Love is more
Than aesthetics
Beauty is only skin deep
It may be what you first notice
Or what first gets you noticed
But it’s not enough
Love is more than the flashy cover on a book
Love is
What can’t be seen at first glance
It’s what’s beneath the surface
It’s the detail on every page of the book
That has to be studied
It’s what remains when beauty fades
It is the constant
Love is more
Than physical attraction
Or physical expression of that attraction
Even when it’s fantastic
It’s not enough
Love is
What you do in between the sex
Not just kisses that delight
It’s in the conversation
And the understanding
It’s holding hands and not caring who sees
Its walks in the country
It’s dancing cheek to cheek to cheesy love-songs
It’s caring and sharing
Love is being diminished by its loss
Wednesday, 28 April 2010
I AM THE WOMAN
When a door opens
And a siren enters the room
And every head turns
I am that woman
When the siren slinks
And you can here a pin drop
As the mouths fall open
I am that woman
When the wives tut
And girlfriends whisper
And men’s eyes undress
I am that woman
When a mouth is just another orifice
And conversing eye to eye
Is really eye to breast
I am that woman
I am the woman
Oozing sexual desire
I am the woman
Men and women picture naked
I am the woman
They all want to possess
When you are valued
For what’s between your legs
Than between your ears
I am that woman
When you are called a whore
And treated like a slut
Viewed like a piece of meat
I am that woman
They call me tart
They call me siren,
They call me temptress
They call me vamp
I want to be called sweetheart
I want to be called darling
I want to be called mum
I am the woman
Considered to be desirable
I am the woman
That oozes sexuality
I am the woman
Who can have any man she chooses
I am the woman
Who want to be chosen
By a man who can see me!
And a siren enters the room
And every head turns
I am that woman
When the siren slinks
And you can here a pin drop
As the mouths fall open
I am that woman
When the wives tut
And girlfriends whisper
And men’s eyes undress
I am that woman
When a mouth is just another orifice
And conversing eye to eye
Is really eye to breast
I am that woman
I am the woman
Oozing sexual desire
I am the woman
Men and women picture naked
I am the woman
They all want to possess
When you are valued
For what’s between your legs
Than between your ears
I am that woman
When you are called a whore
And treated like a slut
Viewed like a piece of meat
I am that woman
They call me tart
They call me siren,
They call me temptress
They call me vamp
I want to be called sweetheart
I want to be called darling
I want to be called mum
I am the woman
Considered to be desirable
I am the woman
That oozes sexuality
I am the woman
Who can have any man she chooses
I am the woman
Who want to be chosen
By a man who can see me!
DEAR PRUDENCE
I was given the challenge
Well in truth it was a bet
And the bet was to get a date
With Prudence the librarian
Whose coldness was legend
It would be a tall order
But I picked up the gauntlet
And headed to the library
I walked up to the desk
And there she stood
She was short in stature
But imposing nonetheless
Her countenance was severe
Thick chestnut hair
Pulled back off severely off her face
Her make up would best be described
As minimalist
And she peered at me
Over thick framed spectacles
She wore a chunky beige sweater
Two sizes too big which hid her shape
And a dark pleated skirt, knee length
Over thick black wool tights
And the not unattractive legs
Terminated into sensible shoes
I tried small talk
But she was not receptive
Her demeanor was positively frosty
Every enquiry she batted back to me in the negative
But despite everything
There was something about her that I liked
Something intangible
curiously she was not my type
in any way, but still there was something
So I decided to persevere
But because I wanted to
Not because I had to
So firstly I paid off on the bet
I wasn’t doing it for a stupid bet
But because of that intangible something
An itch I couldn’t scratch kind of thing
Realizing small talk would get me nowhere
I thought I would try a different tack
And converse with her on her own terms
I had to engage her intellect
So each day I would go to the library
And ask her to recommend a book
Which we could then discuss each day
And each day she thawed a little
Then I posed her questions,
History, Geography, the arts
I found her to be both knowledgeable and interesting
And I found that I was becoming interested
In the subjects we were discussing
And looked forward to our time together
As each day she thawed a little more
I wanted to have more
Than just the few precious hours at the library
But I didn’t want to undo what I had achieved
Upset the status quo
And refrigerate her again
Then at the end of one particular day
Prudence asked me
“Would you like to go for a coffee?”
