Long poem by
Ralph Sergi | Details |
By the lamppost at night
with the pale moon shining bright
but obscured by the fog
I saw her in the harbor
standing where my boat lay moored
but she knew that
her azure eyes beckoned me to come
smoke from the cigarette in her hand
trailing upward and blending with the mist
and the gold braid around her wrist
I remembered my gift
I stood transfixed
if only for a moment
then I walked to her slowly
and tipped my fedora
and the little joke we shared in love
I asked,"Where have you been all my life?"
Waiting for you, she said
I laughed at her resentfully and said
You left me here from this place
without a note, without a trace
I scoured old haunts, you weren't there
you left as if you didn't care
Remember our walks along the shore
your favorite drink,that special place
in the cafe by the window
where the sun would shine on your hair
and leaving a golden glint
like it did on my boat
when it was in full sail
Then one day you went away
our love became a mystery
that was never solved
now your'e here and I ask you why
There was a war, she said
I lost this guy and you came along
to fill the void and share my sorrow
I loved you, Jake, your silly hat
the way you tipped it, the boat , the cat
who begged for fish after each catch
she paused and lit another smoke .
took a puff and exhaled and said
Then one day , he showed up , his name was Clive
the guy I mentioned had survived
and left his tags with a guy who died
and he became an MIA
he was hiding out in Mandalay
involved in something, he wouldn't say
but he wanted me there, he promised me fame
I was a singer, you know
and all the dough that I could want
or all I could take
I just had to know how to play the game
Then I thought of you Jake
and what we had
and I told him , No
He got mean, Jake
and threatened to expose me
for what I really was
and I couldn't bear for you to hear
my sordid past, my constant fear
we're both alike, you and me, he said
We'll take what the world has to give
and grab it by the throat
or I’ll destroy you if you don’t
As time went by,it didn't take long
to see he was singing a different song
His lies and schemes, the other dolls
I lost my respect and I didn't care
I had to get out, I needed a plan
to rid myself of this rotten man
There was this guy, Buck
who ran the bar, he pitied the plight
that I was in, he hated Clive as much as I
I told him I watched Clive at the end of each night
the cash he hid in a special place
no doubt to leave in a hurry in case things got hot
he would check to see how much was stashed
if it was worth the dare, we would split down the middle
and make our departure at the crack of dawn
I knew a Burmese captain who owned a scow
who asked no questions for a fee
he'd have some cabins for you and me
Just before closing , I feigned getting ill
and called for Clive to aid me somehow
to stay awhile and give me a pill
and while he was there, Buck went to that spot
took the cash and lit out that night to wait for me.
at a pre destined place
My bag was packed in another room
I told Clive I would rest and join him soon
But as soon as he left, I slipped out
to the back, grabbed a cab
headed for freedom away from that man
thinking of you and to make things right
She paused for a moment and put out her smoke
and I thought I saw a drop of blood
form on the corner of her mouth
she quickly wiped her hand across her face
and continued her story at a slower pace
I arrived at the pier where the scow lay docked
took one look behind me and looked at the clock
of the building where we were to meet
checked my watch that matched the time
I saw a jeep pull up and he saw me
two grips in his hand and a smile on his face
he said, I got his dough, I'll leave his jeep
It's the least I can do for that miserable creep
I said there's no time to waste
just show me the dough
we'll split down the middle and get ready to go
he said, "Oh"
I'm ready to go but my plans have changed
I'm traveling alone
but I'll leave just enough to change your luck
this one's for you and this one's for Buck
I suspected as much and I scowled as he grinned
but his mouth shaped an O as he looked down below
the knife in his stomach pulsed blood from his guts
too late I saw his gun come up as he fell
I fell a pain in my side and clutched my coat
I picked up the bags
and summoned up strength to get onto the boat
I looked at the captain and said
There's double the price
if we can get away soon
get up some steam
and head for Rangoon
the captain patched me up
as good as he could
with the aid of some rum and a smoldering wood
to cauterize the wound
I knew it was wrong to take his life
but I was prepared to kill him
to end this strife
as a precaution, I took the knife
that we used to cut bait with
a long time ago
the knife stirred up memories
that you and I had
that pressed my decision to leave that cad
but the wound didn't heal, the lead lay impacted
I was resigned to my fate to see you once more
before it's too late... and here you are
She collapsed in my arms and I held her tight
with tears in my eyes , her audible sighs
gasping for breath and leaning toward death
And before she expired, her hand on my face
Where have you been all life, babe
waiting for you, I cried
waiting for you
A tribute to the black and white movies and dialogue of the late 30’s and 40’s
© Ralph Sergi
Long poem by
Debbie Duncan | Details |
PART One,,,, as she saw it.
