Hair Today, Gone On A Promise

What is this vision that I see before me?

A beard, egads!

Has Santa come to stay?

But wait!

It is not uniform, all white and fluffy,

Must query this conundrum with no more delay.

For patch upon the chin has made this piebald,

A presentation quite perplexed, I fear,

Where should be brown, we have alarming.

Did you have a fright?

Oh, how ghastly, good lord, dear.

Passports pending, photographs are looming,

Some sample of the truth of your visage,

One cannot see fizzog for variegated,

And, lo, I see a problem, this mirage

Officialdom will ponder, quite as I do,

Whatever happened here,

Has terror struck?

Officers will mull

Much more than I have

And murmur under breath,

Osama, resurrected, wtf!

I’m only saying, darling, cos I love you,

This beard you sport has aged you in extreme,

These whiskers here resemble one Catweazle,

Not to mention itch and scratch unseem.

I’ve purchased brand new razors,

Here be scissors,

Aftershave delightful, just for you,

Me? Admittedly, I find this frightful,

Though kids all say it’s charming,

Little liars – that’s not true.

Who is this man before me, I be crying,

Here be yeti!

And whyfore, wherefore, feckfore, is it multihued?

The hair upon your head is not coloured quite so.

My eyes!

My eyes, oh golly gosh, have come unglued.

There must, I think, be reasonable ‘splanation,

Some sort of answer to this question, hereabouts,

I cannot think and you’re devoid of answers.

Has someone bleached you?

Have you been sheep-dipped?

Another problem, darling, lies in skin test,

Mine, you see, is delicate.

It is!

Snogging not an option with such whiskers,

The slightest peck but never full on kiss.

Though softer now, it started very jaggy,

My face afeart you’re hiding more of same,

Be a sport,

I’ll even do it for you,

Come back to me with skin so soft and tame.

You’ve trimmed and clipped and, yes, there is improvement,

So, time, I guess, is no issue for the task,

A daily shave, or two, you hairy bastard – smile – only kidding.

What else to say? Just really had to ask.


And do I tell you how to wear your hair, dear?

Such colours you have tried – and styles – I’ve squirmed,

Remember when you shaved it up the back, dear,

Well, I do,

Thought I was married to a bloke, a guy, a him.

You do yours and I’ll do mine, unless dear,

A face bereft of fuzz still turns you on,

It does!

Good god, why didn’t you just say so?

Give me half an hour – wink, wink – I’m on a promise.

Twenty minutes later, it be gone.


Scorched With A Giggle

From your eyes the scorch of an angel

Words, feathered, pronounced on my skin

Caressed more lightly than fingertips could

Sexed without trace of a sin

Eyed by two green and a soul search

Two hazel stared in return

Glint upon glint sparking arrows

That’s where our love-life began

Voice bathed my flesh and it shivered

Washed me in words welcomed, warm

Filled up my core and delivered

Heat from a new-risen sun

Irises reached, enlarged pupils,

Signs of what still had to come

First look, first words, were the herald

Of a sex life that’s been second to none!

I was tagged by Jessica to write a sexy poem for Sexy Poetry Day.  But I’m obviously still a fourteen year old when it comes to talking about sex – I can’t help giggling.

Regardless, I dedicate this poem to my better half who, despite life’s marital ups and downs, still rocks my boat and makes me giggle. I was nineteen when we first met, he with my oldest brother, me with my mum. Sparks flew from the get-go, which was a tad embarrassing all round. He was warned off by my brother, me by my mum! But love will out. Sparks will fly. And sex requires some giggling, I’ve always felt. Think about it. Heaven sure has a sense of humour. You couldn’t make it up yourself!