I was speechless but nodded in the affirmative
Later she told me
She fell for me because I engaged her mind
And valued her for what was between her ears
And not what was between her legs
Or inside her sweater
Well in truth it was a bet
And the bet was to get a date
With Prudence the librarian
Whose coldness was legend
It would be a tall order
But I picked up the gauntlet
And headed to the library
I walked up to the desk
And there she stood
She was short in stature
But imposing nonetheless
Her countenance was severe
Thick chestnut hair
Pulled back off severely off her face
Her make up would best be described
As minimalist
And she peered at me
Over thick framed spectacles
She wore a chunky beige sweater
Two sizes too big which hid her shape
And a dark pleated skirt, knee length
Over thick black wool tights
And the not unattractive legs
Terminated into sensible shoes
I tried small talk
But she was not receptive
Her demeanor was positively frosty
Every enquiry she batted back to me in the negative
But despite everything
There was something about her that I liked
Something intangible
curiously she was not my type
in any way, but still there was something
So I decided to persevere
But because I wanted to
Not because I had to
So firstly I paid off on the bet
I wasn’t doing it for a stupid bet
But because of that intangible something
An itch I couldn’t scratch kind of thing
Realizing small talk would get me nowhere
I thought I would try a different tack
And converse with her on her own terms
I had to engage her intellect
So each day I would go to the library
And ask her to recommend a book
Which we could then discuss each day
And each day she thawed a little
Then I posed her questions,
History, Geography, the arts
I found her to be both knowledgeable and interesting
And I found that I was becoming interested
In the subjects we were discussing
And looked forward to our time together
As each day she thawed a little more
I wanted to have more
Than just the few precious hours at the library
But I didn’t want to undo what I had achieved
Upset the status quo
And refrigerate her again
Then at the end of one particular day
Prudence asked me
“Would you like to go for a coffee?”
I was speechless but nodded in the affirmative
Later she told me
She fell for me because I engaged her mind
And valued her for what was between her ears
And not what was between her legs
Or inside her sweater
Wednesday, 21 April 2010
STAND FOR THE KING
In Cumalot, Big King Dick
Really lived up to his name
In his kingdom he’d shagged
Every damsel and dame
Then one summer morning
With not a cloud in the skies
A terrible thing happened
King Dick failed to rise
His Royal Prince was limp
Rung out and pathetically flaccid
His mojo had deserted him
King Dicks libido was dead
He called the court physician
Who prepared him an elixir
He called the court sorcerer
Who prepared him a philtre
But when cure-all and love potion
Failed to raise the dead
They tried erotic love balms
And sexual salves instead
But when these proved nostrum
Failing to raise the dead
The King lost his temper
Ordering the removal of their heads
He sent for the Royal love-smiths
The most alluring in the land
The dangerously seductive,
Sultry temptresses took him in hand
When the Royal Dick was still limp
They tried something else
Kissing every erogenous point
But this failed to quicken his pulse
So after he’d exhausted his supply
Of all his tarts and bints
He called for the Royal carpenter
To fashion him a splint
But this was no real solution
And it merely made him wince
Especially when he got a splinter
In his flaccid little Prince
He looked at dirty pictures
And he read erotic literature
He watched his soldiers shagging
He was so desperate for a cure
So when every thing had failed him
He took to his bed in disgust
Wouldn’t speak to his courtiers
He just reminisced of his lust
Then one day sickness was abroad
And he waited for breakfast in bed
Instead of his hot little maid
A mangy old crone came instead
He looked at the warty face crone
Moving about to and fro
And King Dick felt the stirrings
Of the Royal Prince down below
He leapt out of bed and grabbed her
And quickly removed his nightgown
Then he bent the crone over a chair
And the little Prince was crowned
From that day on in the kingdom
No crone was safe from his lust
Dirty ugly and warty faced
The Kings little Prince wasn’t fussed
Really lived up to his name
