#Poem – The Married Bachelor

A romantic poem for Valentine’s Day.

If it’s not too much trouble.
If it wouldn’t put you out.
If it’s not too much to ask.
If you’re free of nagging doubts.
If the kids are at your parents.
If your mother doesn’t stay.
If the cat doesn’t interrupt.
If you’ve had a good day.
If I haven’t eaten garlic.
If neither of us ate chilli.
If the mood takes you.
If I wash my willy.
If I ask you nicely.
If I ply you with romance.
If I get forms signed in triplicate.
If I don’t rip your pants.
If there’s nothing on TV.
If there’s nothing on Netflix.
If you’re feeling healthy.
If you’re not feeling sick.
If you’re not intent on reading.
If you’re caught up on Facebook.
If the bed’s not too cold.
If I give you ‘the look’.
If you don’t have to be up early.
If the shower isn’t blocked.
If the Moon is in the seventh house.
If the door is locked.
If the stars are right, up in the sky.
If the dreamer wakes.
If pigs have learned a way to fly.
If there are no earthquakes.
If the house does not catch fire.
If it doesn’t flood.
If the sheets are clean and fresh.
If it’s not the Time of Blood.

Then, oh my beloved.
May I pencil you in?
For 15 minutes, in 6 months.
Of horizontal sin?

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C*NS*RSH*P *F S*LF

“Can I say that?” He said, and he cut off his tongue so there was no more risk.

“Am I allowed to look?” He thought and he put out his eyes so his soul would not impinge on any other’s.

“Are there things I should not hear?” And his ears joined his eyes, cast aside on the floor, so he wouldn’t hear anything dangerous.

“Are there things I should not touch?” And he took the axe to his hands, leaving bloody stumps that would never explore, transgress or be idle again.

“Are there places I should not go?” And he broke his ankles so he would not stray – at least not without help.

“Does my presence offend? Are there things I should not think?”

And there was simply.

Nothing.

Left.

.

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Male Socialisation

A response to Gia

He’s so handsome.

What a grip!

You’re so big.

You’re my little man.

Tough little guy.

Hey! Don’t cry!

Don’t hit girls.

Why are you picking flowers?

Slow down.

Be a man.

Finish your plate.

Shut up.
Stop running.

Boys smell.

Boys are stupid.

You’re too rough to play with girls.

Hahahahaha! You have a stiffy!

Look at his crotch!

Stiffy!

Stiffy!

Stiffy!

Stiffy!

Ewww, wet dreams are disgusting.

You’re a creep.

Stop looking at girls.

Stiffy!

Jesus, what have you been feeding it?

I touched it!

Disgusting.

Gross.

Creep.

You’re gross.

Peeping tom.

Let me touch it.

Pervert.

I only want to touch it.

He’s a stalker.

He’s a creep.

He’s a pervert.

Rapist.

Pervert.

Touch me.
Don’t touch me.

Look at that bulge!

Pervert.

Creep.

You only want one thing.

Take me.

Get off me.

Yes.

No.

Stop.

Why did you stop?

Don’t you want me?

Give it to me.

Be strong.

Take charge.

Pervert.

Not like that.

You’re all the same.

You’re all perverts.

Why do you want to work with kids?

But this is a woman’s job.

Women won’t trust you here.

We have to check your background.

We have to double check your background.

We have to be sure you’re not a paedo.

The parents wouldn’t like you working here.

Wouldn’t you be happier working somewhere else?

You’re making the women uncomfortable.

Could you be more circumspect.

We’re going to the coffee shop. Do you want anything?

Can you work extra hours?

Can you work weekends?

She can take care of the kids, right?

We could use the extra money…

Don’t stand so close.

She quickens her step to get away.

She hurries at the cash point.

She shies away when you say hello.

Pervert.

Creep.

Misogynist.

Let’s be friends.

This was a mistake.

I love you… as a friend.

It’s not you, it’s me.

Your sexuality intimidates me.

You’re too demanding.

All you’re interested in, is sex.

I’m sorry I cheated on you.

I just need more financial security.

I don’t want kids.

I don’t need a man in my life right now.

Ever.

You’re a bully.

You’re overconfident.

You’re intimidating.

Pervert.

You’re too calm.

You’re too rational.

That isn’t funny.

I’m serious.

I don’t care what you think.

I don’t want to fuck you.

Stiffy.

You dress like a teenager.

You look ridiculous.

Put a suit on.

Wear a tie.

Cut your hair.

Shave.

You’re getting fat.

Tidy up.

Put your junk in storage.

That’s not funny.

You’re so insensitive.

I have a headache.

I’m not in the mood.

It’s a school night.

They’ll hear us.

It’s too late.

Stop asking.

Why did you stop asking?

You’re pressuring me.

You stopped trying.

Why haven’t you fixed it?

Can you get more overtime?

You’re home late, can you…?

We need that money for essentials.

I make more than you now.

That’s my money.

You’re going grey.