Coin In The Cork

Did you really imagine that the champagne cork would hold the bubbles, tickled against your nose, inhaled, expecting taste with closed eyes, breath of a memory, stored with the photos, still whole, coin inserted just so, to have and to hold, all worldly goods…

Did you really think that, paused in time, time would pause, hold the sparkled scent, corked, as it were, effervescent smiles in frozen pose, dancing into the unknown, wondering, wondering, hopeful…

Did you really understand then that hope is gaseous, elusive, needs catching constantly, requires work and give and take and would you have recorked, back then with that knowledge, for fear of coin slipping from inverted hub…

Did we really, in our wildest imaginings, if ever wild they were, and they were wild, believe that all the corks and celebrations would link, create the raft, float us homeward, always homeward, adrift at times, paddling, questioning views but always homeward…

Did we know and would we have cared or believed that for every celebratory cork we would also drink of pain and swallow loudly, gulping back that first dance, want to shuffle off the floor, till we knew the music changed again…

And did we dance. Oh, how we’ve danced! And drunk from champagne bottles by the neck, exploding corks to atmosphere and airy, practiced expectations, rejoiced and wept and found the means to keep the bubbles scented in the cork, the coin still holds.

May Music, Day 2 – Fairground Attraction

So Twindaddy wants to know which song I associate with my last ex-boyfriend.

Slight problem.

My last ex- boyfriend is my husband of nearly 27 years. How did that happen? Don’t ask me. I was enjoying the rollercoaster at the time.

Every time.

Every. Single. Time.

From that first meeting.

Every time you looked.

Came near.

Dared to speak.

Every time.


The possibility.

I clenched,

knuckles white,

rode the slow ride,

a semi-death,

anticipating climax

in descent.


Every single time.

A fairground attraction.


Deathly fear in

chamber of horrors

that today,

this moment,

would be

the last today.


Waltzers spinning…..


…..whirling mind…..


Is this love?


Then we would ride


Up, Up, Up!

Neverending upness…..

…..till that peak.


A descent of


Was this love?


I wondered.

I queried.

I asked

of someone,


Was this love?


I begged for answers

to an inevitable future.

No right or wrong  way

of reckoning.


I wondered.

I queried.

I dismissed.

We paused.


We dated again;

the question ever present.

Was this love?

Was this



We talked.

Is this love?


I heard her then.

Asking my questions…..

… a pub…..

… Glasgow.


And I asked,

Is this love?


We looked.

Paused forever


possible ever

or never.

And married

six months later.



How To Undress A Woman

Now Brenda seems to think I’m saucy. Even when I’m not trying to be. Bloody hell, that was just a wee innocent post.  But it did get me thinking about saucy. 😉


How to undress a woman,

Well, I know there’s more than a few,

But for the purposes of clarification,

I’ll list my favourite two.


Begin first of all with your mind and your eyes,

Envision the beauty you’ll see,

Let shimmer of desire spark radiant fire,

She’ll recognise and want to be free.


Now, slowly, uncover each portion of flesh,

Kissing each part as revealed,

Tenderly nibbling on morsels delightful,

Till nothing more is concealed.


Or, hold hands to her head and kiss deeply,

Eyes firing with darkest emotion,

Then, quickly, with no hesitation,

Let four hands resist all slow motion.


One is smouldering passion,

With thoughts swimming round in your head,

The other is urgent, needs no commanding,

Doesn’t need even a bed!


How to undress a woman,

Many the answers there be.

But either of the two depicted

Work wonders for little ole me!


” Come, live with me and be my love, ” poetic he,

A plea born of sincerity.

Two hearts and souls combined

With mind.

Irresistible request,

Love blest.

And time will play with both,

Burning flame to moth.

‘ Till death us part, ‘ he quoth,

And so, the two betroth.

For life and eternity.


Frank Sleeps

My husband waits

Asleep in bed

His hand supports

His weary head.

His body cries its need of rest,

Still another need

Lies in his breast.

This need shall be aroused in me

When I slip beside him quietly.

I’ll take his head upon my breast

And though he has a need for rest

His ardour will become a flame

He will call his wife by my own name.

And when his passion is all spent

He’ll fall to sleep, be heaven-sent.

And this new rest

Will fell his head

Upon his pillow – soft yet firm.

And I will have had my need of him.