The mountains and the meadows were always so beautiful this time of year.
It seemed as if a fresh new world always came to life. The high cliffs turned sharply downward. As I sat listening to the ocean tides smashing against the walls of the mountain below. There was a mild breeze blowing from the south. The grass in the flower covered meadows moved with the breeze. The sun shined so brightly I thought it would melt me at times.
As I stood up from the log where I was sitting by the emerald forest, the breeze pressed my dress against me. It formed to the soft round curves of my breast, down through the curves of my waist pushing against my yielding hips. As I blinked from the sun, I saw him there in the distance. I had thought I was alone. But there he was, starring straight at me. What would I do and where could I turn? I knew what kinds of thoughts men had, my mother told me all about them. I saw that he was beginning to move my way !
I saw him there as he saw me. I was paralyzed, not knowing what direction to move. Though as I watched him from afar, he did not seem dangerous as my mother always warned. Still, I could hear her words like a tape recorder in the back of my mind.
Should I dare take my eyes from his? I could see his eyes were dark, maybe brown, or even midnight blue. What ever the color, I could tell they were smoldering with restrained passions. His hair was long to his shoulder blades. I knew that because it moved with the wind. He had broad shoulders with long legs. I knew I must not let him reach me. If his arms entangled me , surely I would never get loose. And, I'm not sure I would want too. Even though I heard the words of my mother, running in my head.
I could feel the tiny beads of sweat trickling down between my breasts. I was not sure I should take my eyes from him as I leaned down to pick up the fan that had slipped from my hand to my bare feet.
PART ONE,,,, As he saw it .
The winter snow had melted and yielded to the bright warming rays of the spring sun. The bears had come out of hibernation with their new born looking for food. The mountains and the meadows were born again, new, fresh and alive with life. Everything was beautiful and as it should be. Birds singing, their mating songs blended with the crash of the surf against the steep cliffs of the mountain. Nature was at peace with itself, and I came here to share in this peace. To be alone with the earth, or so I thought.
I found a place to sit on the grass hidden among the flowers in the high meadows. So I could enjoy the gentle breeze blowing while watching the forest animals. The warm sun caressed my body and warmed me. It was a prefect day, yet something was missing. A day like this needed to be shared with someone, someone special. Stretching, I caught a slight movement out of the corner of my eye, just across the enchanted forest. Of a beautiful women. It couldn't be possible as no one knew of this place. I had come here for years and had never seen a another person before. Yet, there she was. Dressed in a dress the wind made love to, pressing it to her body. Clinging to the sensual curves of her breast, down to her firm waist and full inviting hips. I suddenly felt drawn to her and stood up. I knew she had seen me as she was starring back at me, as I stood staring back at her. She was a vision. And I was afraid she would vanish if I approached her. Yet, she seemed to be smiling, calling to me as I started walking towards her. I remember the stories my grandmother had told me of the enchantresses that lived in this forest, but I did not hesitate. I would give to her anything she wanted, anything she desired.
