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Dove Of Peace…

A single, glistening feather
glides, slowly, sadly, to the ground…
its message to the world?
simple but deeply profound…

Was once a sole white dove
in freedom, in skies above
lonely in heart
a need to impart
some truth…
to the world below
that did not know
how the importance of life
without strife
without anger and pain
managed by the insane
could exist
through the mists
of time, of war
hatred, inbred, the poor
with pestilence
shock and awe
destruction an excuse, so pertuse
as not to recognise…as sane
life wanes…

and as I fly
I cry
for friendship, acceptance, to sing?
words, thoughts, of unity, without impunity
just a single need
for peace to succeed
ignorance is not bliss!

but with a kiss
companionship aligned
with two doves, two minds
thinking as one, of a kind
working together
to untether, the light
a release from darkness
until the next bullet hits…

and as that shell
into the heart of reason
the season
of greed, anger and ire
re-ignites the funeral pyre
and loneliness returns
a dying dove burns
leaving pride
for now or never
with just that solitary feather…

Capable Hands…

A light alights on your darker side
framing your beauty in a halo sublime
each curve rendered in a monochrome slide
captivatingly captured in rapturous time…
And that frozen moment leads me near
and the chill dissipates, as does my fear
I reach out to touch you gently at first
so wanting to quench my insatiable thirst
my fingers tingle as they mingle in your hair
so soft the tresses that tantalise there
I gently stroke down your slender neck
you murmur pleasurably at this effect
I hear your breathing increase in speed
you sharply whisper your desires and need
and as I roam across your nakedness
with hands and fingers of intimate caress
my lips follow the path just stroked
to the nape of your neck, intended to provoke
my hands fall to surround your succulent breasts
cupping their divinity in truculent sweetness
teasing your nipples to prominent peaks
leading the way for my teeth to seek
biting their stiffness with swiftness so sweet
one, then two, your bountiful treats
as as I gorge on your exquisite exclamations
my fingers stroll towards your hot moist sensation
I feel your heat before I get even close
I smell your body scent invading my nose
my tongue leaves its haven slowly at first
but slips intensely, quenching my craven thirst
my hands surrounds your glorious arse
pulling you close so my lips can clasp
over your honey, dripping with desire
feeling the heat from your inflamed fire
already filled with fingers of my capable hands
slipping deeply, drowning, as you writhe and expand
heavy breaths coming faster as you shudder and scream
begging for more…but then you awake from your dream…?

Sensual Pride… A Prelude To Adieu?

1. A prelude to a due…

May I have this dance?

and lead a merry whirl

through sensuous timesteps

with passion to unfurl

slow, slow, quick, quick, slow

the rhythm of love is to go with the flow

adagio, dulcissimo

intimo, libero

from subtle expression

to a crescendo of confession

lucidity in liquidity

the end undefined

sinuous sensitivity

with each beat in time

enwrapped in arms

enraptured in each other

enveloped in sin

captured and covered…

2. Toccare appassionato

As as the heat rises

imagination to the fore

increased variations

subtleties and more

dance with your fingers

linger with your tongue

carouse to arousal

two become one

in volume and vibration

increasing sensation

accelerando con brio

allegretto con calore

time in time

leaving you wanting more

a step to the left

a swing to the right

complete connectivity

performed to delight

3. Finale…

Learning and lessons

become unending sessions

a waltz to a rumba

jive to lambada

emotions at full height

sensory delight

head and heart all a spin

all created within

fermata, fuocoso

passion still flows

pride to discover

as one with a lover

in a sensual dance…

A Springtime Stroll…

Wi’ a well-oiled fife, and the love of her life

barefoot amidsst the fragrant delights of spring

gentle background lute, fleetingly strummed to suit

dawn chorus leading her heart to sing…

a modern girl with a renaissance swirl

leading him by the hand

through rich green pasture

past your plantings of last year

gentle breeze leaving her fanned…

she sings a sweet song

interspersed, intertwined

with elegant fife notation…

leading him to the stream

with eyes all a gleam

in a dance of whirling rotation…

she plucks simple strings

her beauty framed with spring blooms

pure musicality all things

as the intensity of passion looms…

at the waters edge

bound by rush, reed and sedge

she lay the instruments down

then with a simple direction

towards his affection

she lays her love to the ground…

and tho’ the musical joy has ended

the music of love is no longer suspended

and there, beside the rushing stream

love envelops as if in a dream

and tho’ the birds may call from above

the only sounds that matter, are those of love

a unity in the natural world

amongst spring buds, all becomes unfurled…

A Gust Of Wind…

Morning stillness…

blessed with silent dawn

a new beginning

calm before the storm?

