifference
Stifling her breath, plucking her from her family tree
The gentle touch displayed before, replaced by rough experienced handling
Warmth of contact driving her intensity, her skin a flush, awash with emotion

She recovered, pleasure outliving the pain inflicted
Detecting a slight bruise from her tryst, finding herself amongst many similar to her
Lacking confidence, she wonders if he always looked for the same type
Ripe for the picking - his choosing
As the moon sets and sun rises, others come and inspect her, prod her, touch her
Feeling tarnished yet she longs for every moment of attention and contact
No longer the centre of attention, she desires the pleasure once more
Discolouration the sole reminder of the joy through the act

Startled, gripped by her former lover, forced back into a moulded restraint
Heartbeat rapid, the charcoal material grips her curvaceous bottom
Neck held firm, as though still in his grasp
Intimacy with her harness, forces her arousal, to be taken
Plunged into darkness, she dwells on what it will be like this time
More pleasure, less pain – how could that deliver her ecstasy?
Moisture discretely rises to her skin, evidence of her lust and being

Warm air, rises to meet the temperature of her sexual imagination
Hand smelling of cinnamon takes her neck and sniffs at her body
A younger man, her new lover? Perspiration on his upper lip
Wiped away with his lingering tongue, as he forces her onto the hard surface
Light caught on the flashing blade, to what extremes will she endure
In pursuit of the pleasure of her release?
His expression non-descript, an act he has performed many times before
No longer generates any pleasure for him, mechanical, a basic need

Stinging pain whips her bottom, the lashes closer, reaching her heart
Brutally forced over onto her side, she finally sees herself through their eyes
Her life spent, a tart, the light fading
Agony has stripped her of skin and pleasure
Taking her place as one of the fifty cream virgin , to be caramelised and consumed.

Assisted and encouraged by: @kateselwood1 @frenzyofflies @Santha_G

Masculine resignation

Sudden movements break the dawn
Throw on clothes, stifle a yawn
A chill that greets you, cuts like a knife
Tiled floors, barefooted, like ice
Keeping mobile to generate heat
Where are slippers for your feet?
Summertime has almost gone
Time to put the heating on.

Wish and be grateful

Spending listless days
Awaiting your presence here
Recalling your special ways
Fantasising you are near

Memories run through my mind
New experiences yet to find
To touch you is pure bliss
You surprise me with your kiss

Familiarity provides the music, to our dance
Exploring each other, when we get the chance
Longing for your warm embrace
Melting when I see that smiling face.

Light harvest

Disappointment circles the table
Focus on the sole object at its centre
Thoughts of delicious treats shattered
Because there is but one

Decisions to be made on how best to honour this gift
Be that pie, crumble, stewed
Consensus sought, compromise made
A pie is forming, hunger biting

Fruity aroma spills into the room
Crockery and cutlery set, for the feast
Then the door bell chimes, a stranger joins
With the harvest of Waitrose's finest.

A hint of sophistication

Formal gathering or just because
The wafer choc causes a fuss
Individually wrapped to draw appeal
Hoping yours has not been congealed
Scent of mint is released on opening the lid
A sight so familiar since you were a kid
Unwrapped between your fingers, coating hard
A tiny bite, jelly attached to a shard
The blend of chocolate and mint seal the fate
Treat in itself, just after eight.

Essential viewing

Sunday night viewing has returned to pace
Damien Lewis, pesky Brit, a familiar face
Drama continues, plots thicken and unfold
Edge of seat, stories to be told
Conspiracy, intrigue, all play their part
Carrie's character, led by head not heart
Debate continues, patriot or foe
Lifted up to running mate, from your average Joe
Mixed reactions, aspirations, is there a series three?
All from our Home, Land of the free.

Exceedingly good

Farmers wives and trendy teens
A competition, up they spring
To show their art and produce the goods
Armed with shiny trays and pins of wood
Temperatures rising yet the rain lashes down
A homely marquee, stadium for this crown
Tension, creation, sweat and tears
Cooking times adjusted, "points deducted" fears
Finally judges deliberate, comment and criticisms make
All this passion and effort for a winning home-made cake.

