“I have no intention of muttering my last words on the stage. Room service and couple of depraved young women will do me quite nicely for an exit.” —Peter O’Toole
46
Dove (original)
The dove flew from the window,
Her wings catching the soft breeze
Now at last she could be free.
With one last look, she was gone.
Tonight’s Plans; a journey into hell. (original work)
Another day another plan, ending like so many others
An argument, a meaningless trading of verbal blows
Almost as if we scored points for each hurtful remark.
In one breath we tell each other how much we are in love
In the next a single spark is struck, igniting a full flame.
In that instant, its as if hell itself had been brought into the room.
From here on in nothing is off limits, no matter how irrelevant.
That single time one of us did something, several years ago
The one mistake we made, the time we let the other down
Things we long ago said were all in the past, and were forgiven
Not now, now they are fuel for the fire, and as the flames spread
The heat rises engulfing us both.
And now the aftermath, we both flee the scene of our crime
Leaving the destruction caused by our arson long behind.
We sit far apart, as if in different worlds, our hearts pounding.
Bitterness becomes the dish of the day, from here we either
Store everything up, seething in silence, pretending we are fine
Or else rant and rave to anyone and everyone that will listen
When Buses Are Late-Original Work
Dont you just hate it when buses are late?
Its always at times. say, when your on a date
Your shirts are quite ironed, your neck tie is straight
but due to their failure you arrive always late.
The poor woman is sitting, you see in her eye
Youve blown your one chance, disaster is nigh
How do you tell her, how this came to be
“im sorry your waiting but i swear its not me”
See i was just on my way, so happy so bright
Id waited all day just to enjoy this night
Id ironed my shirt, id straightened my tie
My beard was all trimmed, it was even re dyed
I wanted to impress you, to make this go great
But those bloody buses like a cruel twist of fate.
It seems they are run by a small excitable child
Stumbling around distracted, their thoughts all wild
When they sit at their desks to work it all out
Its as if something shiny appears and they follow it about.
They seem to think buses should have a certain mystery,
By not actually adhering to any time frame neccesity.
To top it all of, theyve decided to raise the prices again
So that we humble people can pay just to be detained
Thus i stand before you now, dressed in my best
Having done all i could do just to make you impressed
Yet because of an aspect outwith my immediate control
All you can think of is im just another man, filling the same role
The lazy, uncarring, inconsiderate twat,
Who keeps you waiting in the cold, as if he is a selfish brat
But i beg you, i plead to you not to turn me aside
Its not my fault i’m late, its the busses…..well maybe i lied…..
(own photo)
Macavity: The Mystery Cat
Macavity's a Mystery Cat: he's called the Hidden Paw-- For he's the master criminal who can defy the Law. He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad's despair: For when they reach the scene of crime--Macavity's not there!
T.S. Eliot
