From heights Olympian to the hum drum. I read a frazzled woman’s blog, I heard her frustration and imagined her next step. (Too much time on my scrubbed clean covid and germ-free hands, I imagine.)

Left In The Dust.

At school I’d daydream through the long boring classes,
Heroic tales of Hera and Hercules, so the lesson passes.

Exchanging today’s tedium’s for yesterday’s mythic stories,
Tall tales of ancient battles, of Achilles and Paris’s vain glories.

These days I’ve a Hades of a life, dragging the kids out of bed,
Getting ’em washed and fresh-faced and dressed and fed.

No honeyed milk nor sweet ambrosia bless this houses breakfast table,
Three growing boys, fling in food fights and I’m left an Augean stable.

Packed lunches, back packs and pack ’em in the Minivan;
Every morning this Moms labors become more Herculean.

Whatever happened to those long lost schoolgirl’s dreams?
Romantic fantasies of Helen of Troy, of a thousand triremes?

…Waiting at the red light, back to the past I absently wander
Till horns and a green light remind me my Odyssey’s a Honda.

The journey to school has all the usual boystrous push and shove,
A display of more pokes pinches and punches than brotherly love.

Spilling out the sliding door, off with nary a backward glance,
I’m rueing too many wasted days- and three nights of romance.

The Greek God I thought loved me eternally now no longer cares,
I naively married a Narcissus interested in his silly human affairs.

This ever-smiling mother, his secondary lover is going to disappear,
There is a Troy, a Carthage, Athens, Paris, Texas- anywhere but here.

 

Obbverse

Any time is a good time to go on holiday, to travel, explore new horizons, enjoy the pleasures of warm and close companionships. Up until very recently, anyway.

I was sick of works demands,
I wished to see some idle hands,
So I booked myself a sea cruise,
Well, what did I have to lose?

A life out on the ocean wave,
A licence to frolic and misbehave,
To stroll in Speedos with tanned chest,
Pull in the gut, leave the lasses impressed.

To what depravities I sunk,
Every night in a new bunk,
My lustful life was never finer-
I love life on an ocean liner.

But come one fine morning I awoke
Feeling like when I used to smoke,
But the ships Doc’s there for such ills-
Plus, I needed more lil’ blue pills.

The Doc’s voice took on a worried note
As he peered down my ticklish throat,
And as we approached American waters
I found I was confined to my quarters.

No more late-night fun and games,
No more early morning walk of shames,
Into my teeny tiny cabin I was shown
To spend a fortnight all on my own.

I’ve got a Gideons bible and a battered paperback,
Grand Cruise brochures litter the magazine rack,
Free Living and Disney channels are all very nice
But I wish they’d arrange Wi-Fi for my De-Vice.

I don’t mind being forcibly detained,
I realise a nasty virus must be contained,
The Cap’ns bound to put in protective measures
He doesn’t care a toss about my fleshly pleasures.

Here we’re moored, off San Francisco Bay,
And what to do to while the time away?
It’s ten more days till I’m back on deck,
Idle hands mean I’ll be a physical wreck.

 

©Obbverse

 

Money can’t buy you love or happiness, or popularity, so the song goes. For an ex-mayor of New York this is both sad and true.

Lost Its Bloom.

So ex-mayor Mike’s power jump has failed,
Those high White House walls remain unscaled,
His late ill-founded but well-funded quest
Has seen a cool half billion bucks go West.

So, no Presidency for poor saintly Mike,
Too many found there’s not much to like.

For a mighty rich man it’s a humbling thought-
Even a Trump tarnished presidency cain’t be bought,
Or perhaps the Big Apple is sick of GreaT big talkers,
One old rich white ass is enough for most New Yorkers.

Mike’s taken a costly kick in the pants, and a civil censure,
His overly frisky bad cop stops still proving a risky venture.

 

©Obbverse

Welcome to a blended extended thermo-nuclearly unhappy family. Not to mention, family planning.

A Few Hard Home Truths.

What a grand and great relationship
We’ve forged lovingly together,
We’ll not let our moorings slip
Despite bouts of inhospitable weather.

