In The Night



 
 I heard a shallow, wheezing breath
 
 It scared me nearly half to death!
 
 The squinting moon did shelter sight;
 
 The switch, I dared not reach for light.
 
 So cowered beneath shaking sheet,
 
 I worried so with no relief.
 
 As panting sounds grew closer still,
 
 I wished myself by windowsill,
 
 So to escape tormentor’s groans,
 
 But frozen stiff I stalled alone.
 
 Then cover to my bed did lift
 
 And curl into a ball did shift,
 
 Where trembling I awaited death,
 
 But all I got was doggy breath?
 
 For panting friend had given fright,
 
 As all things seem worse in the night.
 

 (Image courtesy Michelle Marie)

Beauty Reserved



 
 
 Snow White petals dipped in pink,
 
 Watercolours melting together.
 
 How delicate your charms
 Unfolded in tender anticipation,
 
 Perhaps, at my passing,
 
 But more likely the sun’s.
 
 A moment of colour,
 
 Pastels set in emerald beds beautifying the landscape,
 
 You blaze whilst you can.
 
 And it worries me,
 
 Troubles me that this may be so!
 
 That soon you will diminish,
 
 And the world be lesser for it.
 
 Then, I look closer,
 
 Spying your kin in bud waiting to take over,
 
 Beauty reserved:
 
 I breathe again.
 
 

The Truth About Heroes


 There was a desperate hollering
 
 From the woman I was following
 
 As her stiletto got stuck in a hole
 
 So I rescued that lady
 
 By the name of O’Grady
 
 Whilst I snuck a quick peep of her mole
 
 
 
 It was high on her thigh
 
 When it caught my rogue eye
 
 And almost a little bit more
 
 But I’m just not the type
 
 If you’ll believe all this tripe
 
 Who’d ogle a girl on the floor
 
 
 
 I ended the melodrama
 
 Like a night in bright armour
 
 By pulling her free in mid rant
 
 But the truth’s not so pure
 
 As she’d lost her allure
 
 When I’d seen the size of her pants
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Thistle Attack



 Festooned in purple
 Atop prickly stem,
 I like to look
 But not touch them.
 For draw me in
 Just like a bee,
 They seek to stab
 Their thorns in me!
 Thistle by name,
 They’re Scotland’s pride,
 Although they’ve wandered
 Far and wide
 To point of barring
 My morning run;
 Yet faster still
 When catch on one.
 I’ll meet again
 When running back
 With less surprise
 From thistle attack.
 Unless they’ve strayed
 To different path,
 Then I may reroute
 And stop being daft?