Isaac Newton at the disco

While unlucky unlovelies grieve together

and clumsy clowns act fools for some attention;

while undulating women play at sirens,

stirring the limpid air with waving arms,

. . . I seem to have been . . . playing on the sea-shore

. . . now and then finding . . . a prettier shell than ordinary

PRECARIOUS

Strawed, half full and perched on the corner

of a table bearing assorted jumble

of hats and coats and even handbags,

it needed only the slightest fumble

of passing drunks to be knocked off,

fall on the floor and instantly crumble

to glassy fragments. The disco crowd

included some men in the interval mumble

strutting and grappling right beside it.

If any of them chanced to stumble

against the table, it must fall off.

And yet it survived until the humble

bar girl took it away as dead -

the lucky tumbler that didn't tumble.

I went to brush away down on the wall

a piece of debris, I don't know what -

some bit of fabric, some wool ball

but before I could touch it I suddenly got

a shock when a largish spider appeared

beside the thing as  if out of nowhere.

Now I quite like spiders; they're not to be feared

though I know they give some folks a scare

so I didn't do it any harm at all

and assume it just went back to its nest.

But now I also protect that web ball

and in that corner give the vacuum a rest.

TWEETS 28

 CIVILISATION

Better to be admired for the number of goals you've scored

than for the number of men you've killed.

GIRL

The face of the moon

causing heat of the sun.

PRETTY  WOMEN

I go to the gym and pose

hoping for pretty women;

I go to the disco and carp

watching the pretty women;

I go to the band night to dance

and partner pretty women.

APOSTASY

Itching to get away

I abjured tanning skin

seceded from sun worship.

bar, car, far, jar, mar, par, scar, spar, star . . .

So why war ?

A warm bed on waking

would be something to savour

were it not for the worries

spoiling the flavour.

Quite often at local band nights and discos

a young man mixes with just us old churls

so it made my evening when yesterday

he left hand in hand with a girl.

Double entendre (posh)

Just like some spoilt child always wanting more

a sense of anti-climax finishes each event.

It seems nothing is enough.

Having once slipped through some hairline crack

in eternal non-existence, death will be crawling back

and then nothing is enough.

Why does it have to be so difficult - dying ?

Why does it have to be such a grind

trailing the trials of sad old age,

impaired mobility of body and mind

foiling escape from life's prison cage ?

With hearing failing, sinusitis,

regardless whether pleb or royal,

limbs being tortured by arthritis

pain encouraging quick withdrawal.

And dreading some sort of cancer or stroke

leaving one incapacitated,

an animal vegetable bitter joke,

living but incarcerated.

Why not some sort of fixed term contract

knowing in advance when we're going to die

but staying healthy till the final act ?

Come on, God, let's give it a try !