Mature lust

She has prepared for these moments for countless weeks

Reducing inches, ounces; troughs and peaks

Grasping former and new beauty like a prize

Waiting to glimpse other lingering eyes

 

Retail therapy employed to ensure

Her refined body unpacked, to be adored

Taking back the years and baggage of being mum

A size two or three lower, a tighter bum

 Hair tied back to great effect

A simple necklace adorns her sleek neck

The slinky bikini she never thought she’d wear

Baring more flesh, than she would normally dare 

As the sun slowly moves across the perfect sky

She starts to attract the young men’s eyes

Slowing her pace, suiting her mood

Letting them desire her, almost nude 

Slipping her hand through her hair

Feathering it out, show you don’t have a care

Contented, aroused, she feels liberty

About her the men enter the sea

The performance starts, she remains completely at ease

Youth desiring her mature expertise

She stops for a moment, again unsure

The panic of her body, the functions it has endured 

Though this moment passes as the sun continues its kiss

Water lapping at her thighs, feeling of bliss

Suppressing her passionate inner scream

Waiting to be a young lovers dream

His smile, beaming words of lust unspoken

Her resolve rekindled, the allure unbroken

Asking herself if this is her true wish

To be an attractive feather to catch a younger fish

Last days on the piste

soil, camouflaged by whiskers

frozen for prosperity, reappearing slowly

gravy droplets on the brilliant white table cloth

spring commences its performance

bringing colour to winters bland blanc

snow holding its grip

against the satisfying sun filled days

the late skiers on the piste one last time this season

fresh powder of weeks past, now a shimmer

scratchy ice, translucent to what lies beneath

like the season, the results are in their prepared state of transition

spring towards summer.

Life management (a flash poem)

There's always something on my list
a group of letters, an item missed
never ending it often seems
many important and trivial things
items bought, rooms rearranged
stuff that actually doesn't fit, must be changed
some tasks remain since the list was made
look tricky, attempt another day
lists on paper and in my head
when I wake, when I go to bed
a day of freedom would be bliss
mustn't forget - add to list.

Cup winner

Sludge conceals sweetness and calories
secreted beneath the scabbing surface
muscles ache, the incessant twist
and fold of spoon and fork

Proud lines of white await their fill
a low hum, dim light, seeps through
oven door, trays offered to the medium furnace
such plain unassuming delights

Becoming cool, awaiting to be dressed
by beaten butter, a dash of colour
piped around and around,
a flick to finish

Accessories to break the bold fondant
this simple treat excessively priced
emotively triggering saliva
put on a pedestal, an everyday cupcake.

High and dry

Has it really been a month since I last posted?  So much for the poem a week target :)
It's funny how inspiration can sometimes take a holiday and how it is often the extremes of joyful and painful circumstances that ignite the old creative fire.

Last week was my daughter's 9th birthday party - a happy yet stressful 18 hours, if you count the sleep over of her friends.  Though all said, it was the baking of the 'humble' cup cake that produced the most enjoyment and has been the inspiration for my forthcoming prose.
Thank you to those who dipped in for the first time, or to reacquaint with some old posts.

Back soon....

my daughters beau

He picked me
put a smile on my face
he picked me
the world's a brighter place
a kiss to the cheek
was all it took
young love - steps by the book.

Going underground.....150

They say you have to be a right 'Charlie' to ride just one stop,
though I guess the occasional trip....
But rush hour is more like a shuffle
waiting, waiting - many deep
hopeful of a space on the next ride
reminiscent of Dunkirk

150 seconds to the next train
150 commuters crammed into a space
that would be comfortable for only a third
anywhere else and this proximity would be assault
unwanted intimacy send many to seek solitude
close eyes, listen to a beat - hold breath

150 steps as the escalator has ceased
to drag us skyward, again
a brief sprint into the bottle
neck and neck to the exit barrier
always behind the ticket that refuses to release
its protest for the sub-surface experience?
huff, puff - though steam has long departed
into the slalom of meandering tourists and the time rich
towards daylight, our salvation.