Inappropriate

If I were twenty years younger,
I'd ask you to marry me.
But if I were twenty years younger,
you'd still be in junior school
and marriage might be a little frowned on.

They say
floating is better than sinking
don't they?
I'm quite
sure you don't have an inkling
what's right
and guess
nothing at all gets you linking
to stress.
Of course
water's involved, just a sprinkling
resource -
no doubt
not what you're probably thinking
about.
Suppose
proper disgust has you wrinkling
your nose
but pride
foils your impulse of slinking aside
convinced
finally, hurriedly shrinking
back since
these words
only concern daily stinking
fresh turds.

I never fret about the ferry;
I know my berth is booked ahead;
it certainly won't go without me,
waiting till I'm dead.

The voyage itself won't be too taxing
(the river Styx is not so wide);
a boat ride could be quite relaxing -
no threat the other side.

It's more the journey to the harbour
before I even reach the boat
depresses me as I get older
and life becomes just rote.

As muscles tire and bones grow weaker,
the transport system gets so frail
and people's outlook sure seems bleaker
when lights begin to fail.

The traffic then could cause disaster;
the road ahead is all downhill;
no wonder time starts going faster
so much of it to kill.

No problem with the route to follow -
prescriptions point the varied turns;
obsessed with illness I can wallow
in petty self-concerns.

No holdups threaten onward progress
though motorways may take their toll;
less chance of bed and hearty breakfast
for this convicted soul.

No holiday accomodation
required; no frolics at the port;
no postcards from that destination,
the journey's last resort.

Perhaps I ought to change my vehicle
for something more appropriate -
a wheelchair might make me more cheerful
once death is definite.

Or they might build a channel tunnel
to speed up progress with a train
or even fund an airport - one'll
get there quicker with a plane.

"But why all the fuss?" she enquired retreating
around the end of the bed in the gloom -
young girl unimpressed by my sad entreating
alone at last in her curtained room.

"It's only a body like any other."
she said while gliding away through the door;
but hers is the body I want to smother
with love and kisses for evermore.

I sail on the swell of her belly meeting
the crested curve of her breasts' dark tips;
I plunge down the dip to the bottom greeting
the smudge of hair in the trough of hips.

I rise up again to the shoulder whitening
the rolling wave of her waisted back;
ahead the face of the heavens brightening
is wreathed in swirls of fine curling wrack.

And then comes the storm with the thunder beating
my heart apart at the neck of the bay;
one last little thrust and her mouth's repeating
the words I always want her to say . . .

"I've got to be going. You'll have to leave."
A quiet voice puts an end to the gale.
Washed up on the beach what did I achieve -
passion or love or a fishing tale ?

Winter, North Vietnam

Grey bullocks plough the green fields brown;
a paddled tractor muddles by;
flat water squares awaiting rice
are grey fields mirroring grey sky.

Whole schools of children cycle past
misted banana trees and palms;
grey tarmac roads span splashy pools
where floats of tame ducks quell their qualms.

Grey walls of buildings front more fields
whose matt green spatters topee'd heads,
a real-life water colour scene
where sunless drizzle dourly spreads.


But coned bent backs plant change to come;
the new-shoot green shines winter's cure;
the wading cold promises sun
with message clear - only endure.

Jesus was crazy, Muhammad a fraud
and Buddha way too pessimistic;
the Hindus are children with novel for Book
and Jews are just so narcissistic.

Shinto and Taoism never left home;
Confucius made life bureaucratic;
the native Americans lacked holy tome
but still made their worship ecstatic.

So why do we now still believe in these creeds
when science explains nature's working ?
Religion may ease our emotional needs
but only with dangers left lurking.

As kids we believe just whatever we're told
(Loyola grasped indoctrination);
if adults don't question beliefs that they hold,
self-righteousness brings confrontation.

When Catholic, Protestant, Sunni and Shia
dispute the beliefs of their founders,
their doctrines to laymen are ever less clear
and sensible confidence flounders.

New prophets appear and new sects multiply
like Methodists, Sufis and Sikhs,
plus Baptists and Jains, Adventists, Bahai . . .
some folk like belonging to cliques !

If finding companions and comfort in cults
from Moonies to Salvation Army
means losing your logic, it only results
in tenets increasingly barmy.

When cranks like John Smith can invent a new creed,
religion is surely illusion.
Just how many versions of Truth do you need
before you know it's all delusion.

Texting

'Are you asking me out?' she replied at last.
Well, what else would 'Dinner sometime?' mean?
'I'm not sure I'm ready for this.'  Too fast?
It's all ad lib. I've got no scheme.
There's really no need to be so aghast.
It's only a meal, not a marriage proposal.

But I should have made clear I'll pay the bill
with absolutely no expectation
of anything back except my fill
of hopefully interesting conversation
and a pleasant view across the table.
It's only a meal, not a marriage proposal.