As I approached her I realized she was real. She seemed to be looking at me, daring me to come closer. All the stories of the enchantress my grandmother had told me flooded my mind with a warning. Yet, she was so beautiful, so inviting and I couldn't take my eyes from her. I was slowly losing control with each and every step that brought me closer to her. I knew I was lost as I felt the heat of my desire to be with her, starting to take control. It was a struggle not to run to this beautiful creature , with the golden hair, and angelic face. As I came closer I couldn't help but notice her sensual breasts rising and falling with each breath she took. She seemed to be smiling, challenging me with everything that made her a beautiful, desirable woman. A woman this sensual, this beautiful, this desirable was surely the enchantress, and I was hers. As a bee is drawn to the flower, I was being drawn to this women.
Suddenly she reached down to pick something up. It was just then I noticed she was barefoot. As she bent over to retrieve what she had dropped, the sun reflected off her spun gold hair. and radiated a golden brightness that was almost blinding. Her dress shifted allowing me to see that her body enhanced her dress, rather then the dress enhancing her body. She would look beautiful in anything she wore. The heat of my desire for her was beginning to consume me with it's fire. I felt the beginnings of ,,,,,,,,,,
Nov. 18 1992,,,, Short story I started to write, A friend ask if he could write from a males point of view.
Long poem by
James Kelley | Details |
For every step I take toward the sun,
the spark that lit the fire inside me dwindles.
History slated on unforgiving stone erodes;
A weakly chiseled dream.
But I will remember it all,
and tongues shall breed these words
and hold them with intent.
Oh, how we have fallen!
Mighty and meek alike.
We were once just, and strong.
But greatness has cast down it's
poisoned banquet and corrupted hearts
that once bled for glory.
It is with a bitter tongue I speak these words!
Remember the reason we set foot outside
of our city gates.
Remember the certainty in your hearts;
that we men would give people hope!
Hope for life without malice.
Hope for a life of freedom!
A chance for prosperity!
...but what prosperity have we given?
Short of the bountiful throng of arrows that have captured
the eyes of this land and left it's people in fear?
Does a just King rule with the might of fear?!
Or does a King rule with compassion?
I ask you men,
you loyal few.
What would you have me do?
Would you have me slaughter this woman;
this beautiful princess of her people and take her
home as a prize for conquest merely because her
husband was the one that stood in the way?
Is her beauty the cost of her life?
She has wronged not one of us,
and yet you Brakkdus scoff at the thought of
her surviving her King. Why?
Here I thought men of honor followed me,
I thought men of courage swung my blades!
And, yet you fear this woman who could no
sooner do you harm than your own from the
bed that you left her in!
No, Princess Xavia shall survive her King
and remain here with her people.
I refuse to conquer the land of a tyrant,
only to settle for it's fallen ruler's morality!
If that does not befit you, then surely I am not your King.
-James Kelley 2013, All rights reserved
Princess Xavia's Response
I stand with humility before such valor
My people have borne
the burden of swords and arrows,
they are silent with fear and trembling before you
Which would be yours
to burden them with once again
yet you offer them freedom
and me my life...when you could shame not only me
but those who are entrusted to me
I would prefer to fall upon the blades of your men
than to become flesh passed amongst them
the destiny of a woman
who has became the chattel of a lost victory
My blood be shed before such shame
be cast upon me
Yet you.... you have offered me back my Kingdom
and restored my name
Gallant your soul in the shadow of such a night
beneath the dark stars
where only the flames of a burnt, ashen city
provide any warmth for my grieving people
You have offered them hope
through a frail vessel such as myself,
such honor is seldom written upon the hearts of men
in days such as these
Your compassion is a light in this darkness
these times inscribed with blood
such is this age,
when the voice of stones speak more gently
than the hearts of men
Dark are these days and black is the moon
of these nights,
in these lost reveries we journey through
dreams that have become nightmares
Yet strength has arisen in one man,
a leader who throws light back
at the fallen stars
granting the nights a moment of solace
for your honor has returned hope
a light stronger than blaze of the midday sun
And as I take back my broken people
we shall take refuge in your kindness and in that light of lights
shall we rebuild this Kingdom,
our sanguine ties shall bind us
and we will rise.
