Saturday Afternoon Poems (Extempore)

Talking Dirty

You asked me to

Engage in speaking obscenity

As a condiment to our love making

And though I managed some simple

Adjectival nouns I over reached

And was true to myself so I know

“Indigent wench” is not what you expected

But you discovered that the sensation

Of my holding myself in place

While you convulse with laughter

And your body tried to spit me out

Was a delicious sensation worth repeating

 

But Why ?

Trying to avoid the role

Of cliche expat Brit

In a continental office

I struck upon the verbal ticks

To buy translation time

So a raised eyebrow and saying “Ja, aber warum ?”

Whilst the mind races through declensions

And old vocab tests mostly failed

The conscious mind furiously wasting time

Did he just say that the mice are unhappy ?

Some existential crisis of German rodents

All that Goethe and Nietzsche I suppose

Or is his IT on the fritz

Don’t say on the fritz I did

Once but I think I got away with it

As patiently Karl waits before

“Why won’t you let me use English ?”

I am the other cliché expat Brit

 

To Spare Your Blushes

Allow me my love to read to you

From the sacred texts

The Hindu sutras of maintaining

Our existence

I will read the Sanskrit

For which there is no literal

Translatable terms and

Explain to you that the lowing calf

Is from the congress of the cow

So please throw away

Your ‘Position a day’ book

It is far too trainspotting

We might as well wear khagouls

And relax you are supposed

To make that noise

 

Of Proust

Sweet Madeleine if only I could

Consume you now redolent

Of resplendent youth

Made chic with sophisticated age

Oh Madeleine how you wear a skirt

Split to the thigh because

You can never resist the lure of the accordion

To tango wildly with fierce gaze

All those years you spent

Posing as an exotic dancer

On Baltic cruise ships touring

The port towns of the former

Hanseatic Empire “Stepped Gable Tour”

Whilst in truth you were with

Norwegian Special Forces

When I long to hold you in a tango grip

I know you have 43 ways, unarmed, to kill

Not counting your smile

Or that the firmness in your kiss

Is from the trombone embouchure

Your passion, your life

That and whittling ornate penguins

From salvaged chair legs

Oh Madeleine fragrant and delightful

Your scent lingers on me still

Of ginger, lilac and liquorice

With a trace of the tobacco you chew

I treasure the makeshift spittoon

You fashioned from an antique pith helmet

Oh Madeleine I ache

To know your warm embrace

Yet know you must remain

As enigmatic as the shipping forecast

Forties Cromarty Forth Tyne Dogger

Names that conjure you

 

Secret Admirer

A lady should have an admirer

Who should be courteous, respectful and distant

Though not remote or enigmatic

The admirer should be firm in their conviction of the

Wondrous virtues of the lady they admire

And should be open in their admiration

Then having been clear, concise and  charming

In paying tribute sincerely

Respectfully retire and not seek to engage

In a vulgar pleading since the admiration

Should not be returned, that is the etiquette