ARIES

How she loves the glowing embers
in the dying of the fire:
those luminous pictures, ever changing,
that fascinate and tease

imagination's wild subconscious
into a prophecy foretold
of fiery nature and jealousy's curse
that characterize all she is.

Plucking Mars from constellation
to justly worship, she absorbs
His qualities: powerful will and masculinity,
condensed into female form.

The embers now fading - a childlike lament:
the pulse between ashes and Soul.
Reawakening of something older than time -
Destiny in the flickering of final flame.

So sorry everyone...I am currently in an area where the internet coverage is extremely poor. 😬
Will visit you all when I return home, in around a week.
Do hope you receive this...

INSIDE MY HEAD

You're here again,
inside my head when I'm trying to sleep.
You're here again,
smashing my confidence on a level deep.
Harsh words echoing around my brain
'til I feel like stepping in front of a train.

You're here again,
tearing me apart layer by layer.
You're here again,
as always the central player.
Bruising, belittling, crushing self-esteem
because I failed to live up to your dream.

You're here again,
shouting, criticising, putting me down.
You're here again,
ensuring that in tears I finally drown.
Oh why am I here if I'm worth so little?
You are so cruel and my ego so brittle.

You're here again,
reminding me of how flawed I am.
You're here again,
insinuating what a failure I am.
You insult and wound with every word
and yet keep me caged like a helpless bird.

You're here again,
only this time I'm finally closing my ears.
You're here again,
but you've no longer power over all my fears.
Oh I'm sorry, Inner Voice, that I've cramped your style,
but now let me be me, without being on trial.


Written on World Suicide Prevention Day...with deepest compassion.

THE CAR ENTHUSIAST

He adored her
but their bond was fraying.
They flitted between being lovers and strangers.

He'd bought a vintage Cadillac.
He sang in the garage.
She shouted at him

and a spider dropped from the rafters
as if he, himself, was fair game.
He incensed her. It snowed.

The Cadillac got polished. It shined.
She threw her hairbrush against the wall.
He sat in his car, in pure ecstasy.

"I'll enter her in the Concours d'Elegance" he said,
"I'll clean her engine parts!" They gleamed
from all the loving care and attention.

The engine purred like a contented cat. He was in his element.
She wanted a night out.
He was checking the oil.

They attended a friend's wedding.
As he threw confetti, his eyes never left
his beloved car out there in the street.

The Cadillac won 1st prize in the Concours.
Winter mornings cast long shadows
across all except the garage.

She stayed in bed. She was fed up.
He was fine-tuning and tweaking the points and electrics.
She threw his breakfast in the bin.

And when her home made cakes flopped
and when she failed an important exam
and when their son moved out

he was lying under the car
and tinkering with the exhaust system.
The car looked brand new

and the aroma of oil and polish permeated his clothing.
He stumbled upon her this morning, sobbing in the garage.
She thought she'd lost her keys in there -

at least, that's what she claimed...

BREXIT SYNDROME

Are we or aren't we going to leave?
No one is sure quite what to believe.
The nation has elected to be taken out.
Yet now the decision is in grave doubt,
courtesy of the minority "remainers"
oh such irritating complainers (!)
who've thrown the country into disarray -
civil unrest can't be far away!
They're demanding another Brexit vote,
although the majority chose metaphoric moat
between ourselves and Europe's State,
intending to firmly close the gate
on laws imposed from a foreign place.
Embarrassing it is and such a disgrace
that elected members refuse to honour
the people's wishes and so dishonour
all that made Britain great:
democracy and fair debate.
So come on guys, don't you think it's time
to finally behind Boris stand in line
and support him in a united front
against dictatorship's power hunt?
This is our domain and not theirs,
a precious inheritance to leave our heirs.
We are not German, French or Irish,
but independent and singularly British.
Just think for a moment all you who doubt,
what has our culture always been about -
a self-sufficiency and inventiveness
that makes us unique in our Britishness.
And how do you think we managed before
to survive through more than a single World War?
Before the Union we could hold our own -
and now, deal or no deal, we'll be stronger alone.

LORD OF THE TREES

In Sherwood Forest's filtered sunlight
a shadow darts - a moving tree (?), elusive,
that you never quite completely see.

The Green Man's prophesy from centuries past:
splintered bark. Dying leaves. Poisoned earth.

Passing through the densest part
of the little that still remains,
a woman in pink pauses, shivers,
then hastens on her way.

She's mistaken Him for the rustling ferns
and wind-sigh in the trees. What did she just hear -
and feel - brushing past her sleeve?

Nothing to see.
No outlaws poaching the King's deer.
Not a sign of Herne's secret realm
where He guided all the animals, 
Elementals, and Robin's Merry Men.

Antlers of stag upon his head
and clothed in wolf skin cloak,
He's seen by only a handful who
believe, who've never lost
their connection to the green.

Herne moves swiftly from thicket to tree,
unseen by the idly curious -
those novelty seekers ceaselessly gabbling,
who never stop to listen
to the gentle murmuring, barely heard:
such mournful cries of the living forest,
whose demise they have carved in oak.

Because He is survival's metaphor,
we need to heed Herne's call:

to halt the felling of the trees
and poisoning of the waterways too,
before we find it's all too late
and into the abyss we fall.

For headlong we're boring our relentless way
to that ultimate precipice. Oh Herne,
please reawaken in our time of dire need

and rewire these numbest of skulls!

HOLIDAY ROMANCE

Yippee!!
I'm free
to bask in the sun
and have some fun.
No more bosses
fretting over losses,
or devious shirkers
posing as workers.
Let them tie each other in knots
'cos here they're only minute dots
out of sight across the sea,
far enough away from me:
out of vision is out of mind,
at least that's what I always find
when lying on the golden sand
of Egypt's legendary land.
And when I'm done with lounging here,
I'll be taking in the atmosphere
of Sphinx and lofty Pyramids, where
the Pharaohs' treasures are laid bare -
oh I hope their curses aren't for real!
But, then, I'm not here to steal,
just to experience the foreign culture
of baking heat and desert vulture.
The camels, too, are quite an attraction -
although, trying to mount one I'm driven to distraction!
But that's all part of the thrill I seek,
especially when riding with a handsome Sheikh
to his bedoin tent as his special guest,
where we'll stop a while to take a rest
and dine on eyes of sheep in aspic (??)
(oh do please find me a toilet - QUICK!).
The bubble pipe is more to my taste,
to all inhibitions it soon lays waste.
I'm carried away on flattery's tide -
it feels so good being by his side.
And, before I know it, he's proposed to me,
wants me to be his wife number three!
Oh I'm very tempted, I must admit...
but think I'd be jealous more than a bit
of his other two beautiful wives,
don't fancy a lifetime of crossed knives!
So I tell him his offer I must decline,
'cos I'm much too fond of my life being mine! 😊😊