I gratefully accept my life
returned to me through your kind hands
And secretly, within a whisper
it is my prayer
that when I look upon your countenance
and the time comes
that I shall gaze into your eyes again
it shall be as the queen you have restored
to her throne and to her people
and who keeps quietly within the space between her heartbeats
and the hope that she will share her throne
should you find her efforts and her heart
(c) Katherine Wyatt 2013
Long poem by
liam mcdaid | Details |
Always a Dream
A little fairy princess one day sits resting on a most beautiful sunflower,
And magically she begins stretching her wings for anticipatory flight
While capturing a vision assortment of most bright flying colors,
Of one gentle and soothing rainbow promise—a shining and a light to delight;
As the ground begins to tremble and crumble underneath her tiny feet,
She takes flight on her splendid little wings—quite magnificent to behold
Through the colors of mist and the veil of magic she sees a bright sparkling shine,
And then all becomes clear—she sees gold, and even more gold on the horizon
Radiantly gleaming in front of her very eyes and charming her senses entire.
Then a most curious little green man with curved ears pointing heavenwards
And possessing remarkably strange and yet soft mesmerizing green eyes,
Presents himself both kindly and boldly to the little fairy princess in person;
He jumps right in the pot alongside her dancing a jig to his heart's content,
And the princess shines all colors of love and warmth over him under the mist
Of a most dazzling and enchanting dream to behold, know, and cherish.
With this the little green man reveals his true nature to his new found princess,
And with a most proud alacrity bearing a quaint princely nature, he declares:
“Me Darlin’ little princess so near and so dear to Me own little heart,”
“You must know I’m your Leprechaun always obedient from this very start,”
“At this moment most precious Me knows you’ve captured Me little heart,”
“And with this you’ve captured too Me overflown’ Pot of Gold now in part,”
“With Me undying love and devotion to you always carried in Me little heart.”
With this the Leprechaun and his little fairy princess danced a mystical old
Irish jig together while singin’ and laughin’ both so gently and contentedly;
All the while his soft green eyes and her sensual eyes azure locked in a
Most romantic gaze and affection when they began kissing one another,
And brushing inside and both sharing heartfelt fluttering emotions and a
Swelling with a deep beauty and a most passionate love in Heaven born.
With the genuine passion-felt affection and the romantic kisses exchanged,
The Leprechaun and his little fairy princess began to transform themselves
Right before each other’s very eyes, and Behold!!—in a quick moment, the
Leprechaun became a most handsome and sweet loving young prince, and
His little fairy princess, in a flash of blinding light, lost her wings and changed
Into a most radiant and quite beautiful young princess with long-flowing
Beautiful black hair, and a very lovely smile as resplendent and sweet as any
Angel in Heaven above.
Now the handsome young prince and his beautiful young princess were an
Elegant and most wonderful couple to behold and cherish—kind, smiling, and
Deeply in love.
The young prince with his Irish blessings began sparklin’ and sprinklin’ star dust
All over his young princess and they both lived happily ever after with pronounced
Passion and love, emotion and devotion, kindness and charity, vision and purpose,
Forever to their end on Earth and later by the Lord God himself in Heaven.
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights
Reserved (October 29, 2014) (Narrative poem poetic form)
Long poem by
SIMON M MATLOU | Details |
GUILTY AS CHARGED!
Justice Romantic Romeo : Stand up in court!
Case No 345/03/2012
Accused: Ms Provocative Dishonest
Address: 197 Mpopotwane Street
Sun Valley, Mamelodi West
(1) PARTICULARS OF CHARGES
(1) Charge 1: Sweeping my heart away.
(1)(a) Alternative charge to charge 1: Stealing away my soul.
(2) Charge 2: Provocatively hijacking my feelings.
(2)(a) Alternative charge to charge 2: Playing continuously in my dreams.
