The Affair That Never Was

She’s started wearing skirts again. And heels.
Her lips are lick-bright crimson; what they say
is whispered promise… even while she reels
off information (with an overlay
of laugh-congested, low massaging tones).
Professional and married, she’s confused.
A neck caress still fuels her daydream moans-
but was it only friendly? She’s bemused
and wonders if his mouth stays sweetly curved
for her, or is that just habitual charm?
She meets his eyes but shies away unnerved,
then chatters on with business-minded calm.
She’ll dwell on tiny incidents for days
but guilt won’t let a hint infect her gaze.

12-Hour Daze

A queue of saggy-jointed puppets slides
in caterpillar catch-ups. Jerked to stand
by red tape strings, each drags a bag, subsides
and meekly waits for wings to flee the land.

The metal gizzard fills. The mustered, hushed
and clutching at credentials, straighten spines
and readjust attire that won’t be crushed.
One flustered aura hovers, then reclines.

Suspended emigration, dozing frozen,
packed like export apples; freight, third class.
Their hands are tied as self-restraint is chosen,
limbo-leashed until sweet androids pass
with trays of welcome rations. They distract
the minds that were so eager to be packed.


A working mother subdivides her soul,
despite rewards that build her feathered nest.
Demands conflict and guilt denies her rest;
vacation soon becomes her blinkered goal.
Some days that her employers don’t control,
a daze when nothing happens would be best,
in time all workday pressures she’ll divest
in favour of a more important role.

But aching to act motherly alone,
is ante-chambered by some needs: her own.
The vampire, Work, has drained vitality,
she fails faking fun so miserably,
her holidays are wasted in remorse.
It’s work, a mother wishes to divorce.

A Leader

At times my team will see a need through me,
a scene I’ve framed and hope to rearrange.
As window with a view of what might be,
embrasure open wide to winds of change,
I must remove the shutters blinding all,
exposing both the broken and rebuilt.
Transparent, set within in a sturdy wall,
yet I will filter light, preventing wilt.

I’ll be a doorway leading to the new,
which opens onto gardens rich with bloom.
A portal that invites a passing through:
an entrance to a place with growing room.

As leader I’m empowered to reveal
potential thresholds custom can conceal.


When lovers lie all spent and yet complete,
the moment is a measure of our needs:
both love and life demand a laboured feat,
fulfillment is achieved through striving deeds.

When basking in that satisfying glow,
the fleeting pleasure of success impels
compulsive searching for an overflow,
exploring far off peaks and darkest wells.

A captured heart still craves a dream reward;
like roaming eyes we notice each new goal,
desire fires and won’t be ignored.
Such virgins lead to breaking our parole.

Contentment never lasts, life’s lessons teach,
we’ll always ache for what is out of reach.


The loaded dice of planned approach that we
acquire suggests some hazards in new visions.
We know established methods are the key
to less mistakes and more correct decisions.

Experience can only teach of past
effects. Things alter. Change a step and see
some giant moon-leaps reach a goal at last,
denied when thoughts were full of gravity.

It’s practical to be prepared unless
this limits us to paths somebody knows.
Discovery makes learning a success,
each difficulty is a choice. It shows

an optimist an opportunity.
(The pessimists resist this lunacy.)


The family is where we learn of love,
forgiveness, understanding, and of peace,
as symbolised in every gentle dove
who flies to open hearts that find release.

In times of stress our sharing must increase.
A willingness to put our family first
helps selfishness and self-involvement cease.
Serenity fills hearts, in love, immersed.

Escape from outside pressures when they’re worst,
there’s peace in knowing where we all belong.
If bruised and lonely spirits need be nursed,
true families love even when we’re wrong;

accepting when we don’t do as we should,
forgiving, imperfections, understood.

Idyl Lea

The morning saunters, free-lance, through your dreams
and sketches languid shadows on the ceiling,
as duvet-clouds are set aside, revealing
a day of frosted juice and soft icecreams.

A feline stretch and satisfaction gleams
in slitted eyes. Awake… and you are feeling
like a princess, courtiers all kneeling,
presenting cushioned life in sunlit themes.

But self-indulgent moments are so rare
that guilt attempts to prosecute for stealing
this present, time. There’s no deserving pleasure.
Be thankful while the Fates agree to share
a day of rest; no gift is more appealing.
Unwrap it slowly, savour at your leisure.