Priority Boarding

If priority meant love,
this date’s an impatient,
passionless affair
clearly undesired by Dolly,
delighted, pointing down
nor fixed smiley Svelte,
a dab of Chanel,
arm also extended,
instead we have Tasha, (hint of hairy)
with Chubby, (not so cheery)
at the rear,
“the back side crew”
so sharply defined,
no reclining with ease,
perusing the papers,
but, in place, wedged by the window
view of the rain, tray with a wobble,
maybe, like me,
a little unhinged

Tight squeeze, bee’s knees to steerage
passes “content”, “at ease”,
“ready to snooze”
to mum on her knees
pushing bits into gaps
between the seats, mine
as her child, bored, tests
the extent of his legs, my patience
on the back of my seat
until I growl,
a response I regret
as all around begin to stare

Attention diverts
as we limp off the ground
watching little and large
in their safety dance
my mind drifts across
the unlikely couple, her
too much beard for this career? him,
perhaps demoted, an indiscretion,
caught short on a long haul?
our eyes meet, I’m better asleep.


The Dinner Party

The problem is, even though
I care, each word of what you say,
your art of crafting sense
of syllables, every one adored
deeply, and I admire, as do we all

I have this thought, a clever play
tip of my tongue, it’s just arrived,
it’s here, right there, a couplet
might disappear, fade away
so interject I must, apologies, without delay

Believe me, when I declare, fully
I understand, more than slightly rude
an interjection, but this speech,
poetic prose, inside my head
these lines of life, may instead

Of articulation, subtle innuendo
abrupt, stature deflation, I’ll be the clown
smiling wide, yet aware inside how sad,
all for a line, what should have been,
a perfect interlude, the look-at-me

An example of my repartee, then, will forever
be forgotten, abandoned badinage,
so I’m sorry, but not too much,
I’ve a reason to be curt, so dear poets…
damn, it’s gone, and no one heard



As if ordering her lunch,
“Tuesday, eight would be grand”
address in lipstick
on the back of me hand,
had a fling with nonchalant
but where not to stare,
not back at those eyes, inviting
as she played with her hair

Not too tall, with the curves just right
for a meal for two, and then replied
“I’ll think of something….”
with the something, hanging,
with a laugh, a look, knowing
dessert could be mine,
if followed her course
said the right things a little, at the right time

It’s always the same, I’ve been told
talk’s for the hands, not the mouth, but;
so much in common, she was Cork too, well knew
how it felt, from a small town
so felt perhaps, true soulmate
and more to be gained
delve a little deeper, ask
maybe listen for a change,

As we sat on the floor, laughing,
having the craic, and her arm snaked round
I thought of a kiss, but bottled,
instead, calls a cab,
I know looking back, you’d say
it was the wrong thing to do,
but at the time, didn’t want me fumbling
messing, spoiling the mood

The following day, and it’s all over
literally all over, her mates, me mates,
strangers, the whole bar knows
she’s given me the shoulder
scurried out, a virgin?
like a scared little rabbit
I think was the gist
of how she described it

About a year it took, before
the ‘rabbit’ hops out again,
to that mysterious world
of girls and their games
and the next time it was offered
let’s just say,
a lot less uncertain
the right strokes, and how to play

So ‘as Larry, the following night
as I enters the bar, acting all coy,
me riding a stool, trying to get her eye, but
already moved on, found a new toy,
now, I’ve no complaints, it was fun
being used and abused, but know now
I’m just the starter, appetiser,
until the real meal shows.

If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!


Over the net

You need to move on,
she needs to realise,
tomorrow’s a new day,
plenty of crabs on the beach,
this one’s scuttling away

Start searching, not thinking
what might have been
but of course, wouldn’t listen,
tried to lighten the mood
after doing the deed

A waste of time, complete,
who wants a better rejection?
so doomed to failure, but
stupidity persists,
like a child’s unending question…

Tennis for two, seemed
such a sensible choice,
civilised sport, showing
lovers can be friends, but truth
a different shade to intention

Tennis, solo, a last resort
to save the day, badly thought,
because for two, the net
is a barrier
between you and stupidity,

On your own, it’s an obstacle,
to catch unawares, all going well
until, as flying across,
catching my shot
, caught by my toes

Landing flat on my pouch, pain,
like you wouldn’t believe
left my lungs, as if someone else
in an airless scream, not the look
was wanting, not faintly amusing…

But the strangest thing, as if
slipped back in time, the girl
now a beauty, laughing, without a care,
and, as my pain prolonged
so, seemingly, did her joy

So the moral maths, dear chaps,
plain to see, don’t try to placate
don’t try to ease
the pain of rejection
should be what it is

A girl has to realise, a man’s world
first, suffer their pain for days,
weeks, months, even years
better that, than an ice pack
On a wounded pride

If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!



