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Booze Hound on Ageing

Oh fickle youth why do you forsake me?
I'm a husk, with craggy skin, worn and weathered by countless summers.
A furrowed brow, ploughed by care and worry.
Crows feet creeping from tired eyes.

Dough like flesh, dimpled and folded,
needed and rolled.
Puckered and flaccid.
Sexual appitite waning

Filled with bravado
Flim flam
And fakery,
Topped up with whiskey.

Heart stops beating.
A deafening sound,
Silence echoing.

Last few words: 
This is the seventh poem in the Booze Hounnd series.
Editing stage: 


An ode to aging...a topic on my mind. Isn't ageing bad enough without the added aches and pains to go with it? Instead of brittle skin, consider; wheathered, crinkled, craggy, rucked or wizened? As brittle has other connotations. I very much liked this poem.

always, Cat

When you fling poo, some of the stink sticks to you!

"The Book of Styx" can be ordered and purchased on line at:

My intention to critique you on this piece was that initially, I felt it could do with some expansion. (more explanation I suppose.)

Dough like flesh, dimpled and folded,
needed and rolled.
In time, the life you lead unfolds
years take their toll.
Sexual appitite waning,
Puckered and flaccid.

After reading this poem a few times it started to grow on me.
It's a very real piece. The poem, from beginning to end, seems a play on the words themselves.

If I had it my way I'd be up on a mountain. Playing my guitar,
until my calluses grew calluses, my arse a chair and my smile into a halo

I guess i should make it clear that yhis is one in a series of poems about Booze Hound.

I'm not sure if you would call it a plat on words,it is just the way the character talks.

thanks for reading


Stand tall, be proud to be who you are, give the world the finger!!!!

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