In terms of the Constitution’s Bill of Rights and Ubuntu Regulations 14(3) that reads with Batho-Pele Principles and Corporate Governance Regulations 18(3),
You performed an act that constituted an offence and you therefore stand accused
Unlawfully and intentionally sweeping my heart away on 2012/03/16 at 16:00, On my birthday, on Sunday at 197 Mpopotwane Street, Sun Valley in Mamelodi West, and alternatively stealing my soul on that day, time and place.
You unlawfully and intentionally, provocatively hijacked my feelings in broad daylight, in full view of the people, and alternatively played continuously in
my dreams every 12:00 midnight from that day until present!
Justice Romantic Romeo: How do you plead Ms Provocative Dishonest?
Guilty or not guilty?
Ms Provocative Dishonest : Eh.........eh...........guilty , my Worship !
Justice Romantic Romeo : Guilty as charged! Guilty on all the charges!
Justice Romantic Romeo : Since you pleaded guilty to all the charges,
I will slap you with this light sentence:
(1) Be the apple of my eye and my lover for life!
(2) With NO PAROLE and NO LEAVE TO APPEAL for this sentence, be the keeper of my dreams!
(5) COURT ADJOURNS:
Justice Romantic Romeo : All stand up in court !The court is adjourned,
And we will live happily ever after.
Long poem by
arthur vaso | Details |
Ah the cake before the icing!!!!!!
Aimee Semple McPherson (October 9, 1890 – September 27, 1944), also known as Sister Aimee, was a Canadian born in Salford, Ontario. She was a Los Angeles–based evangelist and media celebrity in the 1920s and 1930s.She founded the Foursquare Church. McPherson has been noted as a pioneer in the use of modern media, especially radio, and was the second woman to be granted a broadcast license. She used radio to draw on the growing appeal of popular entertainment in North America and incorporated other forms into her weekly sermons at Angelus Temple.
In her time she was the most publicized Christian evangelist, surpassing Billy Sunday and her other predecessors. She conducted public faith-healing demonstrations before large crowds, allegedly healing tens of thousands of people. News coverage sensationalized misfortunes with family and church members; particularly inflaming accusations she had fabricated her reported kidnapping, turning it into a national spectacle. McPherson's preaching style, extensive charity work and ecumenical contributions were a major influence in revitalization of American Evangelical Christianity in the 20th century.
Verse 1 Salford is the town in which she was born
Verse 2 As a teenager she would question visiting preachers about the existence of God
Verse 3 As a child she would often play “salvation army”
Verse 4 She was known to understand men speaking in tongues even they did not know
She married a man Semple, thus the play on words, simple, Semple, they traveled the world preaching, where he does of malaria in Hong Kong
Verse 5 Her husband Semple left her with child, whom she named “Star”
Verse 6 She remarried and tried to be a good wife, however her calling was to preach, during this time she was known to be obsessive about cleaning, however her children say that she was also a very loving mother, as a housewife as well as when she went back to preaching.
Verse 7 In Los Angles she formed the the “Temple of Angelus”
Verse 8 Is about her disappearance from Venice Beach in California, and re emerging in a town in Mexico
Verse 9 The ultimate Kiss was a famous song by a Mexican group in the 1960’s from the town where she re-appeared “ Aqua Prietas” Brown Water in English. Echos, refers to Echo Park a place in Los Angles where she formed her church.
Verse 10 sensuous sermonizer is a quote by Cole Porter describing Aimee. She was known for feeding the poor during the depression, something the government was failing to do, as well s healing the sick, and although not always successful, there are some famous accounts of her success. She was known for using theater, music and radio to bring the world of god to the people, thus bring ancient ways to modern times, and many an Evangelist would copy her style, both the sincere and the false.
Verse 11 She was a known insomniac who could not sleep, and died of an over dose of sedatives. “a splendid score” refers to her ability to put on Broadway type shows to deliver her message, people would line up for blocks to see her productions.