Post haze

Dampness mixing with the sun
Produces a misty veil across the fields below
Emerald reinstated from the drought and haze
Of days, weeks, previous

Sun on my back, a near cloudless sky
Feels ones soul with joy
A distant rumble of cars
The sole intrusion to this enjoyment

Staring further, across meadows and gentle hills
The rays glint on towers and large maison
Soil remains wet, a good dousing it had
Awaiting its equilibrium from the sun.

Hunting for a monster (a tongue in cheek song)

It's that time again
My resistance is poor
And tummy is rumbling
Craving for more

I'm in need of a snack
Though I've just had lunch
Hoping not to crack
Please give me something to munch

Chorus
Snacking time, is a happy time
Whats your favourite treat?
Pickled onion corn snack
Monster Munch - you're hard to beat!

The emptiness catches me unaware
Panic makes me stop
All the cupboards now seem bare
Quick! to the corner shop

Chorus
Snacking time, is a happy time
Whats your favourite treat?
Pickled onion corn snack
Monster Munch - you're hard to beat!

I survey the bursting shelves
Are the crisps at the back?
Ah Monster Munch at my 12
But wait, a Nik Naks multipack?!

Chorus
Snacking time, is a happy time
Whats your favourite treat?
Pickled onion corn snack
Monster Munch - we are you shaped like feet?

Miracle of Monday

Stepping from the taxi, he waves, full of glee
Attention to an occupant veiled by tinted glass
A beaming smile, a bounce, and off he struck
Scarcely a glance to the space of the departed
Curiosity of bystanders of this open joy
Out of place in this Monday mundane
What has made this man so alive?
A deal won, a friendship rekindled
Perhaps an afternoon romp or tryst
Envy of his sated state bites briefly
His excitement fading, like him from view.

Forbidden

Scanning the vista of delights

His eyes on automatic, pre-programmed for attraction

You need to have specifics when faced with this beautiful bounty

Succulent inside with colourful wrappers

Some catch the eye, bold as they are red

Experience has taught him these can be as sweet as they are sour

He narrows his search, a peachy flesh

And then, hidden by a slender piece in canary, is his desire

Saliva forms in his anticipation

A smile forming with his rising heart beat

He reaches for her, hand slightly trembling

The curves of her body holding his gaze

Smooth and toned skin, his fingertips discover

The others part momentarily as he grasps her, pulling her close

Space she occupied, retaken in that instant

Perfume of sweet enjoyment reaches out to his nostrils

Inhaling the fragrance, this temporary narcotic

Closer now, right in front of him, skin to skin

Just lingering there increases his arousal

Should he remove her pale green outfit, or take her as she is, in his lust

His lips kiss her neck, dry to his wet

Overwhelmed by his longing to have her

He’d had others like her before and many left him satisfied and comforted

Would she be the same or maybe even better?

Impatient to feel her flesh he moves in closer, primed to make his move

Devouring her, he digests her succulent juices

Too much for him running about his face

Climaxing at her taste, he pulls away

She seems different now

And it dawns on him, what a lovely pear!

Clinging

The waves crash upon the shore
Like the cuts to my heart you tore
As the tide begins to recede
Memories of our life, I long to believe.

Alone (a stab at a song)

Dark clouds are drawing close and near

Yet you are far away from here

The simple things I miss the most

Your tooth brush, your name on the post

Chorus

Exploring the past seems a fruitless game

Was either of us solely to blame?

The truth remains that you have gone

I’m still wondering for how long?

From the clouds pours the rain

I start to feel the fullest pain

Words that I should have said to you

My lack of action made you blue

Chorus

Exploring the past seems a fruitless game

Was either of us solely to blame?

The truth remains that you have gone

I’m still wondering for how long?

Bridge

You’re not the first, though I wished the last

My heart's in tatters, the dies been cast

I tried too hard to play it cool

Now I’m left a broken fool

The rain has eased the clouds hang around

I wander bewildered, about this town

Desperately searching for your face

Reality says you’ve left this place

Closing Chorus

Exploring the past seems a fruitless game

Was either of us solely to blame?

The truth remains that you have gone

I still kid myself it won’t be for long?

