The Applecart

There was a saying in my parents’ day

not to upset the apple cart.

My uncle was a market gardener so it had extra meaning for us.

For a while things went smoothly

then I came along, then my sister.

We were the world’s first teenagers.

There was sex, booze — no drugs — and rock ‘n’ roll.

Mum and dad didn’t know what hit them.

And this went on all over the world.

A whole lot of apple carts were being upset, overturned.

Then came Feminism, Vietnam War protests, R rated movies

and in our country

the sacking of a government.

Boats were rocked, apple carts overturned.

It’s a bit like that now. Only there’s far more involved.

The fate of our planet.

I think before we get to wherever we’re going there won’t be too many

apple carts left standing.

*pic courtesy of Pinterest

Love on the Wing

When I was a kid I used to wander down the park and watch dragonflies flitter over the pond like tiny, restless angels.

Later I wanted to write poems about them the way Monet would go down to his garden at Giverny to paint water lilies.

The only difference is that water lilies stay still. They don’t dash and dart about the pond at 100 ks an hour. Even when they have sex they’re on the go, coupling like planes fuelling mid- flight.

I almost got one once when a dragonfly dawdled on the front doorknob one drowsy afternoon, after summer rains, then saw me and took off, its gossamer wings flashing rainbows.

Perhaps I should turn like Monet to waterlilies. He got 250 paintings out of them. I haven’t got one poem though I reckon I’ve made 250 trips. [ pic by loriedarlin on pinterest ]

Shaking All Over

The way you get worked up.

I can hear you, the noise of your coming, three rooms away.

Are such outbursts necessary?

Why, even the walls vibrate,
Now you’re really going.

Hope you don’t bust anything.

You’re not that young anymore, remember.

There’s no doubt you give it your all.

Do you enjoy it?

Sounds as if you do.

Now you’ve gone quiet, can I come in?

Yes ! The  clothes are done, giddy with all that spinning.

One hour, twenty. Wish I had your stamina.

You must be exhausted.

Spent

Now it is spent and lying limp

and placid at my feet —

a contentment of inky blue

but the other day if you

could have seen it bucking

with energy , flailing its

wild hair and arching its back

[ sea mountains surfers abseiled

down ] you would not have been

surprised to see it thrust

its loins again and again against

the soft white dunes nor after

to see the body of the foreshore

bruised and torn nor its rump

so foam wracked .

pic by Lachlan-Ross on Pexels

When the Wind Changes

I walked past that place today.

Which one?

You know, the one we walked past last month with the nude couple canoodling in the front yard …

And …

Well, they’re still at it.

Must have happened when the wind changed.

Pardon?

You know that old saying: if you screw your face up when the wind changes it will stay like that, Well, it could extend to the position you were in when …

What if you were ….Or even ….?

Don’t even think about it.

Could be a blessing or a curse then? Let’s look at that photograph again. I can’t think of a better position to be in when the wind changes.

Nor can I.

Curse of the Statues

Just when I was about to retire the statues a friend pops up

with a proposition that floors me.

Look at the legs, he says, the position of them.

I do. I have a good hard look.

Well, the legs are not in the right position for the proper performance of the act.

Couldn’t they move them?

They’re statues!

You mean …

Yes, they’re condemned to a life of Eternal Abstinence.

The curse of the statues! I reply. It wouldn’t be much of a life, would it?

Well, it wouldn’t suit you and me. he answers. But people do it all the time. Nuns and priests, for instance.

And incels … I say.

Yes, incels and celibate statues.

Can we leave the topic now? I ask.

Yes, he says. I think it’s run its course.

* what do you think?

Dragonflies: a Quartet

the Maserati of the insect world

they leap from dawdle to dash

in one second flat

at one moment hovering helicopters

the next fighter planes

daredevil pilots at the controls

coupling in mid-air as if refuelling

how do they do it?

sex on the run

& here comes junior, red-headed

as a matchstick, parents in tow,

learning the ropes

Sexy Titles

…. and now for something lighter: Can you come up with other cheeky titles to add to this list of Imaginary Books? or even, if you’re up for it [excuse the pun] write a paragraph or two ?

Not Another Cat Poem

I’ve written another poem about a cat.

I promised myself I wouldn’t do that,

But this one leapt upon the page

and as usual took centre stage;

the other poems took off and scurried,

looking set upon and rather harried.

There was one about a lecherous leer —

that would have to wait another year;

and one about my old dog Trigger

who humped his mattress with manly vigour.

So may things about which to write

but this cat poem purrs with delight.

Soap

 

She had just come from the clinic from seeing the care nurse and seemed a little flustered.

Everything okay? he asked.

There was a medical student there. I said to the nurse I didn’t mind. He was neat, presentable, well spoken and was totally okay except for the fact he kept adjusting his crotch.

Perhaps he was just glad to see you.

That isn’t even remotely funny. Not these days.

Sorry, he said. I’ll be back in a minute.

Where are you going?

To the bathroom. To wash my mouth out with soap.