Long poem by
tattooed writer | Details |
He used to write to her, doing pen pal letters in his spare time, when not on duty. She replied back in-between marking her students' work. Nothing special, you understand, it’s good to be friends and have fun. Over a year’s worth of letters sent both ways, something young people do. Talking about music and films and their lives. He was Israeli, a soldier and Christian, she was Palestinian, a teacher and Muslim. A year separated them. Out of the blue they came and took him from his homeland, to her land, but he wasn’t destined to meet her. They took his colleagues, too, and killed a lot more. Her letters went unanswered. She received one of his sent before all of this. His side retaliated as they had to do; after all, they had to be seen as strong by one-and-all. Over one month of attacks to free their boys, we’ll show them, no-one will be spared. True to their word, so many died by their firepower, wrecking a country with little done in return. He remained a prisoner, her photo hidden in his wallet. She wrote letter-after-letter, all unanswered. She cried at his silence, missed his words and talking. Why can’t our countries talk instead of having this stupid war? They took my friend and started all of this. If only they would talk and not fight. How stupid they are! Bring my friend back to his people, I want his letters, to meet him! We’ve never met due to the border, a line made by politicians. We are not so different, could this be love, stolen by war?
Long poem by
Maurice Yvonne | Details |
Yes I can still see her...
through rose colored glasses,
She is gorgeous.
I remember saying...
or at least thinking out loud
...You take my breath away,
She was a perfect site to behold; I am sure men literally
fell like pins at the alley, as she entered a room
...and yet she was gentle,
unaffected by her physical beauty,
she had so much love in her heart.
Naked our needs locked.
I can't remember ever having
felt anything or anyone so soft.
Her skin against mine I was at the foot of the horizon.
Her blue eyes true cleansed my sins.
Her hair flowed like a sheet of fine black sand,
like a tapestry made from a beach ebony in color.
Trapped in love I pulled her to me by her thick dark mane,
blanketed her pear shaped breasts.
Her lips seared mine as we shared a small Scape of air.
She punished me over and over again with her lingering touch.
Does ecstasy ever end if you play it over and over
in the annals of your memories like a looped tape.
Her lips were my lips my tongue was her tongue,
no space separated us.
I have touched the first day of spring,
tasted the first snowflake of winter.
heard the leaves change color on an autumn day,
I have even witnessed summer remove her golden robe,
watched it fall to her feet and stared as she stood in all her glory.
I have done all of that
but when she spread her wings
when she held me,
my life stopped beating,
and for just an infinitesimal moment of time
I was free. Free in the rapture of the moment.
We sunk into one another and danced a tango of infinite sex.
Nothing mattered anymore, she had tore out my heart,
fed it to me and it tasted like the ambrosia of kings.
The gates had opened, the angels had fled,
and I wandered through a mass of sexual satisfaction.
My mind was in a tailspin of romantic imagery.
Her voice swept me back to consciousness
as a single tear rolled down her cheek
and fell on to her smile.
We were both silky wet
and sported the scent of fresh dew in the morning.
We whispered, as our words
tip toed through the air like a majestic overture.
We were drenched in one another,
young and in lust.
I have no memory of when she finally left.
It must of been hours or was it days,
the freedom of unconscious love knows no time.
I had explored every crevice of her body,
we had feasted on one another,
no parts left untouched.
I thought it would never end I'm not sure it ever did.
She was an unframed masterpiece
I do know I thanked the Angel of Fire out loud.
I'm sure as I did, even though she was no longer
there she answered.
She had left, me unbound from the packaging
that had enslaved me.
It was her gift to me.
A gift, I store
...in the deepest regions of my passion.
Long poem by
Tay Reid | Details |
(W)- A real woman knows that the wages of sin is death so she is not concerned about the wages of a real man, because money comes and goes like day and night; but true love comes just every blue moon. A real woman isn't loud and doesn't have to be the center of attention. Money is a gold-diggers virtue, while patience is a real woman’s virtue. A real woman is always wary of the image she displays to the world because she knows her children are watching her every move. A real woman’s wisdom comes from the teachings of her elders and the experiences and hardships life brings. A real woman is the wings that help a broken man learn to fly again. When you become the object of a real woman’s affection, winning is the only option.
