28 May 2014

Sonnet 151

Needling man and wife:  whatever sex is*

For you Cupid's midlife crisis sends love.

His cocksure romantic campaign's amiss,

Gone commando with red roses to prove

What?  Bad lad mags under the bed betray

 (K)nobler parts prone to gross body treason:

The  small brain big prick disconnect.  Love may

Be dead - pricks don't see that as a reason,

They'll still rise for same old same old (that's thee);

Don't let yourself go, mothers of his pride,

Well trimmed rose landing strips the way to be

Prepared for your man and bits on the side.

      But beware c(o)untings and  late booty call:

      Are STI's** God's revenge on our fall???


*Prince Charles famous reply when he was asked if he was in love with Diana "Whatever love means..."

**New medical research showing rising incidence of  STI's among menopausal women , who are at more risk because of changes to their ahem "rose" .

    



   

26th May 2014

Sonnet 150

If it hadn't  been twenty-eight* I might

Have lent that gross Dark Laydee  wit some sway;

But equating love with beer goggle sight

Turned all my dawns to red PMT day.

Your love hangover's self-inflicted ill

Fuelled by bad alcohol related deeds;

A failure to launch small rapier skill

Means disappointment performance exceeds.

Let's split same day we marry and here's more:

 Keep it no-fault,  exit cheaply ex-hate

(Rich lawyers claim blind "love" rhymes with "abhor"),

No blame No shame DIY's divorce rate.

    Five Cosmos** and the magic happened for me -

    More crazy I to wait for love from thee.


* Theory that  twenty-eight sonnets in the Dark Lady sequence  correspond to female menstrual cycle.

**Cosmopolitan cocktails

       

    

22nd May 2014

Sonnet 148

Can't get stags in onsies outta my head:

Wee pickles neatly zipped up out of sight -

Where's their masculinity hormones fled?

Who's falsely censored what lads thought aright?

Lassies finding hens make a better dote:

French kissing openly on my street, so

What does heteronormality* denote?

Love's eye's more right than when "no" wasn't "no":

Not just Cupid - we too were blind to  true.

Us Eurovision viewers moved to tears

Like our glam bearded laydeez free to view:

The sun sees what no bigot censor clears.

    No he's or she's, just "it's"** if love is blind,

    Fault and faults left to hateful eyes to find.

*President Putin's word.

**Description (in Russian TV debate) of Eurovision 2014 winner.

20h May 2014

Sonnet 147


There's something to hate in everyone, still -

All-nighters' sex 'n' shopping's not disease,

What makes the world go round won't make you ill:

Could you just put  your PIN in for me , please?

Ok, I've conflated spending with love;

Multinational pharmaceuticals kept

Cures secret governments wouldn't approve;

We're in materialism'd grip; except -

Past cure I am, now reason is past care

What's come around went around my unrest:

Since I lost you both my regrets/grief are

Best blind drunk and disorderly expressed.

Husband and/or Mum - I've been less than bright:

Addiction not obsession dulls the night.

17th May 2014

Sonnet 146

Out there, somewhere,  some other waiting earth;

The one space debris doesn't yet array,

The one where minerals aren't a dearth,

The one where we can all evolve as gay.

Why such large waste having so short a lease?

(One second to midnight - it's The Big Spend;

Our splurge; our show dive into Lake Excess:

Das Kapital's invite only fag end,

Money for sex - holy profit and loss,

See "Fanny Hill" down your local porn store -

She fingered  all God's  whores working for dross:

What's instinctual  left us begging for more).

     Earth's lucre's filthy (either that or men )

    Prostitute Space - there's no more shopping* then.

*Another euphemism.

15th May 2014

Sonnet 145


She  Those lips that Love's own hand did make,

Now speak a lot less love than hate

To him that played  them for my sake;

And when I see his woeful state,

I go that's it, our end has come:

Tongue lashing's wrong but oh so sweet

So worth it so what if it's doom -

Sticking together's one big greet.

He  Don't be daft - you know we can't end

This decider Match of the Day,

There's no ref could send off this fiend,

This dirty Dad, for games away.

    Together Let's ignore expletives we threw,

                     Sing songs for our team - Man and U.

