I carry a secret of mythical proportion,
a tall tale stitched into every pair I own.
Tailors sigh, measuring tapes surrender,
and zippers negotiate terms before dawn.
It arrives before I do,
like a parade float rounding the corner,
casting a shadow that deserves
its own weather forecast.
Park benches scoot over politely.
Doorways raise an eyebrow.
Statues whisper, "Well, that's excessive,"
and mountains feel strangely competitive.
I never mention it directly.
Why spoil a perfectly good mystery?
Let imaginations do the heavy lifting,
for they rarely travel light.
So I walk on, humble as I can be,
guardian of this improbable monument,
a living reminder that sometimes
nature enjoys showing off.
Skirts
With comforts,
Hollandia Yoghurt flirts...
Before each tongue diverts,
From the usual that alerts,
The change to an impromptu concerts,
In different stages of many a song asserts
Except for the atmospheric dive,
Our faces depict the shared skirts
Without sweet scents, breaths hive
Swaying gallant statues in style alerts
High concentrated inebriant consumed
Took our legs lightly easy leaning back
Subjected to change of hits well costumed
Our voices disown its pitches to its crack
Introduce us to the people we know not
And we mingle like been known for ages
It wasn't true but lively moment grown hot
Speaking truthful lies unlike most sages
Happiness
Staged liveliness
Interrupt able orderliness
And introduce apt funniness
In order to promote calmness
Actively seeking to warm night dizziness
Through the beauty of tease staggering fitness
Of our hearts pouring out raw felicity's queasiness
When business went
from bad to worse
and the Nookie Bookie
(a pimp)
with a curse
saw the number of customers'
trousers drop
he took umbrage
at an advertisement in the press
inserted by the local knocking shop
(where pleasure is a business)
which was seen to say...
RED LIGHT SPECIAL
Too many hookers spoil the brothel
Gentlemen
today's the day you're in luck
2 for the price of 1
more BANG for your buck!
The teachers’ voices were loud and shrill,
but there was just one message,
“everyone sit still!”,
though it was hard on the parquet floor,
in polyester trousers,
bought the week before,
the first year head took to the stage,
like his long black cloak,
he was from another age,
our welcome to school it wasn’t the best,
being told we were failures,
in eleven plus tests,
brought up on praise for autumn verses,
I was shocked to hear,
we’d never be silk purses,
talents and abilities didn’t get a mention,
from the stretched and burnt out staff,
longing for their pension,
all around the system was failing,
I looked out of the window,
to life beyond the railings.
Foggy monday
Mourning sunday
Saturday blackout
Death by boozing Friday bruiser
Thursdays web of mid-week loser
Wednesday filled with pills and shots
Drink it up with Tuesdays lot
Foggy Monday finds its calling
In a sweaty sot on the ground, crawling
Trousers are ashtrays
Traveler's affectation
Embracing the dirt.
Should a woman put on trousers?
Yep: ones that don’t men make browsers:
That let Top Secrets remain secret;
Documents eyes should not just meet:
Trousers that won’t hatch Internets,
Lust cause to beat its castanets…
Trousers fully masking Womanhood,
Easily The Misunderstood:
Sometimes, seeming to say “Draw close,
So that you may pick up your Rose…
Women may be free with trousers
But trousers could turn howitzers:
Pastors and Imams gunning down,
Priests causing to smile who should frown,
Maiden forcing to dump her gown;
Strongly shake the firmest crown!
And may men put on the skirt?
Yeah: if their trousers packed up dirt
And nearing it could image hurt
Worse than a woman’s for Shirt.
Shouldn’t I assert A Maverick of a Woman?
From behind surrendering a man,
With a pistol purse prodding his back
And a warning not to look back.
Soon her determined fingers in his right pocket
From same fishing out a locket…
Jeez! The Guy is in dreamy love
And she about to tamper with A Dove!
“No, it has to be his trousers left pocket”.
But from ransacked same extracts a socket
“God! The Guy is an electrician
And I this couldn’t discern; A Non Magician…
Alright vamoose, looking not back
Unless you safe wisdom lack!”
SHORT TROUSERS
When I was young in trousers short,
Children laughed at my knobbly knees.
I asked my mother why she bought
Short trousers in the winter’s freeze.
Fresh air was good for me she thought.
But Dad wore full length all year long
Which didn’t seem to me quite fair.
He was quite healthy, fit and strong
Without his knees exposed to air.
I said it was unjust, all wrong
But now, commuting on the train,
Day after day in sultry heat,
I find long trousers are a pain.
Sometimes I wish I could retreat
To childhood and wear shorts again.
20th November 2020
Quintain/Sicilian contest
Sponsor - Emile Pinet
trousers
Three pair of trousers hang on a wooden hanger
no, not the wires they give you ate the laundry.
I only fit one of them but have kept two pair
should I slim lose ten kilos, you must be joking
but hopes are eternal, and my doctor is good looking
she has a nice smile like should be interested in
my well being, every time I go there she has to look
into her computer, oh, yes him with the funny heart
and tries to flirt with me, fat chance.
The trousers slid from the wooden hanger fell on the floor
and since I was naked at the time picked up a pair of
grey slacks, the fitted just, but there was no room for
a shirt, I put on an over-sized T-shirt and thought
it was slimming, but my wife who loves to tell the truth
said I looked like a tent.
Her sarcasm was lost on me, I had slimmed and wore
the grey slacks that day.
From outfield judging eyes await your plight,
though sweat and stupor feign to your ruin.
Now pull up your trousers, cinch your belt tight...
glaring down from mound, pitch straight and proven.
Blurred ball unleashed, pitcher's swift arm uncoiled...
tho' bat be av'rage, the batter may not.
Cauldron-like blood boiled, fever'd swing loyal,
now away to skies, all eyes on prized swat.
Faithfully she watched from merciful stands,
clouds roll away from fancy, fated rush.
His chance to meet life, alone in her hands,
though startled by a bat's powerful crush.
Will you strike true in life's bewilder'g plan,
carried on shoulders of heavenly fans?
Standups can crack up audiences for hours
Especially when entering the stage without trousers
It wasn't intentional
Nor is it conventional
But surely the crowd won't throw cauliflowers
A lady so much older than I
Deftly signalled a path from her thigh
Like a wrinkle in thyme
Something started to climb
Hmmph! I forgot to zip up my fly!
stormy cotton cloud
billowing fresh emerald green
shrouds the old cynic
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