I hated him,
fought with him,
threw words sharp enough to cut.
I called him a psycho,
as if he was
and he—
he just nodded,
as if guilt was his to bear.
He took my beatings,
my storms,
without a single strike back.
And when I broke,
when tears came like floodwater,
he didn’t turn away.
He pulled me close,
patted my hair,
and whispered,
“It’s okay… I will be with you.”
That was the moment,
like Tom understanding Jerry,
we stopped being enemies—
and became something more.
The Awakening
My first wife's house was very small
her bed was narrow to
after sex, she told me to sleep in the bathtub
In the night, I got up, opened the window
The sea-washed moon came in
I have seen that moon many times before
from many portholes
I was always enchanted by the pool
of stillness
I walked out of the sleeping house, by
the steps, my dog, I patted her head
but she refused to come with me on my walk
By a lamppost under a circle of light
I waited for a bus that would never arrive
the child’s fate line split her palm
Deep and deliberate, it favored mystic crosses
the soothsayer had never seen such a palm
she had heard of the possibility, though
she looked into the child’s eyes
they were innocent, light blue, trusting
you will make a difference in the world, she told the child
what will I do? the child asked
You will follow your heart she told her.
She patted her hand, because she could not resist.
This was a peace keeper, it was rare to find one.
Your heart has the answers, the fortune teller said.
Will she be rich? This question was from the child’s mother.
Rich in experiences, rich in friends, rich in adventures.
The child left smiling.
For the Contest: Abandon
Sponsor: Constance La France
Written 20.05.2025
To live with abandon is to spend your soul as if the tab will never come, but it always does – by unknown
When abandon runs dry
He spent money with merry abandon,
Like laughter thrown into the wind.
Tossed akin to confetti in events of fleeting joy.
He kept no tabs, no ledger,
there was no tomorrow.
He moved through life
as a flame burns through paper.
Notes flew from his hands,
the way birds scatter startled by gunshots.
There was no guilt in his pockets.
He opened the tap and shouted the bar.
People called him legend and slapped his back,
till the wind changed and downturn came.
Then the centre of gravity shifted,
the barstools cooled,
the phones stilled,
silence frosted all the beer steins.
He found himself orbiting absence
nobody patted his shoulder,
nobody flipped a coin in his cup,
He had poured himself into the room,
and when the keg ran dry,
all the lychees vanished…
they all abandoned him.
He doesn’t speak of it now,
just nods and smiles with that tired kindness
you only learn after the last music notes.
Love you Joe
Opened the doors wide,
To the soft morning light,
And the grey windows too,
For the morning breeze.
Love alone, we thought,
Will teach them the 'hows'
To pat-hug with gentle care,
While holding them dear.
Let it slide and slip away,
we told our silly selves—
let the slimy words go,
Numb the heavy hands.
Turn a little deaf today,
To all the bruising noise,
Turn a little blind again,
To the subtle glaring eyes.
Because we believed
we were truly loving them,
Because we believed
we cherished them alone.
If poured long enough,
Love would soften them.
If patted with patience,
Their edges would smooth.
But love without fences,
Is like a garden left bare,
Trampled by ugly, dirty feet,
Dragged in by our hands.
Allowing comfort to breed,
Nothing but sour contempt,
Saying, "It's fine, my dear,"
When it really, really hurts.
Carving cornered holes,
Where resentment blooms,
Not toward the dirty hands,
But the pitiful mirrored self.
The self that stayed cold,
When it needed to spark.
The self that stayed mute,
When it needed to roar.
I wonder why everybody felt the need,
to express their opinions so openly,
about this man who had the misfortune to die.
I watched them slowly strolling past the casket,
like they were shopping for fruit at the market,
I wondered why some of them felt the need to cry..
There were a few folks braver than the rest,
who touched his hand or patted him on the chest,
whispering that now he is in a better place.
Doesn’t he look nice and so peaceful.” they all said,
one lady even kissed him on his forehead,
he looks so natural with that smile on his face.
When it came my turn to look over the side,
my excitement faded and to my surprise,
because to me the old codger just looked dead.
When your stretched out in your casket I suppose.
that’s probably the way that it always goes,
too look like you’re sound asleep at home in your bed.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust”,
The minister intoned, dismissing us.
Embraced and patted, pitying looks from all.
Letting go of my rose, the last to fall.
Thorns pricked my finger, a drop of blood dripped down…
… in the hole where mother's body is buried in the ground.
The grown ups seem to know exactly what to do.
But I feel so lost, so lost without you.
I escape all the mourners by sneaking out the back.
I climb the hill beyond my house, a well known track.
Sitting on the stump that lends the best view,
I heard a rustling in the bush, and caught my first glimpse of you!
Tattered ears and dirty fur, but glorious and lush it must be…
…Once you've been given care, and had a few meals maybe.
You were unafraid, though i think you'd been given reason
to be leery of people, but instead you squeeze in...
...beside my sitting stump, tail wagging and tongue hanging wet.
You seemed to know I was sad and you came to me to pet.
I obliged, and found my arms thrown round your neck so tight!
I cried into your smelly coat, and felt you cared, that maybe
everything would be alright.