When I said you weren’t that handsome
you turned away, almost cried
but my darling, what I meant
was yours is beauty, deep inside

When you overhead me saying
I couldn’t be seeing my days with you
it’s only because I’ve always thought
you’re too good, too honest, too true

And I know the way it looked, with Liam
upstairs, the other night
but my love, he hadn’t a stitch to wear
after a barney with his wife

Know it don’t explain, fully
my lack of clothes, and state of dress
but I’d only just come out the bath
when he knocked the door all stressed

And throwing him out the window
was maybe, baby, a step too far
you’ll be grateful he’ll recover
but sadly, on landing, trashed his car

Thank goodness, pressing charges
is the last thing on his mind
but his car will cost a pretty penny,
perhaps, could you phone ahead next time?

You’re the one and only, the man for me
and when I said I loved you, that’s not wrong
so please, my sweet, unlock the door
Been inside this fridge too friggin’ long….


a Quickie

You want me to parade my thoughts
before you naked, against your skin
to caress your ears with assonance, syllables,
lingering on the tip of my tongue
sibilance, as shifts, slowly, sliding down
stroking the nape of your neck,
aroused, the alliteration all pricked, prepared,
but not too long before the verb,
unsubtle, crashes in, impatient,
perhaps an expletive, well placed,
pushed on my knees,
your nouns before me,
slow at first, then thrusting
forwards, with intent, but wait,
slow the pace say two more, frisson and
excitement, hand in hand, waiting
with febrile adjectives to mop your brow as
onomatopoeia, moans and aahs,
a pause, a pant, a grunt or two
unladylike, then tissues to wipe,
as made excuses, and quick exit.

If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!


Reduction by Seduction

Tammy was no twiglet
And Patricia, pretty plump
Rotund, Rebecca’s nickname
Harsh, but true, she was a lump

Every Tuesday they would meet
At Debbie’s Donuts, for a chat
perhaps a Cappuccino
With a healthy little snack

One day ‘two ton’ Terry
Nearly true, but also cruel
Chomping Debbie’s bargain butty
Eyed this small but weighty crew

Announced himself, with a belch
His humour knew no bounds
handed each, a simple card
“Magic Diets” could be found

‘Reduction by Seduction”
Was the one that caught the eye
As Terry quickly pointed out
“’Twas one to one, that diet”

Patricia’s hand was first to raise
The teeny tiny flaw
Why, if magic diets worked so well,
did Terry’s weight not fall?

“The point you raise is true of course
None such has worked for me
These plans are just for ladies
Not a man, like I, you see?”

Tammy, brave, was first to try
And followed Terry back
A little gap between the terrace
Almost hid the simple shack

They squeezed in both, just through the door
And settled down to Tea
Then later on the bed they sat
His hand upon her knee,

His chant, eyes closed, “O God of Lard
I ask, look on my lover
And as we bounce upon this bed
Please remove her blubber “

Eight hours had passed, and all was quiet
Apart from Terry’s snores
When Tammy woke, a skinny lass
With sweat from every pore

From Terry’s doze, the question clear
My dear, how can this be?
“While you’re a little dove, my love
I’ve gained a stone or three

The fat you lose, it seems to go
on me, I know not why
A kind of magic spell I sell
That only femmes can buy”

Terry’s fame grew quickly
As did his mighty frame
His doctor said “you’ve got to stop”
But still he loved again

At fifty stone, was trapped “in house “
Our curvy Casanova,
Still the belles, would waddle in
And trade to trot out thinner

As all good things, it had to end
One day and sad to say
The biggest heart had too much fun
And gave out as he lay

Because deceased was twice most men
His corpse became a curse
No coffin fit, so custom built
A lowly truck the hearse

They tried to dig the grave with men
But as this grave got bigger
‘twas clear mere spades would take too long
So had to fetch the digger

His funeral was a sad affair
Though feast for flower sellers
The mourners, girls all very slim
beneath their black umbrellas

The weeping women watched and wailed
As lowered down his chest
No men could lift this mighty box
So’d hired a crane instead

Halfway through, the rope was frayed
Gave a sigh and snapped
The coffin wedged, his feet stuck out
The vicar screamed as trapped

The little digger saved the day
On caterpillar tracks
Put body back and chained the chest
With cables now attached

As people tried to say their piece,
Machines were much too loud
And all they got was bits and bobs
As winched him to the ground

The vicar said a few more words,
His arm all in a sling
And finally, a little late
They got poor Terry in

The moral of the story, Eat!
Drink lots and don’t be slimming,
Not the digest does the damage
Just don’t date with dieting women

If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!