Did they stop making gentlemen after the war?
There don’t seem to be many left anymore –
men who’ll open a door and say ‘Ladies first’
and walk by the road to shield you from dirt,
who’ll take your coat, and pull up your chair
and kiss you goodnight in a style debonair.
No, I’m not after a sugar daddy,
but it’s nice sometimes to feel like a lady,
an old man’s darling, not a young man’s slave –
between us we’ll rob both cradle and grave!
Author Archives: rumoldbird
Pens Envy
I’ve been buying Bic Cristal for years now
(love the smooth flowing, quick drying ink),
but after seeing Bic Cristal ‘for her’
I might have to have a rethink.
Packaged like a lady’s razor – and
oh look, the barrel’s thinner.
(Like normal pens have too much girth
for fragile female fingers!)
And so what if they’re coloured
pastel shades, of purple, pink?
Inside it’s still the very same –
plain, black, swarthy ink.
I don’t suffer from pens envy.
I don’t need a ‘feminine’ pen.
It’s what I write that matters –
not the means, but the end.
Chocolate
I’d like to have some chocolate
though I don’t think that I should.
It really is delicious
but it doesn’t do me good.
Hang on, I’ve just remembered –
it’s made from beans – hooray!
Does that mean I can count it as
one of my five a day?
Richard III
There never was a funeral like this
For one born centuries ere I drew breath.
Though I’d not call myself a monarchist.
I’m intrigued by Richard Plantagenet.
His reputation, tainted by a play?
He’s Shakespeare’s finest villain, yes, by far.
And so he is remembered to this day –
Even if evil, still he is the star.
Yet though, after long search, his bones exhumed,
His character in truth can’t be found out.
One who believed in innocence presumed,
Perhaps, deserves the benefit of doubt.
Debate may rage forever o’er his deeds,
But this I know; I hope those bones find peace.
Accidental Erotica
I tried to write a nature poem
full of the joys of spring –
maybe about some birds and bees,
reflections on a wing.
But then – oh dear! What’s happened here?!
That wasn’t what I meant –
accidental erotica
is dropping from my pen!
I thought I’d try to play it safe
and write of scenery.
I started to describe a wave,
foam covering a beach.
But then a naughty metaphor
reveals my real intent –
accidental erotica
is dropping from my pen!
For English is a language rich
with words that turn away,
and suddenly say something else
than what you thought you’d say.
This rarely happens when I write,
but every now and then –
accidental erotica
is dropping from my pen!
I guess I’ll have to face the fact
my mind is filled with filth.
I may have been raised Catholic
but I’m not wracked with guilt.
Instead of trying to fight it,
I’ll embrace it as a friend –
accidental erotica,
keep dropping from my pen!
Superstition
Superstition is a sin,
Catholicism said.
(But new shoes on a table
filled my Irish mam with dread.)
No, don’t believe in omens,
or in hexes, or a curse.
(Don’t forget to cross yourself
if you should see a hearse.)
Horoscopes are nonsense –
only God knows what’s in store.
(You can tell a man is coming
if a knife falls to the floor.)
Tea is just for drinking now,
don’t try to read the leaves.
(Folded sheets foretell a death
if there’s a diamond crease.)
Never play with Ouija boards,
not even for a lark.
(Never open up your door
if a knock’s heard after dark.)
This is the only life we’ll have –
of that, the church is sure.
(My mam told me the midwife said
that I’d been here before.)
No, we’re not superstitious –
we haven’t been for years.
(Though everybody knows that it’s
your first child gets your fears.)
Spock Baby
I was raised a Spock baby
in more ways than one
and a certain confusion
was due to my mum.
“Baby and Childcare”
was her well-thumbed bible –
but Benjamin Spock
had an alien rival.
My mum also loved sci-fi
– a trait I share too –
I grew up watching Star Trek
and (my favourite) Doctor Who.
Mum mentioned Spock so often
I began to think that maybe
her handbook was some Vulcan guide
meant to confuse a baby.
For Dr Spock advised that love
should always be expressed,
while Mr Spock thought all emotion
ought to be repressed.
So to this day I’m fond of men
with emotions under control,
a slight tilt to the eyebrows,
and the haircut? Pudding bowl!
Hourglass
One day when I am dead and gone
my body can be cremated
and the ashes put in a hourglass –
not what you anticipated?
It makes a lovely metaphor,
I’m sure you will agree,
and I’ll finally have the figure
of which I’ve often dreamed.
Single
If I should speak to married men,
the looks I get from wives!
Their mouths say ‘Where’s your partner?’
Their eyes ‘Back off – he’s mine!’
But a happy hubby doesn’t stray
and I don’t need to encroach.
Please understand that I’m content,
with no desire to poach.
For both sides of the bed are mine –
oh, I still think sex is fun,
but no man, or woman, owns me
and I answer to no-one.
To live life without compromise,
that supplement, I’ll pay –
to travel where I want to go,
stay where I want to stay.
No, I’m neither old nor bitter,
and I don’t have multiple cats,
so I need no-one’s pity –
I’m single, and fine with that.
I’d Rather Read My Diary (Than Fifty Shades Of Grey)
Now there’s a famous quote
from an Oscar Wilde play
about bringing your diary
to read when on the train.
Well, quite a lot of things have changed
since poor old Oscar’s day –
but I’d rather read my diary
than Fifty Shades Of Grey.
It has trysts in distant cities,
midnight missions bearing booze,
where the sex is realistic
and the characters are too.
But I could never publish it
(unless the names were changed…)
so, sadly, it will never sell
like Fifty Shades Of Grey.
It has a lot more single malt.
It has a lot less pain –
except for when I bang my head
(again – again – again!)
It may not be as raunchy
but still, it’s quite risqué,
so I’d rather read my diary
than Fifty Shades Of Grey.
It doesn’t need emoticons
to tell you when to laugh
as I’m trying to un-trash hotel rooms,
hide love bites with a scarf,
or limping home, while trying to hold
my tattered lingerie –
oh yes, my diary’s much more fun
than Fifty Shades Of Grey!
Ladies Who Don't Have Time For Lunch 