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Editing - polished draft

A Game in the Vestry

Cold, cold, cold the snow outside the country church.
The quiet park, in summer filled with children's happy cries
And singing birds and mothers, babes in arms, is silent now.
Snow falls gently on the leaves and on the statue in the lake.

But in the vestry all is not so peaceful, as dear Father Reilly
Gropes his Christian way under the young girl's clothes,
Not minding her screams of terror at his clawing fingers;
"For the love of Jesus, but that feels great," he moans.

The Last Days

A blood-stained key to life awaits
for those with the guts to grasp it
And to feel its heavy silver blade,
cool against the victim's waiting throat.

The doom-dark forest threatens me
with ruby eyes of demon creatures,
Amidst the chattering calls of devils
waiting for unwise, unwary travellers.

O let me drink from fate's heady moon-tree
that cold death-inducing brew of bergamot;
O let me wallow in the gut-wrenching horror
of my own long-drawn-out death agonies.

The Last Days

A blood-stained key to life awaits
for those with the guts to grasp it
And to feel its heavy silver blade,
cool against the victim's waiting throat.

The doom-dark forest threatens me
with ruby eyes of demon creatures,
Amidst the chattering calls of devils
waiting for unwise, unwary travellers.

O let me drink from fate's heady moon-tree
that cold death-inducing brew of bergamot;
O let me wallow in the gut-wrenching horror
of my own long-drawn-out death agonies.

And God Looked Down And Smiled

Endless days' relentless bombardment laid the Somme landscape waste;
Shells by the million, a devastating deathly doom-laden din,
Craters filled with rotting bodies, men and horses,
United in indifferent, undifferentiated bestial meaninglessness;
And the helpless soldiers sang and prayed in the company of the dead.
If there were, if there really were, a god in bloody Heaven,
Surely he would have bent a holy ear, opened his holy eyes?
But no, in his wisdom he let it all happen.
Free will, old boy, don't you know?

How Edna's Pussy Does The Moonlight Frog Dance

Sitting by the frog pond
In the cool moonlight
Of a summer's eve,
Listening to the nocturnal croaks
From the bullrushes,
I wait for my prey,
Silently.

A movement spied, and I leap and
The slimy creature is in my grasp.
See! With an elegant paw-flick,
It sails through the air
To land where my waiting claws
Are ready for fun and games.
For me, anyway.

Hummingbirds and Cacti (a brief rewrite)

Cactus Flowers

I wish my cactus flowers you could see;
They have attracted hummingbird and bee.
One tiny bird, long-beaked, throat brightly red,
Just paused--and then looked down at me and said:
“Yum, yum, I like this blossom’s nectar fine;
I . . . hic! . . . no longer mind the cactus spine.”

Perception

Stress takes its toll
work - life
balance going up in

smoke

relaxation
a necessary part of life
we find little
epiphanies

trappings of responsibility
discarded in favour
of me time
repose re centering

As I peer into the mirror
of a different world
my shoulders relax

I breath deep
and visualise
the cold roughness

of stone on my back
the smell of Virginia
and pollution tinging
the air

Remembering 1969 as it really was

What does nineteen sixty nine mean to you?
The last dying tremor of the swinging sixties,
Woodstock and free love, groovy baby,
Empty-headed teenagers and wasted hippies
Dancing in the fading glimmer of their youth,
Painted, cracked beads perished in the sun.

WHEN YOU MARRY A POET

When you marry a poet
You shall be the poem
And he the poet
He'll be liable to every line of lies
he told the women before you
You shall be the acre to which he'll ever build
that castle sketched by failed promises

ENGLAND - An Acrostic

Election won by
Naked manipulation by the rightwing media,
Greedy Tories under the scumbag toad
Lying Boris Johnson;
And after Brexit
Now England's going down the
Drain. Well done, moronic electorate

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