A summer ‘Stralian wedding and honeymoon. The southern sun is warmly shining, the water is cool and inviting, what could go wrong?

Love Bites.

We two lovebirds visited the Lonely Planet site,
Found a beachouse out in the Great Australian Bight,
For this couple wished to spend our wedding night
Tucked away from the prying media spotlight.
And nosy kith and kin.

We woke to a sea a’ twinkling in the morning light;
It felt as if Mother Nature had handed us an invite,
And with ‘nary a cloud or single soul in sight
To not swim au naturale  seemed impolite.
If not a naked sin.

Especially when two are hot enough to ignite,
When temptations and temperatures top 100 Fahrenheit,
When hot naked passions- and swim suits- take flight
The sea offers a change, if not a cool respite.
And soothes chafed inflamed skin.

Skinny dipping is sheer unbridled delight,
The seas ebb and flow is sure to primordially excite,
But thrashing bare bodies are bound to whet the appetite
Of Thrashers, Makos, Tigers, that bloody Great White…
So, better out than in.

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Halloween night, then Guy Fawkes night, so close together. From Cherry Blow-pops to Cherry Bombs in a matter of days.

Rocket Fizz.

Halloweens been done-
That hit the sweet spot,
We had Starbursts by the tonne,
But we ate the lot.

Now, for a real barrel of fun
Give Guy Fawkes night a shot,
His idea was an incendiary one
But that poor Guy lost the plot.

Attraction, emotions, romance, true love, love proven… a period of waiting… marriage, then happy ever after. Ain’t love grand?

Post Nuptial.

I’m special, not the sort of person
Who’d marry any old sort of person
Pregnant or not to him.

We could never become that sort of people,
The kind who find they resort to other people;
Tied by the trusty knot, me and him.

But I became another person
When he came in another person.
This widow’s well shot of him.

I read a passage or two the other day on how the zealots and moral guardians down here on Gods good earth can come to terms with the temptations of Trump. It seems almost all can be forgiven. Now, let us pray…

A Flipping Miracle.

Good God, I find it hard to believe those who do believe
That Donald Trump is part of Gods mysterious Master plan,
Those of blind faith who found a black president impossible to conceive
Yet can find little fault in this one, Gods Right White quite imperfect man.

Any conservative will admit he’s a philanderer,
But Sweet Jesus, Donald’s making a great nation,
And doth the Good Book not say, ‘to be human is to err?’
Let’s give Don the benefit of doubt (and a liberal translation.)

How the bloody righteous paw through chapter and verse,
Praying pardon for their (play)boys less than model behaviour,
Finding any blessed reason to praise a man Beelzebub would curse;
How Divine, stumbling on such a forgiving anti-Gay-Muslim-Refugee Saviour.

The day comes along for a maudlin thought or two. Such is life.

Long Slow Burn.

Spring brings thoughts of summer, tinged with regret,
For today is- was- the birthday of my brother Chet,
So I called in to work claiming, truthfully, an upset.

I drive the old roads we once biked way back when,
Them skies looked newer and bluer way back then
To two overgrown boys, so so far from being men.

I parked by the pool, old now, new then… to reminisce,
Of that hot endless summer, of the exquisite bliss
Of meeting Chets girlfriend’s sister, of a first kiss.

So we spent those days, young and tanned and strong
Not a care in the world the whole damn summer long;
Show me a healthy tan, and I’ll show you you’re wrong.

Ah, I somehow missed the passing of Burt Reynolds. So it’s a late eulogy to the late Burt.

Bye bye Burt.

It’s the final curtain for cool Cosmopolitan Bandit Burt,
The epitome of the seventies man, as your Mama can assert,
A twinkling eye, a cocked eyebrow, that mountebanks mustache-
Then and now he could elicit in the ladies a damn indecent hot flash.

Strange how what is just and right evolves in the modern Trump world. I suppose it must be all a matter of perspective, or do we rely on blind faith? Sweet Jesus, who’s to know?

Above And Beyond.

Lawyer Mike Cohen was, confidentialy, not just a Donald fan,
When it came to private peccadilloes he was Dons Mr Fix-it Man,
But his quietly recording Don’s costly affairs wasn’t part of Don’s plan,
Poor Don, its hard to believe a lawyer  could be so Machiavellian?

To Donald’s defence the Righteous leap-
His learned counsel should his counsel keep.

His year-long tryst with Karen old Donald can richly afford-
Two hundred grand, another Playboy plaything cheaply scored,
On Don carried, the same year Melania had baby Barron on board,
There’s no more damning words of a cheating bastard on record!

Fox TV showers invective on Mike, ‘he’s a deceitful creep’
While Trump treads water in the swamp, so dark and deep.

But twenty years ago you should’ve heard their moralistic mewling
When slick Willy left Monica high and dry by saying they weren’t fooling,
While the twists and turns of Billy-goats oral gymnastics were unspooling;
Funny how now fiery talk of a flesh new Hell for adulterers is cooling?

Now for the Right God fearin’ folk, talk is cheap,
About today’s gross infidelities, not one damn peep.