Do you want to be anywhere with me?
Accompanying me on my travels.
On a journey to wherever may be.
So the tight spool, until now, unravels.

My offer to you is an adventure.
We may well be in places unforeseen.
Whatever we do, they’ll be no censure.
In this way, in our own untarnished dream.

We can take care of each other, and more.
Meander nowhere in particular.
Or, be on time to catch the train for sure.
Outlines filled-in, I predict, with colour.

And if, for a while, we settle, not roam,
would you feel you could share with me, a home.


Remember when we made it through the night.
How we survived the terrors of the dark.
Kept at bay the dangers just out of sight.
Our togetherness did not come apart.

Remember how near to catastrophe
we felt we were, with monsters at the gate.
Kept them away from us, incredibly,
as with lights out, tried not to agitate.

Remember that we had to huddle close.
Very much, each our sole line of defence.
Sudden noises … creaks …troubled us the most.
Kept us alert, when concern got intense.

Our joint endeavour then, worth recalling.
Remember we lasted until morning.


She takes no prisoners. ‘You’re free to go’.
“You won’t be incarcerated by me”,
she tells me. Being locked up, won’t be so.
She takes no prisoners, that’s clear to see.

She won’t take anyone against their will.
With her, cannot be involuntary.
“Being with me has got to be for real”
she tells me. Consent, inevitably.

But, could be up before the firing squad.
Tells me she does not suffer fools gladly.
Getting in her good book, though’s, just the job
Although she says, we’re only bound loosely.

Reminding me, she takes no prisoners.
To have her freely, that’s the impetus.


I had her response three minutes ago
What do you think it was, ‘C’mon let’s go’?
or something associated with ‘No’?
Three minutes on, I wouldn’t say that’s slow.

Think it’s a case of being permitted.
Disallowed, subsequently omitted.
A change of mind to me, better fitted,
with the revised version she emitted.

Three minutes ago, now, she said ‘no way’.
Thought I would then be told to ‘go away’.
That was, for sure, on this, her final say,
but then uttered the words which made my day.

Thinking time. She was not under pressure.
She took three minutes to decide whether.


I’m sad the words won’t come out the right way,
because it’s special what I’d like to say.
Sense constructed the way a poet may.
As smooth as riding in a cabriolet.

It is almost as if I am tongue-tied.
How to express those feelings, must decide.
Wanting you, of course, but much more beside.
Cannot rely on that being implied.

I stumble trying to express myself.
It surely should be poetry itself.
In language possibilities, a wealth;
to indicate my desire for yourself.

Getting a real connectedness to love,
if only can say what I’m thinking of.


Love your body. I do. Love your body.
I do. In the right places, it’s curvy.
But still firm enough as it’s meant to be.
Admire it, I dare say, if you let me.

Your body has magnificent contours.
You are in great shape. I’m thinking. Great shape.
Deserves to be amongst the world’s wonders.
I’d like to get out the measuring tape.

Excuse me if this all seems physical.
I’m aware you are intelligent too.
Typical, though, I suppose. Typical,
my saying so, ‘though evident it’s true.

And, honestly, love your body. I do.
I do. Love your body and, of course, you.


What’s Love about? What has it got to say?
Powerful enough to sweep me away?
Perhaps to have heart break along the way.
So tell me, why I must have it, I pray.

What’s Love got to do with my existence?
It’s around a lot showing persistence.
Even where it meets stubborn resistance,
I find it won’t, likely, keep its distance.

What does Love matter to a fool like me?
when it’s like a famous soliquouy …,
at least its start …, “to be or not to be”.
Yet, it may not be, as want it to be.

For sure, a lot of benefits can bring.
Lovemaking, and emotional grounding.


No more lies. No more making up meanings.
No more covering up bad performance.
No more fanciful stories deceiving.
Should be, you know, matter of importance.

So, stop with your being duplicitous.
Let me think you are trustworthy, instead.
Like to know you have a true impetus,
not just getting who you can, into bed.

It is love for keeps that I want from you.
You tell me, sincerely, you want that to.
But, I am not convinced I believe you.
That you won’t repeatedly make me ‘blue’.

So please, end the lies. It’s called ‘growing up’.
Show me you have the mature, ‘loving’ stuff.


Eye contact. Suddenly make eye contact,
and I feel the rush within …, of something.
I like the look of you, and that’s a fact.
That rush I felt, was something exciting.

I got a clear sight. Did not look away.
You looked into my eyes, unwavering.
Thought it was meaningful what you did say;
that perhaps was me, you were favouring.

Was a piercing look; wouldn’t say a stare.
You showed a significant purpose there.
To see if a love interest might share.
With me, the connection made fair and square.

A thrill. It certainly made an impact.
I’d even say “sexy”, our eye contact.


If you think you’ve got yours, better beware.
You don’t want to have a shock or a scare.
Or wind up alone, and feeling despair.
And you thinking the world just isn’t fair.

Could happen in Britain or Jamaica,
America, or in Arabia.
Anywhere, could be sooner or later,
if, on the scene, there comes a man-taker.

Will do whatever it takes to attract.
Confident of success, and that’s a fact.
Will get to be hands on, to be exact.
So quickly, you may be slow to react.

