My beautiful English rose

she
was born
with many a thorn
prickly
yet blossoming
in my light
not to clamber
over yours truly
much to his delight

holding reds
fragrant and fresh
she stands firm
with puissant pose
now stuck
in me
I embrace her sting
my beautiful
English rose

Her butterflies

the fresh smell
of springs’ air
rosy cheeks
her skin so fair
she seeks
a naughty boy
who wants him
for her butterflies
and a bit of joy

all the while
her precious
innocent smile
and insecure
female stance
wants to control
her butterflies
before they start
to dance…

Can we go back

can we go back
a little
maybe a thousand years
when there were other fears
rough but pure
a disease
no cure
when trees
were green
and forests clean
all in balance
almost good
no climate challenge

can we go back

Are you for real?

lashes spiky
mascara
oh crikey
eyeliner
foundation
plug the pores
my the frustration
fillers
botox
eye shadow
detox
concealer
maybe revealer
highlighter
tweezer
curler
clipper
hair must die
I wonder why
blush
what’s the (b)rush
lipstick fails
acrylic nails
polish
remover
wax
to the max
primer
for the old timer
injectictables
rejectables
enhancements
enchantments
extensions
rejuvenation
exaggeration
contouring
a lift
purity adrift
liposuction
fat abduction
laser
surgery
a trending spree
spray tan
yes you can
tummy tuck
what the fuck…

My dying van

goodbye
my carriage of steel
I enjoyed being
behind your wheel

you took me places
of which I’m fond
to the known
the remote and far beyond

you guided me
and carried me far
my dependable confidant
my faithful car

you may be crushed
but you’ll understand
you had to go
amazing friend

we’ve shared some miles
over the years
I say goodbye
I am all in tears

Two yellow lines

two yellow lines
lead the way
directing us
to follow
the right side,
or the left,
in curves
through pines
and meadows
deserts
and forsaken lands
on endless slabs
at the hands
of the carefree
careful
and careless
crossing
or not
two yellow lines

Snow

a virgin blanket
sewed with frozen powdered aqua
covering the lands
light and white
forsaken
at the hands
of the sky…

a soft throw;
I think it’s called snow