stages

where is he now,
she wonders
the first boy who kissed her cheek?
they were five
so unsuspecting
of the havoc that kiss would wreak

‘n whatever
happened to
the first boy who carried her books?
so brave,
with his steamed-up glasses
blue plaid coat with metal hooks

she always smiles
when she remembers
the boy whose virginity she took
those lustful
teenaged kisses
his shocked, delighted look

never
has she forgotten
the boy who played the biggest part
her first passion
her first real love
the boy who left ‘n broke her heart

lovers
husbands, toy-boys
some would say a life of sin
she offers
no apologies
for the life lived way back when

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blank slate

good morning
kisses
gentle press of lips
he grunts
when she musses his hair
with her fingertips

into the worn
sofa
he settles back
as she heads off to
the kitchen
to remedy caffeine’s lack

just another
Sunday
thankfully the sun is out
for the moment
her mind’s a blank
nuthin’ at all to worry about

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observation

so nice
choppin’ veg
makin’ dinner for two
rain just startin’ to fall
sky her favourite shade of blue

it’s fun
yellin’ to him
from the other room
love lives in the “uh huh”
that splits the evening gloom

the joy
of watchin’ him read
as he sips that 2nd beer
though the world remains in lockdown
she’s not alone – he’s still here

best of all
is anticipatin’
climbin’ into bed
darkness hugs them both
as they lie nestled head to head

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only my window box is winning

take a moment to observe
the flowers in my window box
the way they hold each other up
though each plant has had hard knocks

each bloom, each plant is separate
growing at a different rate
yet somehow they coexist
ain’t that lovely? I think it’s great

beautiful, the way they mingle
the way they manage to get along
in such a tiny, defined space
they sing a harmonious, scented song

look at the flowers in my box
free from hatred, immune to greed
sunshine, water, a little love
‘n they’re happy – that’s all they need

the flowers in my window box
they all grew from a tiny seed
if only mankind were more like them
realising we’re all part of the same breed

we could kill off all the bad stuff
truly make a new beginning
sadly, assholes are in power
only my window box is winning

copyright © 2020 KPM

only my window box is winning

 

idle thoughts

frequently she wonders
about other populations
their thoughts on the virus ‘n hate
now pulverizing nations

so many tenement buildings
four or eight flats to a floor
where chats on the stairs have stopped
now people scurry out the door

endless rows of duplexes
front gardens colourful ‘n neat
small faces peer from windows
as Mummy makes something to eat

in the gleaming multis
reaching for a heavenly sky
women water plants on balconies
listening to songs that makes them cry

worldwide there are houses
where unseen people dwell
old folk, single folk, families
making their way through uncertainty’s hell

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bottled up

it’s a sunny spring Sunday
my beloved has gone home
to keep busy, I clean the house
pretending I’m not alone

I try to tell myself, “he’s just gone
in the other room”
but I’m no master of deception
this does fuck all to dispel my gloom

although it’s barely noon
the wine bottle I uncap
it’s not like I have work tomorrow
so I do not give a crap

filling a bucket with water & bleach,
so I can mop the bathroom floor
I relive the joyous moment
when the buzzer rang at my door

such a beautiful sight to me,
in this moment, nothing matters
& when he puts those big arms around me
all my demons & fears scatter

but he’s gone home now,
so the bottle I turn up,
eschewing the fancy wine glass
or even a coffee cup

“but he always goes home on Sunday”
my rational side tries to remind me
as I vacuum the bedroom carpet
fighting tears that want to blind me

but we’re not in normal times
for this there are no paradigms
his absence may leave an empty space
but you are not the only one stuck in such a hopeless place

so I turn the bottle up
cause it ain’t shit else to do
I kill that bottle of Sauvignon
hearing the echo of “love you too”

copyright © 2020 KPM

bottled up

every Thursday night

relieved to be home
where it’s warm & dry
she chains the door behind her
with a contented sigh

another workday’s passed
& she’s made it through
to another Thursday evening
with something special to do

once her cozy clothes
have been donned
she races to the kitchen
eager to crack on

hands all washed
knives assembled with care
cookbook propped open
new soup she must prepare

leeks she chops
boiling water for the stock
blender at the ready
ever mindful of the clock

the tasks she performs
are a private treasure
& she smiles as she stirs
imagining his face lit up with pleasure

copyright © 2017 KPM

a girl can dream

I have this fantasy
of you & me
in a little home
on the edge of the North Sea

in the winter months
we’re bound to get some chills
but we’re happy in our house
nestled by the Scottish hills

it’ll have spacious rooms
& ceilings high
& a skylight above the bed
so we can see the night sky

& when it’s time to cook
we both pitch in
in our proper
country kitchen

we’ll be lucky enough
that we can both work from home
& at night we’re lulled to sleep
by the sound of sea foam

it’s saved me
this fantasy
& one day we’ll get it,
our home by the North Sea

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at the Wheatsheaf

in a slow-setting sun
we amble slowly along
as the skies of West Beckham
ring with bird song
I’m holdin’ the hand
of my best friend
ready for tea
at the Wheatsheaf Inn

an old stone building
covered in ivy that’s run amok
in a gorgeous setting
that leaves me dumbstruck
I’m so happy to be
with my best friend
walkin’ through the doors
of the Wheatsheaf Inn

the owner greets us
with a dazzling smile
she shows us to our table
chatterin’ all the while
I look over the top of the menu
at my best friend
we’re both delighted
by the choices
at the Wheatsheaf Inn

the food arrives
& it’s delicious
we share our couples’ jokes
laughin’ though they’re repetitious
sated by food & sun
I give my hand to my best friend
as we walk back to the cottage
& away from the Wheatsheaf Inn

copyright © 2017 KPM

on the A92

the sun came out
once we hit the A92
light that kicked aside the clouds
suspended in a sky of blue

in rolling fields
sat scattered hay bales
tenement blocks
housing spiders & snails

cottages hug the road
adorned with wild flowers
emerald hills glisten
from an early morning shower

a lone motorcyclist
rides into the wind
along the horizon
turbines lazily spin

so many times
we’ve cruised the A92
so many memories
of me & you

copyright © 2017 KPM