Feeling

Outcast

I have cast myself out

And I am slowly forgetting

How to reopen the door

Bitterness

Helps me to be bitter

Humour

Helps me to smile

Happiness

Follows swiftly

As I sit, secure

In my meditation chair

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Proof

I started writing

Seriously

At the same age

That Shakespeare died

We were both fifty-two

He was a Stratford-On-Avon

And London lad

I have travelled further than he

All the counties of England

As well as many European cities

Have felt my footsteps

Also the line of my pen

But can I be certain

That he had not been there

Before me

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Hook

Every girl

Needs a name

As she becomes

Woman

One or two

Would do

But neither

To be honest fit

So take time

Search high and low

Hither and thither

Until you fall firm

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Castle Window

I remember a girl

Tall and thin

Wearing a see-through blouse

Which I unbuttoned

To fondle and kiss

Her uncovered breasts

Later we had intercourse

For which I was prepared

I had brought a Featherlite

Which she showed me

How to lubricate and install

We were both of age

But only just

She was the vicar’s daughter

To begin

The movements were slow

But quite soon

We were going steady

Then it all ended

And we didn’t see

Each other naked ever again

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Mon Plaisir

I often return

The house

The lane

The road

The esplanade

The sands

The sea

Undressing

My mind

Step by step

Door by door

Doubt by doubt

Into the present

Out of the past

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