Likely unknown, but if known, a traitor.
Because dealing with here, a man-taker.


The women were very presentable.
The old saying, for some reason, being
“dressed up to the nines”. One’s acceptable.
So then, ‘nines’ all about others seeing,

and noticing that they are great beauties,
with their party dresses on to enhance.
Admirers are given no excuses.
Communicating with, there’s just a chance.

The softness, yet the firmness, and roundness.
Myself looking on, suitably impressed.
Patterns, colours, in glorious excess.
The shaping, a matter of interest.

See also, the many pretty faces,
in the crowd. Ladies Day at the races.


Is it any different for a man?
Know it is different for a woman.
That is what have now come to understand.
Hope for more but, at least, a one-night-stand.

Computer apps to arrange for a date.
On-line can peruse possibilities.
To make love, this way, should not have to wait
Likely get to virile abilities.

In the past, place where meet, pub or a dance.
Dating Agency, perhaps, to arrange
For success, though, was a bit of a chance.
This new way, when want to, can quickly change.

Seems private. Seems secret. Just get on with.
Women, … and men …, no longer tentative ?


Love is a comfort. Makes life worth living.
Love is an affirmation of self worth.
It is most unexpectedly giving.
It is when a connectedness exerts.

Love is really a golden interplay.
Love is the surprise you want it to be.
It puts something special into the day.
It is, by no means, imaginary.

Love can be, sometimes, quite spectacular.
Love can be long-lasting, and can transform.
It is certainly worth reacting for.
In a cold state of being, can keep warm.

For your love, I am much more than grateful.
I love you too; and for your love, ‘thank you’.


To the left, unmatch. To the right, then match.
If you both go right, can communicate.
Messages to each other can dispatch.
If do not like what’s said, can terminate.

But, otherwise, can arrange to meet up.
The record of the date on computer.
Not like, and progression can interrupt.
Or, stay at this stage of friend recruiter.

But, can develop the relationship.
Get ultra-friendly with one another.
Into degree of closeness, it may tip.
Each choosing to be the other’s lover.

Even then, free to bring it to an end.
And, if so wish, start the process again.


I could write about you in a sonnet.
It would be a eulogy filled with love.
Don’t really know what you would get from it.
Might be you’ve already heard praise enough.

And, not into that sort of flattery.
Prefer action to words, which just token.
May think, as love goes, mediocrity.
Kisses count for more than all that spoken.

Maybe appreciative or respectful.
Good to be the subject of a poem.
Have things made up that can later recall,
even if the verse no longer knowing.

Could write it down and have as a keepsake.
No one then say how I felt, a mistake.


“Did you see her horse? Did you watch her ride?
It is a grey, almost white, I am told.
Strong in girth, her legs straddled either side.
Once she was mounted, a sight to behold.”

“Did you see the mane? Was perfectly groomed.
She gave it meticulous attention.
As she rode on by, the air seemed perfumed.
Sitting upright was her bold intention.”

“And the horse, it seemed, was made for the role.
Calm and proud as it sauntered on display.
To be shown off from the day was a foal
Brilliant it was ridden in this way.”

“Did you see her horse? Did you watch her ride?”
Lady Godiva’s dressage exercise.


She must be delighted I am still here.
How else would she get Sable grape jelly?
If I were to be gone; to disappear,
unlikely, on the table, be any.

She must be happy I am still around.
To locate the documents I have filed.
Or, lost forever never to be found,
because, must admit, too much I’ve compiled.

She must be relieved I am here to stay.
How else would the dog get walked twice a day?
The multi-cans get carried on their tray,
to under the stairs where they’re put away.

I like to think I’m useful being here.
She must be okay with having me near.


This is not the time. This is not the time.
Listen to me, please. This is not the time
to say ‘goodbye’. To stay, would suit me fine.
I need you to know, you’ll always be mine.

This is not how it should end; be the end.
Listen to me. Please do not let it end.
Love is what has made us serious friends.
The guillotine on us, need not descend.

Of course, fate will not be that great; that great.
But we can carry on. It’s not too late.
There’s a lot more joy I anticipate
which we can share together, if you wait.

Please listen to me. This is not the time,
to part. I’ll listen to you this next time.


Don’t want to talk anymore about love.
If you say, one fine day it will be fine,
I’ll tell you to shut up, that is enough!
You’ll be the cause of me losing my mind.

Who wouldn’t be driven mad by events,
like a lover disappeared from my arms?
Some such cruel twist of fate at my expense,
means that love, at the moment, holds no charms.

Not much love in the apparent ending.
There was bad feeling, I seem to recall.
And, getting back together’s still pending.
Thinking we would, had me playing the fool.

Love, therefore, in my view, has died a death.
Don’t want to hear of a single caress.


When it comes down to it, it comes to love.
The very emergence of life, for us.
The support to get passed the rough and tough.
Belief good doable; not all mistrust.

Gets us across impossible divides.
Provides light and hope in bleakest settings.
It is where the greatest merit resides.
Near enough, even if unsuspecting.

Compassion, of course, showing have a heart.
Blessings, able to give and to receive.
Although a fractured world of which a part,
a truly personal best, can achieve.

Not just sentimental or sexual,
love is elemental and essential.