Retired, recently widowed after 42 years marriage, and rebuilding life with help from friends. Occasional performance poet, but mainly net publishing. Forces Veteran actively engaged in local charity providing help and support for veterans in trouble, or just needing a chat Suffer from dyspraxia which makes typing a long and tedious chore: I don't comment a lot because of this, for which i appologise, but I do read often.
On Cottingham Green Twenty minutes to my bus, Too wet to roam around So I found the bus shelter For the busses up town. I could smell the drink As I sat down on the seat. A bottle of whiskey in a carrier From which he swigged neat. He asked if I'd a light for the Hand rolled between his lips, Which was just a little wet From the frequent whiskey sips. I said I didn't smoke Which is quite true And then we got chatting The way I seem to do. The whiskey and baccy Kept him alive he said, After such a varied life He really should be dead. A matelot and then fisherman With many women in his life, Though he said he never Married, never had a wife. He was owed a lot of money And if he got it not too late He'd buy a caravan in a field And drink whiskey by the crate. An interesting chap Very easy to like Though I was a bit worried When he rode off on a byke, Carrier dangling loosely from The sit up and beg handlebars As he wove his unconcerned way Between busses, vans and cars. Life has its little surprises But sometimes you can't beat Those wonderful conversations With strangers that you meet. Infinite Speculation If there are infinite Universes There's a chance there could be Scattered randomly through them Infinite versions of me. In some I'd be tall and skinny In others short and fat, In some I' be bareheaded In others I'd wear a hat. Perhaps in that select one I'd be a stallion of a lover Sneaking through the woods Keeping under cover Trying to avoid the ladies, Going to any length For a few solitary hours Just to regain my strength. Oh I'd treat them with respect Ladies of all shapes and sizes Like a buccaneering captain Carefully guarding his prizes. Maybe, just maybe, I'd be a husband cuckolded, Henpecked and downtrodden, Bullied and scolded. Things are infinite in the infinite So there's just a chance There could be an existence As a Lord of the Dance. So much fun in speculation: Things could be better or worse But what an exciting concept, that Of infinite happenstances of our Universe.
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
Universal Suffrage (04/05/2016)
deep dreams (26/06/2014)
444. Lives Later (25/06/2014)
Picket, 1993 (25/06/2014)
- 2014 (1)
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