In his kingdom he’d shagged
Every damsel and dame
Then one summer morning
With not a cloud in the skies
A terrible thing happened
King Dick failed to rise
His Royal Prince was limp
Rung out and pathetically flaccid
His mojo had deserted him
King Dicks libido was dead
He called the court physician
Who prepared him an elixir
He called the court sorcerer
Who prepared him a philtre
But when cure-all and love potion
Failed to raise the dead
They tried erotic love balms
And sexual salves instead
But when these proved nostrum
Failing to raise the dead
The King lost his temper
Ordering the removal of their heads
He sent for the Royal love-smiths
The most alluring in the land
The dangerously seductive,
Sultry temptresses took him in hand
When the Royal Dick was still limp
They tried something else
Kissing every erogenous point
But this failed to quicken his pulse
So after he’d exhausted his supply
Of all his tarts and bints
He called for the Royal carpenter
To fashion him a splint
But this was no real solution
And it merely made him wince
Especially when he got a splinter
In his flaccid little Prince
He looked at dirty pictures
And he read erotic literature
He watched his soldiers shagging
He was so desperate for a cure
So when every thing had failed him
He took to his bed in disgust
Wouldn’t speak to his courtiers
He just reminisced of his lust
Then one day sickness was abroad
And he waited for breakfast in bed
Instead of his hot little maid
A mangy old crone came instead
He looked at the warty face crone
Moving about to and fro
And King Dick felt the stirrings
Of the Royal Prince down below
He leapt out of bed and grabbed her
And quickly removed his nightgown
Then he bent the crone over a chair
And the little Prince was crowned
From that day on in the kingdom
No crone was safe from his lust
Dirty ugly and warty faced
The Kings little Prince wasn’t fussed
THE PRIAPIC YOUTH
The priapic youth
Has a sexual obsession
He thinks about sex so much
He has a permanent erection
Even when it stands at ease
He will still have a semi on
And he will produce semen
Sufficient to fill a demijohn
Every thing in his life
Will turn on the priapic youth
To such an extent he is
Preoccupied with self abuse
A glimpse of a girl’s neck
Is enough to get him randy
Then it’s out with the old chap
For a quick hand shandy
He’ll wake with “an early riser”
Each and every morn
So he starts the day with a tug
On his “dawn horn”
He’ll pull the pud after breakfast
Beat his meat before brunch
He’ll knock one out at elevensies
And spank the monkey at lunch
After tea he chokes the chicken
In the shower he has a glop
Watching telly a knuckle shuffle
And in bed he’ll bash the bishop
Such is a day in the life
Of a priapic youth and his issues
Who masturbates to excess
And gets through a lot of tissues
Has a sexual obsession
He thinks about sex so much
He has a permanent erection
Even when it stands at ease
He will still have a semi on
And he will produce semen
Sufficient to fill a demijohn
Every thing in his life
Will turn on the priapic youth
To such an extent he is
Preoccupied with self abuse
A glimpse of a girl’s neck
Is enough to get him randy
Then it’s out with the old chap
For a quick hand shandy
He’ll wake with “an early riser”
Each and every morn
So he starts the day with a tug
On his “dawn horn”
He’ll pull the pud after breakfast
Beat his meat before brunch
He’ll knock one out at elevensies
And spank the monkey at lunch
After tea he chokes the chicken
In the shower he has a glop
Watching telly a knuckle shuffle
And in bed he’ll bash the bishop
Such is a day in the life
Of a priapic youth and his issues
Who masturbates to excess
And gets through a lot of tissues
FAITH
FAITH IS LIKE # 1
Faith is like electricity
You can’t see its traits
But you can see the light
That it generates
FAITH IS LIKE # 2
Faith is like electricity
You can’t see it
But you can see the light
That emanates from it
JESUS
He travels the four winds
He is everywhere.He is an ever present force
He is the one who cares
He is our strength
He is with us from the start
He gives us joy
He lives in our hearts
He is our hope
His heart is full of love
He repairs us
He is love
Jesus is the King of Kings
Who died for us
On that cross of pain
To cleanse us
THANK YOU LORD FOR BEING THERE
Thank you Lord for being there
And bathing us in your blessed care
Thank you for all your blessings