We’ve now been married for a year,
They say the first one is the worst,
But most who hold us near and dear
See we’re so loved-up we could almost burst.                                                                                                  ,
I’m grateful for this little home we share,
Your family is largely accommodating,
But believe me, I’ve been made painfully aware
That some pleasure in my company’s dissipating.

Every day our love grows stronger
Than it was the day before,
But, Love, it won’t last much longer
If I must abide with Mother-in-law.

I do so love my lovely wife
Yet it feels we still live in sin,
Yes, we’re blessedly Wedding Mass sanctified
But these humble walls are paper thin.

So here we are on our anniversary
And as my darling leans in for a kiss
Through the wall I hear my old adversary-
In the kitchen, hear the steaming boilers hiss?

So let’s not stay celibately in tonight,
Lets sneak out and celebrate our wedding day,
We’ll luxuriate in the Hotel Grands suite delight-
Sometimes we all need to get off and away.

 

 

©Obbverse

Roses, wine, chocolates, gooey texts, sweet words of love on Valentine’s Day. Then, sometimes, the magic will be unleashed and love will have its way. Them rare sweet days when pure logic takes a back seat. Gotta love ’em!

Valentine’s Day Masala.

Tearily I recall that night after Valentines Day, I
Pulled Cavalierly into that cold unromantic lay-by,
After a rich meal spiced up with cheap sparkling wine
Surely my beloved would melt in these arms of mine?

Casanova had found it particularly galling
When he found he was hopelessly falling
For a Catholic girl who felt honour bound
To go up the aisle pure and white gowned.

The light of love and Moscato filled her sparkling eyes,
As chocolate liqueurs served me in my dark enterprise
I leaned in, desperately keen to express the love I felt…
Ain’t no getting past the cold shoulder or chastity belt.

 

 

PS; I know the last couplet might sound uncomfortably close to Chuck Berry’s, but with some rhymes there’s only one particular way it can go. So, close, Chuck, but no cigar.

 

©Obbverse.

The Rolling Stones front man goes under the knife for a little bit of maintenance. Time waits for no man, Mick my boy.

Surgery For The Ol’ Devil.

Old Sir Mick just keeps on a’rolling,
Geriatric Mick prefers jiving to strolling,
But now, in his seventies his step’s begun to stutter
His high-living past has set his stony heart all a’flutter.

A dickey heart valve needs refurbishment
For Micks old ticker’s taken some punishment,
There’s no doubt when it comes to wear and tear
Micks plucky organ’s done more than its fair share.

Now the old pump is suffering from overuse,
But in Micks case it sure ain’t down to self abuse,
Cigarettes and bad habits have contributed to his current issues
But his old wives and girlfriends won’t be reaching for the tissues.

Thinking back on them good(?) ol’ school days, of pimply adolescence, tough lessons and first silly soppy juvenile teenage love.

Greasy Kids Stuff.

It was the first day of February and one thing was clear,
I was never ready to face this bright new school year,
A step up towards High school, and higher learning
Left this poor student with his poor stomach churning.

A spotty youth, a third former, the lowest of the low,
Puberty was kicking in, and it was beginning to show,
Pimples and blackheads blighted this once fresh face,
As soon as one eyesore faded, two more took its place.

I did learn three things on my first day at Hagley High,
The first was to say ‘yessir’, and never ever question why,
Second, the Headmaster held more authority than God above,
Third, I fell for a girl, with all the pure passion of puppy love.

This girl was The One, the one I worshiped from afar,
This girl lit up my darkest nights, like a shooting star,
My last thought before I slept, my first come the morn,
I was besotted by a girl who didn’t know I’d been born.

I wondered how and when I could chance to meet her,
I practiced the perfect words with which I would greet her,
I alone could see she her realise our stars were destined to align;
So sad, the dreams of a short-pantsed pimply Frankenstein.

I made my approach, in the lonely corridor there was only her and I,
I tried my long practiced patter, but my throat was bone dry…
To see the one you want to want you with all your being
Waltz past you, eyes all a’sparkle, oblivious, unseeing…