So once again I’m all alone

Another victim - witness - far gone

PoetryNovice 2012

Beach patrol

The powerful effect of sun and beach
Scantily dressed women, men on heat
Vacation removes troubles, helps you relax
Closer together, sexual to the max

And still men in speedo's patrol the beach
The hot twenty somethings, so far out of reach
The slightest gaze makes him feel great
Oblivious to the paunch, southward gravitates

Thinking he looks a million dollars, acting real cool
Hovering near girls, not seeing the fool
Believing this life is rich and his to take
Unwilling to recognise his desires are fake
Reality hits him, removes his charm
As a younger suitor takes her arm.

Simple indecision

He caught her looking at him
He wondered what it meant
Her beauty was outstanding
She must be heaven sent

He broadened his smile
He wanted to say hello
The moment slipped by
He would never know.

Homebound

Home beckons, some minutes more
Dusk battles with the coming of night
A white backdrop losing its way to grey, then charcoal
Light drizzle to welcome us serial commuters, on this autumn eve.

Humble late night snack

The uneven surface of small bumps and plains
Irregular burnt colour has caught it in the main
Sturdy and unattractive to look and hold
To spread or place food upon it, is only for the bold
It has many rivals, water and Hovis
With purpose to remain firm and crisp
Until that first bite, usually through cheese
The explosion of cracker, a simple palate to please
Devastation of what remains is left to chance
Cracks in the flooring, now a skill of balance
Too much pickle and it's a sticky end
This fragmented snack - lovely - drives me round the bend.

To dunk or not to dunk....

Rugged texture of the twin pale thins
Hiding the slightest, sweetest filling within
Wisps of vanilla spring forth as you take it from the pack
One is not enough, the lot you must attack
Hovering it delicately over a fresh cup of tea
Taste buds a fury, it's screaming "EAT ME!"
Plunging into your mouth, quick
That tasty, custard, creamy biscuit.

Haggis the Brave

Annually with ceremony, yet always well devoured
This lining of mush and grain makes a nation proud
Those south of the border approach this test with reserve
The first taste, stiff upper lip, steeling their nerves
For those in the know, often accompanied with tatties and neeps
A creamy sauce with Glayva surrounding the bland coloured heaps
Flavours creep forth as they did when a child
They laugh at those gullible to think they breed in the wild.

Potted noodle fright

The stalwart kettle springs into action
Responding to this late night snack attraction
In the corner of the cupboard lives a pot
Gourmet cuisine? It is not!
Contents resting under a foil seal
Variety of tastes, to some it appeals
The water ready, the lid is removed
A snack in three minutes about to be proved
Remembering to remove the little bag
Be sure not to eat it, you will surely gag
As the compacted components start to hydrate
Salivation in anticipation, counting down the wait
At last your fork is primed, you are ready to begin
One mouthful, you splutter, heading for the bin.

Fool and hardy

Wandering, wearing shorts although the house is cool
Hidden from spectators, no observers of this fool
Autumnal changes have taken their grip
Winds blustery, guttering that drips
Waking each day to a room noticeably fresher than the last
Darkened mornings with ashen evenings catching up fast
Extra layers to keep the chill at bay
Determined to resist the heating for another day.

The Office, without Gervais

The warmest of familiar sights
Dampens the chances of morning frights
A kind word, a sincere grin
Helps one and all adjust to the quiet din

Variety of the workplace mix
The cocky male, thinks he's good with 'chicks'
The self publicist who drives most berserk
Yet behind his back they call him jerk

Lunchtime arrives in no time at all
An hour, often less, to escape the thrall
A sluggish return to a waiting mouse
Click, click - whirl, whirl - back to it.

#140

Enter a world controlled by a number
Expectations that it will stretch 'me', not make me dumber
It's language of RT and #FF explained by a patient few
Sparing the time to welcome someone new
Providing humour, the absurd and comment
Against temptation to update and scan, I'm not resistant
Carefully I find my feet
Must go now, time to tweet!

Thanks to @frenzyofflies @tlcoff @louiseJhastings @boinkaz and many others

Day of the living

Face, void of colour, betrays you before I ask the question
Taught and pale, distracted thoughts, full of tension
Lost slumber etched into your arid skin and pain filled eyes
Caught up in this temporary trauma when a loved one dies.