Some of us have no shame ....

and will use bandwidth for anything - even foisting poetry on the unsuspecting browser. Poems by all sorts of people, all unpublished; all, so far, uncredited.

Priorities

On greeting the happy couple
On the steps of the hospital
Festooned with flowers and showers
Of congratulations
Their very best friend of long years standing
Handing out breathless apologies for missing the event
Gasps 'Did you get what you wanted? Is it a boy?'
She replies, 'It's a girl, but actually, we wanted a toaster.'

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Lexicon of Love

(A poem slightly less dreadful than its title)

I am your lover
From cover to cover, the
Amorous Bookworm
Champing Diligently
Ever Forward
Going Heavenward
In Joyful Knowledge
Loving Mightily Now
Over Pages
Quietly Rummaging
Silently Tunnelling
Under Velvety Waves
X-ploring Your Zenith

This verse was harder to assemble
Than loving you will ever be.

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All Right

Are you alright?
My dad used to ask
No dad, I said
I think at least half of me
Is left.

It's the sort of thing you say
When you want to be a comedian
And make people laugh

Unfortunately
It shows that you
Are not
And probably never will

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Through The Square Window

Through the square window
Is a child eating ice cream
Through the round window
Is a pony and trap
Through the arched window
Is Little Ted

If you're a child reading this
It will make no sense at all
But don't worry
It won't be long before you are old enough
To have children of your own
Who look at you
Sometimes
As if you come from
Another planet
(You do)

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Open The Box

You come to me
Arms spread condor wide
To embrace and capture your willing prize
But part of me flies up
Like doves, white wings moonlit
Against a sky who's blackness
Defies all metaphor and simile
Take care, should you open the box
The medium is the message
The box is empty

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Darkness

Lying by you
My eyes growing accustomed to the recent darkness
I look into the room and can
Make out shapes
Just
No longer ghosts and monsters
But harmless silhouettes of clothing
Thrown casually onto chairs
And the warm wooden curve of furniture
But you, closest of all
Are bathed in impenetrable black

And yet, in my head
In the darkest place of all
Your form is incandescent
And I have no eyelids there
To shut you out.

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