Shattered glass. Shards all over the bed sheets.

There clearly was an exploding light bulb.

Lucky not in, or spitting glass would greet.

Spray of venom could do damage untold.


Into the forest at night. Life at risk

from crazy psychopath lying in wait.

With the dog, feed the foxes. Walk quite brisk.

Get home safely not having met such fate.


Avoided fatal car crash all these years,

or knocked down by callous, careless driver.

Get on with my life surmounting these fears.

Wonderous, my being a survivor.


At least to now, and turbulent times these.

Beat the odds with each throw of the dice….Please.


Whatever happened to …. the heroines.

Who in their time wins.  They make your ears burn.

Whatever happened to, the heroines.

No more heroines any more.  Your turn.


Whatever happened to …. the heroines.

Like Rosa Luxembourg; Freda Karlow.

So many women, truly genuine.

And not forget Germaine Greer; Jean Harlow.


Whatever happened to …. the heroines.

Got an icepick defying injustice.

Stood bravely to accusations of sin.

When they were the ones cheated, they sussed it.


No more heroines any more.  You sure?

No more heroines any more.  Keep score.

What Love!

“How do you propose to love me?” she said.

“To simply proclaim it is not enough”.

“Many women are too easily led”.

“A moment, and then the going gets tough”.


“So how you are going to love, matters”.

“In what ways will you deliver this love?”

“What’s special you bring, beyond what flatters?”

“What’s brought to the table; substance or fluff?”


Not sure what I could say to satisfy.

Riches, but probably not monet’ry.

A lifetime’s commitment, but time can fly.

My body’s fruits, not always perfunct’ry.


Not best response, and did not persuade her.

So, just stay together, ‘til think better.


Swishing swirling long skirt flowing freely.

Feminine shape seen or can be assumed.

Confidence in an action that’s easy.

Movements harmony perfectly in tune.


She looks across at me looking at her.

A big smile spreads across her pretty face.

We both wave, as if the air we both stir.

But then each move on to another place.


Must return next time to compliment her

on her attractive skirt, beautif’lly worn.

Not want it seem I’m an operator,

but like to handle the cloth and the form.


Palms to gently ride that movement and grace.

Whirling. Can’t think straight. A sexy embrace?

End of Life Sonnet.

I reckon on a reckoning one day.

At that time bound to be wrecked; on the rack.

Suppose expected, but too much to pray.

And at the very last, it will distract.


But no joy to suffer the pain when weak.

A life experience to be savoured,

I do not think so. It’s hardly a peak.

It will be too hard and not be favoured.


Larkin’s line, “first boredom, then fear” being

life  “Whether you use it or not, it goes”,

Into this sonnet of pained, stretched seeing.

Because,  I  , here, inconceivably knows.


End of life sonnet. Not feel like larking.

Who knows what, or nothing,  I  embarking.

In that time.

I said to her “Let me show you the view”.

“At the top, can look down on the city”.

Seeing cars on the ceiling’s mirror’s new.

And the multiple lights at night, pretty.


There’s a swimming pool up there, much unused.

It would not matter having no costume.

Or peel an orange. Relax as we choose.

Easy with each other. Friendship can bloom.


Perhaps do a light workout together

on those couple of machines by the pool.

Build up a sweat, then shower together.

Lounge, drinking iced water, and acting cool.


Two bodies getting to like each other.

There; each other’s significant other.

A Choice.

Standing by the roadside, man defiant.

Robed and ready, there just with his rifle.

Who knows what he thinks about the tyrant.

His country’s his cause. Him, its disciple.


The front line against foreign invasion.

Protector without any protection.

In the open. For him no evasion.

To those coming, he signals rejection.


Armies melt away for another day.

Suicides ahead for future carnage.

Murder now, as troops pass, nothing to say.

Like shooting a can. Forfeit an old age.


He chose not to cower. Life, the cost paid.

Victim to more choice.  The choice to invade.


Truly dreadful that I got there too late.

She wanted to see me for a last time.

And I her. If knowing this the last date.

Not let weakness turn into neglect crime.


Wanting to go, chairing public meeting.

Finish in good time for me to depart.

Caught out. Another speaker, not fleeting.

South African. Big cheese. End time, he starts.


Soon as finish, rush away but thwarted.

No time leeway and tube delays make worse.

Rushing. Just too late. Visit aborted.

Back home, the news. Collapse. Cry at fate’s curse.


See freshly dead and talk, but just one way.

Say goodbye. Foolish man. Left with dismay.


Calm again after time of turbulence.

Although others fret at the news as fresh,

already moved on. Mental recompense.

Not pick over bones, just observe the flesh.


Politicians skill this;  and at BT’s

surgery, computer game picks up calm.

After wires fixed to fingers with grease,

racing dragons on the screen has its charm.


Electrodes measure calm, and if laid back

dragons fly down the track, after walking.

BT woman’s dragon beats mine. The gap,

a flaring nostril. Shows calm rewarding.


Shocks from real life dragon’s breath, now just sighs.

Calm, and onward. Beastly cold purpose flies.

Scary Dream.

Long exhausting day. Disturbing outcome.

Expense incurred from excessive goodwill.

Keep nerve, but ‘beat’ myself like broken drum.

Consequence of waste could be bitter pill.


Sleep. Limited catch up. Disturbing dream.

My woman and I join others downstairs

in house. After pleasant stay, so it seems,

upstairs.   Ready to leave. Return upstairs,


myself, to retrieve something forgotten.

Separate from her in crucial moment.

Soldiers rush in. All in their way rotten.

Guns cocked, nervy, to inflict atonement.


Woman with others, swift surrendering.

Less chance for me here. Soldier ascending.