(O)- A real woman’s main obligation is to better herself, before she attempts to become someone’s better half. A real woman is very obliged with all that God has blessed her with. When a man takes a real woman for granted, she makes up her mind to put him away into oblivion. A real woman is use to jumping hurdles because overcoming obstacles in life keeps her on the right track. A real woman doesn't spend her time worrying if failure is around the corner, because she occupies her freedom chasing her dreams in her most comfortable running shoes. A real woman is a hopeless romantic ready to be wooed with an odyssey of love with a real man by her side.
(M)- A real woman’s presence is magnanimous and captures attention because of the poised and elegant stature of her classy nature. A real woman is like the magnet of ecstasy. All women don't attend college or hold prestigious employment, but for many being the Valedictorian of mothers everywhere is the major of their lives. A real woman respects the art of marriage and believes in monogamy. A real woman’s life is the motion picture of sophistication. The mythology of a woman began within a man’s ribs and ends in the beat of his heart.
(A)- A real woman sticks to her man like glue and never abandons his side. A real woman has the ability to do anything a man can. A real woman has the power to fill the abyss of a man’s pains with joy. A real woman prays with her other half because faith is the key of remaining on one accord. A real woman will amaze you with the way she adapts to changes in her ambiance. A real woman is the architect of her own destiny.
(N) A real woman needs a man to understand and love her for everything she is and for everything she is not because a good support system is a leading factor in longevity within relationships. A real woman is the nexus between love and happiness. When you converse with a real woman you will realize that she is nimble with her every response. No man can ignore the nymph of a real woman, because it is in her D.N.A to be notable.
Long poem by
Dennis East | Details |
Considering the size of it, you'd never think it thus;
It's a rather small and turned-up job - a nose without much fuss.
Now a sense of smell is something that we all just take as read,
But mine has ancient extras up these holes stuck in my head.
Seems my beak is ultra-sensitive; I smell things very quickly,
And I first became aware of this through pongs that I found sickly.
The inherent problems with this gift, I uncovered as a lad,
Is I felt inclined to ‘early warn’ when I smelt something bad.
It made me proud, on outset, of a skill that I could claim,
But instead of worthy accolade, got invariably the blame.
Then the adage, ‘smelt it dealt it’ was immediately applied
To this poor innocent 'non-farting' boy that hardly ever lied.
Well, I quickly learned to deal with this, and kept things to myself;
Except for smoke, and nasty things, that might affect my health.
Then, as an interesting refinement, I detected one thing more;
That my sense could be selective; it could choose who to ignore.
After thinking hard for many years, I’ve declared the skill a throwback
To the days when we all lived in caves and our toilet was the outback.
You see, the ability to differentiate detects a visit from a stranger,
So filtration of one's family meant, you literally ‘smelt danger’.
Another trait this strange sense brought near nailed me to the floor;
It was as I learned the facts of life, and confused me even more.
I was strangely drawn to older girls, whose smell appealed at once,
But with them came a second scent I detected once a month.
Seemed that every time I settled down with one girl in my life,
My selective nose would mask her out, but the rest would all run rife.
And while we speak of odours, here's a fact that I must tell,
That not all perfumes you can buy are to me the sweetest smell.
As some bright sparks thought pheromones the answer to girls’ prayers,
But for me it has adverse effects and keeps my thoughts ‘downstairs’.
It's supposed to trap men through their nose, by animal sex appeal,
And it may well work for certain chaps more easily brought to heel.
But for those of us, I know be few, in tune with nature’s guide,
We’d likely choose to steer away and find a place to hide.
Now, I’m pleased to say the gene has passed on to my eldest child
And just like me she smells it all, from sweetness to defiled,
But unlike me she lets all know that nasty smells are banned,
As she’ll soon ID the culprit of a fragrance if unplanned.
Her siblings have got used to her and pay her great respect,
As they know it’s not just bad stuff that their sister can detect.
She’s known to sniff out chocolate cake and hand it out with glee.
I’m so pleased she’s got this special gift - that could only come from me.