Patty Lou said hello, I am cuckoo
then she giggled like it was a joke
I did not know what to make of her
my strategy was to avoid her
but we were on a bus trip
one night we were the only ones awake
we had a lovely chat for hours
my husband says I am nutty, she said.
I think you are pretty well-balanced I told her.
but she insisted she was a brainless airhead.
Her husband woke up and patted her hand.
He had a huge smile, I guess they liked thinking that.
The moon being long heroic tonight
and somehow empamper
and duped and chopped and patted and hooded and....
the moon of the old
and moon of the West
and the moon of the fold
all long before were waiting
all long before were guessing
all long before were sinking
sink down like politician
sink down like something pretty or punny or funny
anytime the moon would almost say a word
tonight:
Folly, kiss, class, clatter, mirror, reflection down, stand
and sit,
and moon, moon, moon
state why naivety and whims
or little, little, little flirten or glirten
neither glee nor don?.
Ongoing war
A not tall, a rather pudgy little man
who is an absolute ruler over his twenty million-something inhabitants
Got visited by another powerful man, who is slim
but not tall like his diplomat
the fat man was happy, had his country turning out
waving flags, their dance and jubilation
photo taken, fraternity and contracts signed
For the absolute ruler, who had his brother killed
to be sure of his power, it was a great opportunity
to take, not so tall man, around looking at things
the visitor had won a war and was in high spirits, smiled
patted his strands of hair and asked himself
since his host harvests hair as a big business, should he ask for a discreet rug?
He decided not to ask, his face is so well known
that jokers in the foreign press would make jokes
make him look vain
He did the masculine thing, buying artillery shells
instead, not that he needs a lot to know
but one never knows what hysteric people can do
those who cannot accept defeat.
"Cerberus Uncorrupted"
Every day I go to that box ...
at the top of the page,
left side, upper
its entry reads:
“What are you looking for?” -
waiting for an entry…
the brain presses a full stop,
the fingers hover and ripple
like a maestro leading a chorus
the fingers tap dance
poetically buying time
the heart tracks,
its silent voice speaks
piercing the suffocating silence
"the ability to read
what is meant to be read
front and centre, after all...
is said, and done"
the vision sits still in front of me
like a quaint loyalty and a strong desire
to understand it all
the innocence
of a mind uncorrupted
wide open
to the Light
that opens a heart
viscerally corrupted
waiting to be loved
waiting to be patted
the sun always setting
the sun always rising
calls unsilently
to me
Candide Diderot. ‘24
" ... "Do you love me yet?" Cerberus said..."
Sharon Osbourne, Short :
"Today my dog and I went to the beach and I caught her taking it all in"....
(this is the video you need to watch).
Cherry Night
An
Astral
Moonlit night
Sprawling ahead
In pin-drop silence
With a lustrous ether
Sparkling with shine of stars,
Patted by whispers of the breeze
In an invite to scan the sublime
And a lure to link up with the divine.
What is her name? They asked Bright, full of awe.
I was going to call her Arkansas.
But look at her coat, unique markings right?
I call her Q said my cousin, Bright.
Q? I said. What kind of name is that?
For such a unique looking heart-filled cat?
Q is short for Queen of Cats, Bright said.
due to those heart-shaped markings on her head.
This made sense. Q, the perfect name for this chit.
Also hearts when her feet are together, yes, I see it.
Hello Q I said to possibly the world’s prettiest cat.
She patted my tummy down with a pat, pat, pat.
The people at the terminal,
patted him on the back and cheered.
They said welcome back home soldier,
and then they quickly disappeared.
They pushed and shoved their way past him,
while he tried to get on the train.
They turned and looked the other way,
as he sat outside in the rain.
He had a girl he left back home,
before he was shipped out to war.
But now that he’s just half a man,
how could she love him anymore.
When singing the songs of freedom,
someone must pay the fiddle man.
But was the price too high for what,
he had left in Afghanistan.
He was just another soldier,
on a train going to somewhere.
Was trying to tell his story,
to some people that did not care.
His pant legs pinned above his knees,
bottle of whisky in his hand.
He’s just one more broken soldier,
coming home from a foreign land.
Look the other way if you can,
you don’t want to show him pity.
For this poor ole half of a man,
lost and alone in this city.
People pretend to be sleeping,
but when they think he cannot see.
They whisper in each other’s ear,
I’m so glad it’s him and not me.
[Not strictly limericks as syllable count is out,
But hey… be a rebel… ignore the rules!]
_______________________________________
I met the young lady from flat forty-five
I told her, “Your beauty makes me feel alive.”
She said, “My name’s Lexi.”
Her voice was SO sexy
My heart beat as though it was in overdrive
She took no persuading to give me a kiss
And then she said, “I bet you want more than this.”
My ardour was stirred
A lot more occurred
And my whole life became an ocean of bliss
The feelings we nurtured in flat forty-five
Instilled in me romance that surely would thrive
She patted my sleeve
And said, “You should leave,
My next client is about due to arrive.”
Downhearted, I made my way down to the street
I felt worse than Bonaparte when he was beat
Until she called down,
“Don’t go off with a frown,
Podiatrists, like me, just do people’s feet”
Well that tipped the scales and put wind in my sails
I rushed up those stairs like a steam train on rails
And soon, side by side
I got me a bride
I also got soft feet with manicured nails
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