And understanding my transgressing
Thank you for being the one
Who watches over my three sons
And my most wonderful wife
Thank you for being in my life
YESHUA (JESUS)
Yeshua, you are
Our hope of salvation
Dying for us
Our hope of glory
Living in us
Yeshua, you are
Our hope for the future
Living for you
Our hope for redemption
Alive in you
THE LOVE OF CHRIST
The love of Christ
Unconditional, pure
Deeply felt love
That doth endure
Faith is like electricity
You can’t see its traits
But you can see the light
That it generates
FAITH IS LIKE # 2
Faith is like electricity
You can’t see it
But you can see the light
That emanates from it
JESUS
He travels the four winds
He is everywhere.He is an ever present force
He is the one who cares
He is our strength
He is with us from the start
He gives us joy
He lives in our hearts
He is our hope
His heart is full of love
He repairs us
He is love
Jesus is the King of Kings
Who died for us
On that cross of pain
To cleanse us
THANK YOU LORD FOR BEING THERE
Thank you Lord for being there
And bathing us in your blessed care
Thank you for all your blessings
And understanding my transgressing
Thank you for being the one
Who watches over my three sons
And my most wonderful wife
Thank you for being in my life
YESHUA (JESUS)
Yeshua, you are
Our hope of salvation
Dying for us
Our hope of glory
Living in us
Yeshua, you are
Our hope for the future
Living for you
Our hope for redemption
Alive in you
THE LOVE OF CHRIST
The love of Christ
Unconditional, pure
Deeply felt love
That doth endure
THE BEAUTIFUL GAME
GO FOURTH
Who will finish fourth?
Will it be Liverpool?
Who stake their claim?
Or will Aston Villa rule
Who will stand tall?
Will it be Man City?
That win the prize
Or will Spurs be sitting pretty
Who will go forth?
Into the Champions League
To dine at the top table
Who of these wannabes
Liverpool were last the champions
More than 20 years ago
Aston villa weren’t crowned
For 30 years or so
Its more than 40 years
Since Man City won
And Spurs were last the winners
In 1961
But the Champion’s League beckons
For these wannabes
These trophy less also ran’s
How can that be?
ALL IN THE GAME
Shaven headed barbarians
And tattooed savages
Strut with preening peacocks
In performing their pantomime
While their vengeful tribes
With banners held high
Chant their rhythmic cacophony
Faces distorted with hate
On the field of honour
They grapple and kick
They push and pull
They dive and roll
Assault and assail
Connive and cheat
In unforgiving onslaughts
They perform for baying hordes
A vile and brutal spectacle
Always referred to
As the beautiful game
MUMMY’S BOYS
I long since came to terms
Since John Barnes set the trend
With footballers wearing gloves
To keep their little pandies warm
I am less understanding
Of players taking to the field
With tights beneath their shorts
But it seems I must accept it
But the line has to be drawn somewhere
And that line was crossed
This very weekend
I was shocked beyond belief
To see a player take to the field of play
Wearing a muffler about his neck
FOOTBALL
There are many differences
Between Rugby and football
Rules, number of players, ball shape
Goal posts, pitch markings, duration
And so on and so forth
It was once said that football
Is a gentleman’s game played by ruffians
And Rugby a ruffians game played by gentleman
Not quite as true as it used to be
But still not far off the mark
I’ve even heard it said
That Football is played by children
And Rugby by grownups
But for me the difference
Can best be defined in this way
A Footballer spends 90 minutes
Pretending to be injured
While a Rugby player spends 80 minutes
Pretending that he is not
BLATTER’S FOLLY
Everyone wants a video ref in the game
There are no dissenting voices I can name
Fans shout their support and managers want it
Players are in favour and even the refs want it
Because it is a change that really matters
Everybody want its except Mr Blatter
UEFA CHAMPIONS GREED
I hate the Champion’s League
On so many levels
I hate it because it’s a competition
Devised by money grubbing devils
I hate it because you have to enter it
Because that is where the money is found
Money to lure the pampered prima donnas
To your particular ground
I hate it because it is ceded
So the best teams are always on view
So that UEFA can optimise
Their television revenue
I hate it because it doesn’t seem to know
What it really wants to be
Is it a knock out competition?
