Cambridgeshire's John Suckling
poetry's versifier king
Also part of his baggage
he invented a board or cribbage
Suckling pigs
In the time of the Vikings
when a baby girl was born in the winter
put her naked on a shield
carried her into the woods where she
was eaten by wolves or froze to death.
Piglets are little darling suckling the sow
but not for long they are slaughtered and
roasted and sold for our table.
I ate suckling pig for lunch today the flesh
sweet and soft, the crust tender it was like
eating a baby (which it was) a cruel meal
I rather eat an old goat full of meaty flavours.
Desire...
Her hunger
Lost in love's eyes
Sweet, my mother's milk
Glistening dreams with loving drops
Coconut cream's voluptuous,
She....
Caressing
Squeezing
Releasing..
Her flavours: Utopia, washing over me
Ivory Beauty ~ Upon my knees.
As the sun sets over shanties south
A mother gives birth
- Another soul, another mouth
The little child suckles on an empty pouch
A dry nipple on a dried-out skin
Whilst the other children silently crouch
In poverty and hunger deep within
But then the big Mama knocks on tin
And they happily let her in
And as the love from love’s heart flows
The poor baby sleeps and grows
To be the hope, a future now
Without ever asking how
How those that have just never give
To them in need who deserves to live
In crystal maze,
miracles are honed
from mother's milk
and father tones~
Memories cackling,
mocking faces of time.
Uphill flowers on a brutal climb.
Suckling from a sparkle sky...
At pinnacles of their breath,
they gently wither into death.
Memories roost silently
in sediments of time~
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