MISSING LINK

My best friend from school
became a top model

which was fantastic for her but left me feeling
somewhat lacking. I knew I wasn't

particularly feminine, but neither was I lesbian.
Uncomfortable in dresses and mystified by girl-talk,

I did nevertheless date guys
and write them erotic, suggestive poems -

while living in terror of actual intimacy:
that one of them would someday believe me "normal"

and venture beyond painted face and padded bra
to discover the odd little boyish creature beneath,

then divulge my guilty secret to all and sundry,
humiliating me to the core...



A mother now and far from ideal wife,
for innate awkwardness still generates

a pronounced reticence that must be off-putting.
I live off-balance, making excuses

to avoid wifely duties: cleaning, sewing, cooking, I abhor;
preferring instead motor sports, sword fighting and archery -

and  I'm more adept at these than most men I know!
No one seems to know what to make of me.

I am definitely not your archetypal female.
I am Aries woman: gender's missing link.

CREME DE MENTHE

Fourteenth Boxing Day at Auntie Blanche's.
The appetising aroma of roasting turkey
pervading every room of her three-storey house.
The entire family gathered, drinking cocktails.
Auntie's face flushed red, absurd and clown-like
in contrast to her pale blonde hair.
Being the only juvenile present, I felt left out
of their increasingly loud jocularity.
Becoming resentful, I opened my mouth to protest.
But she, ever the empath, turned to me,
took my hand and led me to the scullery.
Aah...that mysterious place
where her special glass-fronted cabinet
stood in it's alcove.
How it's contents had always
fascinated me:
a myriad of miniature bottles with exotic labels
that contained liquids in every colour imaginable.
Always strictly out of bounds to me-of course,
but that only made me covet them all the more.
Then, as if on impulse,
she quickly took a key from a drawer
and unlocked the double doors,
opening them wide.
"Choose one," she said, "Go on!"
I scrutinised her face intently
thinking it some kind of cruel joke.
But she smiled encouragingly and repeated,
"Go on!"
It took me a full twenty minutes
to make my selection -
there were so many to choose from.
I eventually decided on the Creme de Menthe
and how my hand shook as I reached
into that hitherto strictly forbidden place
to take it out.
And the taste, as I sipped from a sculptured liqueur glass
was utterly exquisite - all I had ever imagined, and much, much more.

Then, that evening the first blood came.
Nothing was ever the same after that remarkable day...
It felt like I'd finally come-of-age.

FUSION

I studied his image
all evening,
every gesture,
each facial expression.

By bed time I believed
I knew him intimately:
had demystified his idiosyncrasies,
decoded his DNA.

Later, in dreams, I began
probing his psyche
for unconscious desires
akin to my own.

Then time stood still
and neither of us knew
if we were inside
or outside of the dreams - even
if they were dreams at all -
or some fantastical fusion
of Tantric destinies:
a touching of Souls
in rapturous unity
that I couldn't even begin
to find the words to express...
until now.

WOLVES NOBLESSE

When are you going to see?
When will you understand?
Doesn't mean you own me
just 'cos I held your hand.

Won't be just another photo
in a playboy's book of fame:
mere pawn to inspire a moment of envy
in some pathetic one-upmanship game.

So goodbye, I've had enough now
of high class predatory wolves.
Can no longer stand being kept in the closet
with your tweeds and worsted wools.

I'm going back to my home now,
where rustic roots run deep.
Oh I've finally realised where my future lies -
far away from some cosseted creep.

Well what will you do without me?
Just find another gullible fool
and turn her head with charm and champagne
until she really believes you're cool!

But maybe someday you'll comprehend
that even mongrels like us still feel,
and we don't exist solely to provide a diversion
until you marry your social ideal.

ACORN FALL

In a garden, I'm sitting
on the wall beside the fish pond.
A giant oak tree towers high
above me, heavily laden.
An occasional acorn plops
into the water, displacing the algae,
and huge Koi faces appear in the gaps,
intrigued by these unfamiliar disturbances.

Pillow cases and duvet covers
are hanging on a washing line nearby.
All those stories they could tell:
of bodies sleeping, restless, or making love
within crisp cotton. Intimate secrets
none but the genuine psychometrist will ever learn.

My gaze returns to the pond. The fish
have retreated, leaving dark empty spaces.
Sun dips behind pavilion roof,
bathing the garden in shadows
and pre-autumnal coolness.

Then a barrage of acorns
shatters the remaining patches of algae.
Pond population dives for the safety of the depths
as the final glow of daylight
traces their paths in rippling silver...
momentarily highlighting the faces of the Gods.


Hi Guys, 
I am taking a short break now. I will miss you and will catch up with you all again soon.
Meanwhile...have a brilliant week!:))
xoxoxo

DAHLIAS

Within the dahlias a vision of him
beguiles my senses:
a beloved image flitting from flower to flower
like a butterfly on a summer's day
that I so long to follow.

There are petals on his shoulders
and lodged in his braces.
His eyes scrutinise cottage windows
anxiously seeking my mother's younger face,
and his countenance crushes my heart.

No one can stop him waiting here,
although he is so tired of waiting.
He longs to take her again in his arms,
to escape the bitter loneliness of limbo.
Yet he remains as always.
Always in this eternal moment,
in his army uniform,
all the years between forgotten.

The garden is in full bloom as it was then,
just after the war.
But new people tend it now.
A profound love of dahlias
               has brought us all here
                                 to this surreal intersection,
where all I can do is observe
four strangers having a barbecue...
and share my father's anguish.

CITY LIGHTS

Remember how we used to believe in dreams?
Now we haven't even the time it seems
to stroll along that Cornish shore
where we pledged we'd be lovers for evermore.

Oh when did we stop seeing the moon and stars,
and begin to bicker like children of Mars?

I can still recall how we used to love -
anywhere, any time, was the time for love.
We never held back, just gave our all.
I remember how I held you oh so tight...
and our hungry kisses all through the night.
Such passion then held us in thrall.

Well look at us now, this old married pair:
think we have it all sussed in our gilt-edged lair.
But is this all our lives have been leading to?
This familiarity that swallowed our dreams
has bred an indifference too.

Oh whatever happened to those reckless nights
when we dared to love beneath city lights?