Or the beginnings of the super league
But I hate it most of all
Above all other considerations
Because the European Champions League
Has so few actual champions
Post Script
Well all the above is true
But I regret the overriding reason
That I hate it so passionately is that
We have been knocked out this season
THE NATURAL
As a footballer I must confess
My skills locker is somewhat bereft
I am a naturally two footed player
But unfortunately both of them are left
Who will finish fourth?
Will it be Liverpool?
Who stake their claim?
Or will Aston Villa rule
Who will stand tall?
Will it be Man City?
That win the prize
Or will Spurs be sitting pretty
Who will go forth?
Into the Champions League
To dine at the top table
Who of these wannabes
Liverpool were last the champions
More than 20 years ago
Aston villa weren’t crowned
For 30 years or so
Its more than 40 years
Since Man City won
And Spurs were last the winners
In 1961
But the Champion’s League beckons
For these wannabes
These trophy less also ran’s
How can that be?
ALL IN THE GAME
Shaven headed barbarians
And tattooed savages
Strut with preening peacocks
In performing their pantomime
While their vengeful tribes
With banners held high
Chant their rhythmic cacophony
Faces distorted with hate
On the field of honour
They grapple and kick
They push and pull
They dive and roll
Assault and assail
Connive and cheat
In unforgiving onslaughts
They perform for baying hordes
A vile and brutal spectacle
Always referred to
As the beautiful game
MUMMY’S BOYS
I long since came to terms
Since John Barnes set the trend
With footballers wearing gloves
To keep their little pandies warm
I am less understanding
Of players taking to the field
With tights beneath their shorts
But it seems I must accept it
But the line has to be drawn somewhere
And that line was crossed
This very weekend
I was shocked beyond belief
To see a player take to the field of play
Wearing a muffler about his neck
FOOTBALL
There are many differences
Between Rugby and football
Rules, number of players, ball shape
Goal posts, pitch markings, duration
And so on and so forth
It was once said that football
Is a gentleman’s game played by ruffians
And Rugby a ruffians game played by gentleman
Not quite as true as it used to be
But still not far off the mark
I’ve even heard it said
That Football is played by children
And Rugby by grownups
But for me the difference
Can best be defined in this way
A Footballer spends 90 minutes
Pretending to be injured
While a Rugby player spends 80 minutes
Pretending that he is not
BLATTER’S FOLLY
Everyone wants a video ref in the game
There are no dissenting voices I can name
Fans shout their support and managers want it
Players are in favour and even the refs want it
Because it is a change that really matters
Everybody want its except Mr Blatter
UEFA CHAMPIONS GREED
I hate the Champion’s League
On so many levels
I hate it because it’s a competition
Devised by money grubbing devils
I hate it because you have to enter it
Because that is where the money is found
Money to lure the pampered prima donnas
To your particular ground
I hate it because it is ceded
So the best teams are always on view
So that UEFA can optimise
Their television revenue
I hate it because it doesn’t seem to know
What it really wants to be
Is it a knock out competition?
Or the beginnings of the super league
But I hate it most of all
Above all other considerations
Because the European Champions League
Has so few actual champions
Post Script
Well all the above is true
But I regret the overriding reason
That I hate it so passionately is that
We have been knocked out this season
THE NATURAL
As a footballer I must confess
My skills locker is somewhat bereft
I am a naturally two footed player
But unfortunately both of them are left
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