The sun
Is hot
And my thoughts run
To where they ought not.

Short clothes
And her toes
To the teasing air


There Was A Young Lady Called Joan

There was a young lady called Joan
Who called me up on her phone.
When I asked, “who are you?”
She replied, “believe me, its true!
I’m Joan, calling you on my phone!”.

There was a young lady called Joan
Who called me up on her phone.
When she said, “is that Lou?”
I replied, “no, but thank you
For calling me up on your phone!”.

A Rake Reflects

Waking up next to another
Who is not so,
I wish her to go
But the gentleman inside
And my pride
Say no
For it is not yet
But oh
How I regret
Last night!

The taxis run
Star or sun
She could go,
This “friend”
Who’s name or end
I do not know.

Later, the taxi will arrive
And drive
Her somewhere,
As to where
I neither know nor care.

The driver will think
(as he suppresses a wink)
“She did dance
But not in romance”,
Or maybe, having taken her before
From door to door
He already knows the score.

Wooden Fruit Bowl

There you stood,
A bowl made of wood.
Your imperfections drew
Me to you
As we shopped long ago.

I know
Not what happened to you.
Though I have the bowl still
On my window sill.

I trace each notch and curve
That do no purpose serve
(Other than to beautify).
As I
Wonder do you
Live or die.

There Was A Young Lady Called Kim

There was a young lady called Kim
Who was both petite and slim.
A man of fashion
Developed a passion
And Kim was no longer slim.

There was a young lady Called Kim
Who was both petite and slim.
Being a girl of fashion
She developed a passion
For a dandy who’s name was Tim.

The Passing Breeze

I solace seek
In the breeze
That does speak
Amongst these
Ancient trees.
Or do the trees
Themselves speak?

Lovers make free
Midst the budding tree
And in love’s dance
Do not hear
The breeze
That passes near.

This Wall


I woke up this morning, drank a cup of coffee, smoked

A cigarette and stared at the wall. There was nothing

Special about this wall. It had no

Fancy wallpaper to draw your eye. No vibrant colors

That made it stand out. Just a plain dingy wall white and

bland in need of a good washing. A question came to mind

“What if I was this wall?” I ashed my cigarette and pondered

That. What if I was that wall. What if I was bland, boring, insipid?

That cannot be. I am not invisible like the wooden beams that

Support that wall. But what supports me if not boards

Of bones that is my skeleton? Yet I am not bland like the

Paint upon that wall. I have emotions that run deep and are

More complex than any wiring or plumbing can be. I have a

Past that have been…

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