Poem 24 – Home

Home is where the heart is,
Home is where words are a hearty meal
Full of conversation ’til sunrise
And a little bit beyond; Simply put
A hug and a friendly pat on the back
Salient sensations and creation
Passed down between generations
Knowledge a bedrock for the future

Poem 23 – A Cheesy Poem

This special sauce ain’t as good as it ought to be
So let us add cheese, please, for culinary steez
And because it’s the bee’s knees
Chesterton may have had a point, but the silence
Re: fermented dairy, is by no means an intentional
Omission, or derision, of a most satisfying treat
Sandwich or salad, I’m glad to write ballads
In praise of such a versatile thing to eat

Poem 22 – Wake-Up

This poem has * l e v i t y *
Conveyed through p U n C t U a T i O n !
And a steadfast dedication to FORMATTING

But don't let its A C T I O N - F I L L E D
BLOCKBUSTER presence intimidate you; it's really
just a friend, come to say hi, and remind you that

MAYBE, just m a y b e IF you're still BREATHING
it'll all turn out okay

e   b  A  E the space
  M   r  c           between lines to find time
           & don't forget the rhyme

Because T
        D                                        w a k e  u p
        Y is the first day of the rest of your life... ^

Poem 21 – A Short Ode

O! meat sticks and beer, you instil no fear
But much cheer and it’s clear that to steer
Towards you is to tear up and be reminded
Of the glory of savoury;
O! meat sticks and beer, near to never would
I say no to putting you in my mouth, both
If I’m totally honest, and it makes me wonder
Perhaps with a blunder, if what’s under
Is more important than what’s on top
Oh, and by that, I mean that food’s not
A personality
Ouch. I hurt myself.

Poem 20 – A Nighttime Walk

Nighttime is petrichor and silver sky
Kissing my self-awareness softly
With lips of river’s mist and the promise of dawn

Crisp crunches of bunches of gravel
Caress corners of a mouth upturned into its cheeks
Feet attuned to a rhythm of the body

Mirrored in moonlight that dances behind clouds
Shifting about and sifting photons
Betwixt floating puddles pondering pensively

Poem 19 – A Self-Portrait

I am scattered and distraught piles of books not yet read
Stacked like good intentions never fully realised
But the thought at least counts even if the human doesn’t keep scores
And sometimes I wonder if it’s worth fighting for
Stories that are yet to be explored, a ship kept ashore
Closed tales waiting to be shucked, yarns yet to be spun
Waiting to be cracked open and woven into a tapestry of wonderment
Brilliant in its construction; I am the potential within
The stirred depths of unfathomable darkness, the murky water
Struggling to find my own clarity by sifting sands of time
Through sinew-strand joined skin hung on bone, a meat vessel
Formed of chaos and the sublime with a side of lime and rhyme
I am the infinite moment of golden hour condense into a funky,
If chunky, character, sharing care factors with friends

Poem 18 – Just Be Still and Listen

Just be still and listen
To the dew on blades of grass
To the twinkling of stars above
And to the glow of the moon
Reflected as it is off the river
Listen to the rain falling on leaves
And the shuffle of the forest in wind
Listen to your breath as you feel
Your chest rise and fall
The synchronised symphony
Of existence, unfolding around you

Poem 17 – Books Versus People

Books were safer than other people anyway,*
Solace in a social storm
Gentler than judgemental stares and glares
Full of good friends and adventure
So much better at keeping secrets
And most of the time far, far more interesting

* – With credit to Neil Gaiman

Poem 16 – A Sense Other Than Vision

There’s a smell, in fact an aroma, that intoxicates me
A human scent, of a BO-laced meat vessel, ripe
But delightful in its pungent revelry,
Sometimes 6 days unshowered, sometimes after a single session
Of activity and dynamic motion, but unforgettable
The sour sharpness reminding me I’m still alive
That I’m still here, and so are you, visceral
In our humanity, connecting with something deeper
Like the smell of flesh to fire in a bar-bee-queue, or smoke,
An archaic comfort in the delight of primal humanity
Of a time when we relied on our noses more,
And socially constructed chaos less, natural
Sometimes I want to feel this in my nostrils when beside you,
Saturating olfactory faculties with nature and breath
Embracing you with my nostrils as with my arms
Eyes closed knowing I’m home

Poem 15 – A Pondering of the Past

Club 23 West Cordova would host fetish nights
Twice a month on a Saturday
The dress code was PVC, plastic, pleather, and leather
And a few other things I can’t remember now;
Fast forward to my arrival, all bunny ears
And fluffy tail, lost and found sourced La Senza Girl briefs
Effectively booty shorts for my ample ass
I danced, a lot, and near the end of the night
A gorgeous gay couple approached me, all of us sweaty
Them all leather-harness and killer smiles
Asking me if I was there with anyone (I wasn’t)
I don’t recall the exact exchange, but I believe they asked
“Wanna come with us?” to which I’d replied something like
“I’m super flattered, but I don’t swing that way!”
Sometimes I think back and wonder how “Yes” would have felt

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