tranquility sanguine in sea green solemnity

early freshness of untainted morn

dew-drops glisten on budding emnities

from bud to petal to floridity new born…

a single beam of sunlight arises

rapacious in capacious new light

encompassing all poles in solar diversity

colours replendent in fragrant delight…

spiders drunk on emptied blue-bottles 

in linked spun webs from stem to bloom

silence shattered by shattered shells

as frogs hunt the snails to consume…


a whisper of a wind calls upon the listening

rippling leaves as it leaves belief

a building crescendo of crisp rustling shivers

descends amongst the eclipse of the trees

by clouded skies filled with foreboding

as the storm gathers pace from afar

the whisper evolves into whistling anger

as wind and rain start to spar…

their internal fight spreads out of the ring

and savages through the idyll

battering blooms and silken connections

angry clouds throw heavy overspill

torrents of water drown the illusion

gusts make bust of the sculptured vision

flattened and fallowed, laid in confusion

nature’s beauty beaten by nature’s derision


the calm appears, the land is watered and fed

and new life will rise from those that are dead…


They give you…
random promises and candid ramblings
never followed up by actions.
They take away…
reasons for living and leave us all giving
our pittance in contrition for factions.

They want us…
to follow like sheep in sh!t so deep
and accept their every lie.
They need us just…
to put a cross in the box that never unlocks
so to pick a failure to try.

They ignore reality
with verbal banality
they feed us with pure twisted word…
They await applause
for any answered cause
then silence is all that is heard…

If politics as is thus
is the choice of all us
then we are as guilty as they…
for accepting our fate
til it’s far too late
to instigate a new way…

so with this pitiful rhyme
I ask you, this time
to carry out your duty to vote…
just ignore all the names
strapped to those wanting fame
and spoil that paper, then gloat…

that you have then achieved
to disparage the greed
by saying you disagree…
with the current voting way
let them bleed in dismay
don’t vote for anyone (except me!)


This world failing in its own deficiencies
falling down tumbledown avenues
of stressed exposure in hidden light
lost in the humdrum of…living?
rampant revenues of blind alley driving
once allies now hidden in hatred
feeding comatose depression
through purple patches to see weed assault
a saline drip of tedium exposed
a frail sip in drought ridden waters
of life now emptied in the waste
of haste too fractious for contemplation
in depths of crimson despair
floated above grey matters immaterial
sinking in the refuse refusal of reality
pure dirt in the sky of a single breath
saddled with the weight of wanton expectancy
to wait addled with black transparency
so we see nothing, await even less
to be blessed of frailty in solo confession
so once learnt, thus never is the lesson
to sow the seeds that in darkness fail
so to the greed that is beyond the pale
a slight of hand leads to foresight lost
that might is now so weak so at what cost?
blind to the moment, deaf to the voice
touch repossessed with handcuffed choice
we taste less, hence we be tasteless
deprived of true senses one by one
now solitary and alone

For The Loss Of A Child…


Nothingness, bewilderment

no right words as sentiment

gone but never forgotten

my child, I was besotten…

tears fall, your voice calls

I hear it, yet fear it

once so sweet and fair

now, never again to be there…

I picture the closeness, tho’ now am blind

special memories, ever hurting to find

a reason, no rhyme can replace

that angelic smiling face…

I reach out for you, for your young hand

to hold in mine, as my heart disbands

and breaks into a thousand tears

each one a moment from your momentary years…

those tears I taste and savour to keep

tho’ many more from my heart I shall weep

and collect together as your lifeblood to drink

every day, every way, of you that I think…

and they will refresh me with hope anew

that the time here we spent as two

can give us both the reasons for being

so that in life, as in death, we are all seeing…

so even tho’ there is no visible face

we are together in time and space

and tho’ it hurts so, even to try

I am with you now, and be again when I die…

Familiar Trees…

The mighty Oak roars
at the weeping willow
get out of my way
lay down on my mossy pillow
for I am the strength
in this forest land
and all sad trees
must now be banned…

The willow retorts
in her feathery way
that the oak is a bully
so here she will stay
to add to the beauty
of the summer skyline
with elegance and movement
and thus flouting, she declined…

so the mighty oak thought
and considered the scene
and shook the willow sharply
leaving it weeping and green
but the willow was not beaten
and so began to make choke
by wrapping her lithe branches
around the old oak…

the oak was distressed
and so fell its acorns
and from each tough seed
a new oak was born
but these seedlings understood
that harmony must ever rest
with every one of the trees
in this familiar forest so blessed…


Brush Strokes…

May I, entwine your silken tresses around my fingers to linger, as I rake my brush so close to your skull, lush… I glory in the feeling, sending your senses reeling, towards sensual tresses, desires and shared confesses…. I grasp your hair, pulling you – there, towards my lips thus your mouth slips…we tongue and taste, no haste, my hands wrapped around your gilt locks, ready to unlock your guilt in shock, come to me in collusion, all confusion now released, I thus brush your hair, before shared sensual release, let me stroke you further into fervour and desire, evoking sweet emotions before igniting our fire…

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