14th May 2014

Sonnet 144

Yes Mum, you were both comfort and despair:

Wish I believed in angels or ghosts - still

There should be something left or it's not fair

You're dead when there's loads older folks not ill?

We know Nature knows no good or evil,

Conceits keeps us looking on the bright side,

If we exorcise DNA's devil

There'll be no saints or sinners or foul pride.

Your tastes were too lurid for me I find,

I might be as gross*, but too soon to tell

How much of you I got; meet my new friend

Psychomachia** - it's not knowing's Hell.

    Yet this shall I ne'er know but live in doubt:

    Will what you've left in me get fired out?

*12x12=144=a gross (Shakespeare, not me)

**Medieval concept in which a good angel and an evil one compete for possession of a man's (laydee's) soul.

12th May 2014

Sonnet 143

GH* - that's one rogue gene I couldn't catch,

It died out some generations away,

So Mum could combine hatch, match and dispatch

With pursuit of that fame she would have stay;

Me,  resentful child who held her in chase,

Tried to stop her whose busy care was bent

Grabbing that fowl which others fear to face:

Political means to fight discontent.

Gone - but still running for that which flies thee,

Support of supporters you left behind,

Standing between what's grief for you from me -

And worse when former foes start being kind!

    Curse or bless Boadicea's genes as you will :

     Her choices make my consequences still.

*Good Housekeeping

8th May 2014

Sonnet 142

Back in the 80's I'd make friends you'd hate

- when we had to have exclusive loving

- and dignify newly hitched married's state -

- you unwoo'd me by spousal reproving

- or threatened us with making me unthine

- divorce to spare your scarlet ornaments*

 - a one man Kray twins extorting love rents

- what's yours was mine mine forever just mine...

...I'm still expected to forget all those

Whom thine eyes woo'd when sex with me bored thee

So joint value of our real estate grows -

 Who still feels love the way it used to be?

    (Hope there's no love child you're trying to hide -

      Bloodline inheritance can't be denied!) 

*er - blushes.

7th May 2014

Sonnet 141

(It's not good, hating on Her* with your eyes:

Fresh weds you know you really should take note:

It may take some time, but you will dispise

The one on whom your loved-up optics dote.)

So, Shakespeare - a man  less than delighted

Finding both him and his 5 sences prone

To dark sex the beast in him invited

When his more manly love left him alone.

What he should've told her was "Love - you can

Be a bit more me and a lot less thee

Til it gets legal to be man to man;

Pretty pretty please  - let's pretending be?

    Dumbed down verse  (in  no way poetry's gain):

    But hating on ho's Will - that's guy sex  paine.

*or Him
**I appreciate that there is some debate as to the correct plural of "ho".

4th May 2014

Sonnet 140

Let's not pretend that I don't try to press

Your buttons with my pizzled* old disdain,

By remixing our culture* we express,

 Participate, in authenticated pain.*

You want to reach me? Far better it were

Had I embraced sleepless logged-on love so

Love love me do - your audio so near

So in my head no news but you I know.

But if I do log off  should I grow mad

When wild birdsong readily outdrownes  thee?

I prophesise world viral love turns bad

Once madde hackers by madde ears believed be:

    That I may not be so, nor thou belyde**,

    My portal's kept at 1 "I love you" wide. 


*With thanks to David Shing, AOL digital prophet.

**lied about

3rd May 2014

Sonnet 139

They say "She looks like you!" I pray they're wrong

And their optic nerve's joined up to their heart

Which is what brings on sentimental tongue:

Poets shouldn't treat brain science as art.

Digress Age 10 you dressed me quelle quelle sight!

 Enforcing thus  Mother's will harsh aside

Early pubescent wearing  bouffant might

Be more than my ore-prest defence could bide?

I don't do pain I'm no poet God knows,

One reacts to one's thoughts as enemies,

Me and my meditations are old foes,

But both fighting Freudian injuries:

I'll not be like Nabokov's waxwing slain...*

"Wait!  All we saw in you was her pre-pain..."


*Refers to the long poem at the start of Vladimir Nabokov's novel "Pale Fire".