BOXING DAY HUNT

Forest floor drenched with warm fox blood.
Harrowing red smeared over young boy's face:
archaic initiation into titled manhood.
Outdated, morally abominable, sickeningly barbaric.
Yelping hounds fighting over torn apart entrails.
Frenzied, out of control, while red-coated huntsmen on immaculate mounts

are euphoric. Animalistic. The sight of fresh blood
is their ultimate turn-on - ah, such warped eroticism:
an imbred instinct for slaughtering the helpless.
What does this reveal about our mighty Betters?
That they're lacking in conscience and devoid of compassion.
But, what goes around comes around. So hunters BEWARE!!!

BIN MEN

Midway up from Forest Road
and midway down from oak-bordered green
where children play and dogs frolic,
dressed in coveralls the bin men toil.
They drag our bins to the kerb edge
and then empty them into their truck.

                                          Rain soaks their clothing
and runs down the street in rivers.
On the road named after a tree, deep cracks
form matchstalk men in aged tarmac.
The houses are pink and uniform, their inhabitants insular.

While the operatives dispose of our garbage,
where do their minds travel? To sunny climes
I imagine, or Saturday nights with friends at the pub.
They discuss the weather, and admire a pretty girl passing by.

The rain eases, sun peeps through a cloud
and a shard of light encloses them. Weather beaten
faces break into smiles. These men

                                           in boring occupation
put me to shame. Uncomplaining, down-to-earth,
they teach the the pretentious part of me
an important lesson: be yourself - you are good enough as you are

and, anyway, everyone else is already taken...



Wishing you all Happy Holidays...with lots of love and hugs xxx

CARROT

Dedicated to the memory of Robin Davies...


Utterly irresistible to me, he was
my first ever girlhood crush.
An addiction that drew emotions
into utter paradise. This boy
was the ultimate archetypal lover:
beneath red curls, the face
of a fifteen-year-old Adonis.

Oh how that half-smile sent
my senses reeling
and heart pounding wildly.
It remains my untold secret -
the endless unfulfilled hankering
to touch such perfection.
Oh yes, I believed in miracles then!



In adulthood now, and "Catweazle" revisited.
Easier to trace these days - online - typing, typing.
NO!! Devastating shock - my Carrot,
nine long years beneath the earth.
I SHOULD HAVE SENSED. As the axle of winter
turns from the sun, I've lost what I never had.
And yet...grief runs deep. So very, very deep 😢

ACCEPTANCE

Day of uncertainty, day of frost.

With thoughts
apprehensive, I await
the judgement.

The crowded waiting room
is silent, except for

the TV mounted on a wall.

Through the window the trees
are bare, sky deep blue.
A muddy footprint
soils the pristine white floor.

No smiles in here.

Two tiny droplets poised
on the tap
of the drinking water chiller.

Lipstick mark on a plastic glass.

A woman emerges in tears
from the consulting room.

Today, I will not cry
if my consultant delivers bad news.
I will accept my fate and celebrate
each moment I still have left...


Written three weeks ago...I have now been given the all clear (at least for the present)! 😁