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Mike Roberts Poem
A smile to launch a thousand pills
and tablets and capsules and such,
an option to cure a thousand ills,
just ask her, it won't cost too much.
If you are in doubt ask her for advice,
her reply will be clear and expository,
but the question I know you have to avoid is...
'What should I do with this supository???'
Copyright © Mike Roberts | Year Posted 2016
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Mike Roberts Poem
After fifty years plus my old friend
could take years till he gets on the mend,
when he's testerone free
he'll be harder to see,
but, also much easier to bend.
As the side effects continue to evolve
there is a problem I still have to solve,
for when i'm all alone
in the libido-free zone
I find it difficult to stiffen my resolve.
Copyright © Mike Roberts | Year Posted 2015
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Mike Roberts Poem
When an old fashioned poet named Will
wrote a sonnet he chose words to thrill,
in a metrical time
with a word perfect rhyme
fourteen lines gently flowed from his quill.
This William he also wrote plays
that reflected the life in those days,
from Scotland McBeth
then to Denmark for death,
that Prince Hamlet he had funny ways.
With Anne Hathaway he'd often spoon
an experience he used very soon,
to pen a romance
put Juliet in a trance,
the very first print, Mills and Boon.
Copyright © Mike Roberts | Year Posted 2015
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Mike Roberts Poem
Time together is the most precious time of all,
fleetng moments to be grasped,
secret, only seen by those who happen by
oblivious to the circumstances of what they see.
Ordinary to the uninformed eye,
two people rapt in each other sharing a common purpose,
a purpose that hides from the rest of the world, for now.
The joy of stolen hours, illicit pleasures made exciting
by the latent dangers, dangers that are knowingly ignored.
Commitments made to othersmust be honoured,
but, do these deeds not dishonour those commitments
in a way we do not wish to comprehend?
The denial of mutual pleasures,
the simple call to say, 'How are you?'
The holding of hands in public,
the litttle squeeze that tells all without words,
the overt passion of a greeting of hello or au revoir,
but never goodbye,
all relegated to a privacy behind closed doors.
Two pairs of eyes ever watchful for the familiar,
two silent voices unable to tell best friends.
The world does not need to know, yet,
the world may never need to know unless,
unless the illicit assumes a legality
and the consequences for others are not only acknowledged
but faced in a way as yet beyond contemplation.
The legality may diminish the excitement
that has fed the illicit, and then what happens?
Copyright © Mike Roberts | Year Posted 2014
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Mike Roberts Poem
Wrap, rap a Christmas wrap
open the mind turn on the tap,
a roll of paper with colouration
metres or yards without perforation,
to be carefully folded with a gift inside
a present for the season you wanna hide,
it'll add to excitement on Christmas day
when the careful wrapping will be thrown away
after being opened by rip and tear
to reveal slippers, socks, or underwear.
Rap, wrap a Christmas rap
not quite a minefield but still a trap,
would you begin with 'w' or wiith an 'r'
because starting with a 'c' would be a carp too far,
so rap or wrap it's a dit's time to nap
and when you awaken from the alcoholic cup
it's time for you and the washing-uo,
the drying of the crocks will be the last lap
it's time to slip into your Christmas Wrap,
now cosy and warm and the whiskey in reach
as once again you've missed HM's speech,
the broadcast and your nap did not overlap,
surprise, surprise, you missed her Christmass RAP.
So this must do there's no need to clap
it's only twelve months to pick rap or wrap.
now is the time, it's over, this is a WRAP.
Copyright © Mike Roberts | Year Posted 2013
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Mike Roberts Poem
I heard the word no woman wants to hear,
at the time a shock, a moment filled with fear,
fear of the unknown, the first thought of mortality,
after many years a change in my normality,
news to be absorbed with unnatural equanimity,
a treatment that would challenge my own femininity,
by now the reader should have grasped the situation,
me and the Oncologist at trhe point of preparation.
In but a few weeks since my life turned upsidr down,
one minute all smiles, and then more hours all frown,
the results of the test I had taken before
were this time reversed, the Oncologist was sure,
the word not one person ever wishes to hear,
a word of six letters to fill you with fear,
a crisis, an ignorance of what it foretells,
brought about by the presence of abnormal cells,
th Doctor speaks quietly, explains there's an answer
to the problem before us, for I have breast cancer.
Now all these years later I'm again the old me,
and for more than a decade, I'm counting you see,
I do my own housework and with new energy
go shopping for others when I have the time free.
It seems like a miracle when I think where I've been
at the time it was Hell and back if you know what I mean,
the physical changes wreaked havoc in the mind,
but the Doctors and Nurses were nothing but kind,
and I am still here with a good tale to tell
now an Octogenerian and I'm doing quite well.
The dark days are long past and I do more than cope,
for from that time of prognosis I've nevr lost hope.
Copyright © Mike Roberts | Year Posted 2015
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Mike Roberts Poem
This year dear old Santa Claus
says his sleigh will be drawn by a horse,
for when the crafty old denizen
discovered deer can be venison
he planned to use it as his main course.
Copyright © Mike Roberts | Year Posted 2014
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Mike Roberts Poem
Welcome Sun you move in our direction,
the Northern World is waiting for you call,
will you cure this Winter's introspection,
bring light before the darkness starts to pall.
Longer, warmer days anticipated,
for annual gifts we wait with bated breath,
hints of life from those that hibernated
to obviate the threat of icy death.
Feathered friends return from far-off places
their gratitude translated into song.
Resting plants will rise and show new faces,
the weak have gone, this World is for the strong.
A time of change, of hopes on which to cling,
each year, three months, the Season that is Spring.
Copyright © Mike Roberts | Year Posted 2013
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Mike Roberts Poem
Three decades and still together,
is there a secret to our success?
One's selfishness, the other's tolerance,
always a balance to redress.
Some times were never that easy
an expectation so self-evident,
the attraction of opposites then proving
unlike factors can complement.
So over the years all these factors
became less defined at the edge,
the middle ground grew thus providing
the space to help strengthen our pledge.
Promises made still have purpose
facing up to the passage of time,
now to be forever based on a friendship
cementing a love that's ours, your's and mine.
Copyright © Mike Roberts | Year Posted 2015
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Mike Roberts Poem
Satsuma, were you Man's first attempt at cloning,
neither orange nor tangerine,
misshapen orange, misspelt tanggerine
as you left the Japanese test tube,
ends flattened through lack of genes,
did they call you Fatsumo
ready to be fed by the thousand
into the bottomless pit of the revered wrestlers,
or did they call you Squatsuma,
yes, that would be more accurate,
no 'r' to confuse with 'l's
no 'l's to confuse with 'r's,
olange would not fit the birr,
tangeline, no-one would buy.
Your skin takes the traditional colour,
it hides a unique aroma,
and a deadly shot of acid
released when a manicured finger invades your very being.
Oh bad tempered offspring
you do not appreciate it when the pith is taken.
Within you resemble your fourbears,
segmented, regular,but one taste,
one simple taste, for the aficionado, heaven,
fulfilling the promise aired when your skin was violated,
for others, 'Yuk'
a taste not to be acquired, a failed orange,
a poor impression of a tangerine,
Satsuma, Fatsumo, Squatsuma,
Toysuma, Suzsuma, Madzuma,
only the japanese could have invented you.
Copyright © Mike Roberts | Year Posted 2015
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