You’re getting old.

You’re getting fat.

You don’t spend enough time with me.

You’re always working.

We need more money.

Why do you read this shit?

Why do you buy this shit?

You’re still like a child.

I don’t see the appeal of these games.

You never grew up.

Perpetual teenager.

Grow up.

Why don’t you join a gym?

Balding.

Grey.

Dirty old man.

Pervert.

Don’t you have any hobbies?

Let’s go see my sister.

But you don’t have any friends.

Dirty.

Old.

Man.

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iCautionary eTales [1]

The Pinprick Man he hears you tapping.
Creeps up when you’re done.
Before you write another text,
Sticks needles in your thumbs.

If you persist, despite the blood,
He really gets quite vexed.
Heaven forfend that you should cross him,
And do not, ever, sext.

He’s a stickler for English,
He gathers up dropped vowels,
He finds the ones who ‘spk lk ths’
And jams them in their bowels.

Beware him when you on the train,
Or on your mobile in your class
For he will creep up right behind you
With a hat-pin for your arse.

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Litidoptera

From deep within the storm-cloud brain, galvanic lightning strikes an uvulan pupa and births a fragile heteroceran of sound.

On longitudinal wings it – briefly – flutters in the air; only to be pinned by dancing fingers as electrons on a page that does not truly exist.

In time, perhaps, it will dance again.

Eggs of ink hatched by human eyes and spoken into being.

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Obi-City

In Obi-City the beats are phat,
And youth-gone-wide wear pork-pie hats.
The BBWs are OTT
On Ladies Night they eat for free.

Every seat is double-wide,
Cholesterol’s a mark of pride.
Diabetes is all the rage,
Every pin-up’s double-page.

A skinny latte’s a sign you’re troubled,
No fries with that? Suspicion’s doubled.
It’s your duty, so stuff your face,
Gulp it down, keep up the pace.

Mumu’s outsell jeans or shoes,
Jogging is considered rude.
The priests preach that dieting’s a sin,
Body of Christ, with insulin.

Baby Got Back’s the national anthem,
Sweating lard’s considered handsome.
Cheek by jowl in unanimity,
Happy, jolly, Obi-City.

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The Cat

The cat who saved my life glowers at me from behind the curtain, the blinding sun at his back giving him a halo.

His amber eyes stare at me, narrowed on both axes, but do not deign to blink.

His nose is out of joint because of the kitten, whom he  – commander of the house – only tolerates.

He yawns, flashing the snaggle-tooth that hurts so much when  he bites.

The worst is yet to come.

Soon he will pay a ‘special’ visit to the vet – another consequence of the young blade that has joined our household and usurped his laply throne.

I couldn’t voice what is to be done to his fuzzy plums, waving my hand and making a snipping motion with my fingers.

It is the responsible thing, the right thing, the safe thing, the convenient thing…

…but to do to a pet what one would never do to oneself?

For the sake of an easy life?

The cat who saved my life, hunter of moles, home to fleas, he of the chipped tooth and unclipped claws.

Panthera tigris minimus, with coffee-stained chin and offset nose, fur of petrichor redolence.

The Alarm clock, the hero, the saviour, confidante, muse and master of the gardens.

Is he to be reduced to the state of a simpering eunuch?

This feline who, every day, gives me reason to get up, gives me love and affection.

This furry beast who – with touch of paw, push of head and raucous meow, the likes of which I’ve never heard again – broke into a closed room to save me.

Would he do it again for me?

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William Blake’s Seven

Rebel! Rebel! join the fight
In The Federation’s blight,
What terrible, heartless plan
Could be hatched by fair Servelan?

At what distant worlds or stars
Lie the truth beyond our scars?
What ship could even up the score?
The System’s great Liberator.

What man could ever unite,
Criminals bound in their flight?
Turn to cause for all our sake?
Earthling dissident – Roj Blake.

Break computers? Avon’s skill.
Locks, drinks, women? Vila’s thrill.
Trade with Jenna in an alley.
Free your mind with beauty, Cally.

Deadly daughter, Dayna kills,
Orac’s calculations chill,
Tarrant flies, standard by ten,
Force walls, cannons, fired by Xen.

Gan the mighty man of power,
Soolin’s fast-draw, all are slower.
Slave the AI without Malice,
Threatened by Commander Travis.

Rebel! Rebel! join the fight
In The Federation’s blight,
Battle now we’re out of time
Heroes fall at Gauda Prime

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Wayward Child

Monday’s child is gassed with mace,
Tuesday’s child shot in the face,
Wednesday’s child blasted by drones,
Thursday’s child, refugee, roams,
Friday’s child arrested for trolling,
Saturday’s child can’t go on living,
But the child who is born on all these days
Has their rights and their future taken away.

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An Anagram of Lust

Stinking, sweat-slick, redolent of sex.
Lost beneath the cotton waves of my shirt.
Unselfconsciously languid.
Tousled, tired, tear-stained.

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