Now my love, a little bit co-mingles;
In that wide and deep digital sea;
I'm just another guy - Connecting Singles;
Is enough social media for me.
My heart is lonely - yet my body tingles;
With some love past, or future destiny;
As through the clouds, I see the Moon break cover;
And I wish and hope for a new lover.

My wide reflection on a life been lived;
In a dozen ways, with many people;
I've always found - yet never could forgive;
The aloof side of me - just like a steeple;
And these lines of verse that will survive;
Myself, and so unlike many sheeple;
I'll write my life, as best as I remember;
Gee, to think it is already now December!

Twenty twenty-one - how Time does race!
And no love I've had, since 'twas Covid;
The world has changed, has changed its very face;
(Although I don't intend to be this morbid);
So where is love, amidst this new disgrace?
Where's love in my poems? - I'd write "ibid"
Which means "look above" (at older Poetry);
Now I'm fifty-three, nothing happens, and I'm lonely.

Shortly to my story - I digress;
In speculation purely metaphysical;
I let in a little light, to now ingress;
Into the darker shadows of the mythical;
My Soul's Odessey must now confess;
The ruin of the passion of the animal;
That was 'oft myself, as a younger man;-
Temptation led me, where ever tempting can.

Beauty, like the world - it's often true;
Is mixed with cruelty, ugliness, and vice;
Sometimes good hearts and souls must go askew;
Before we realize we should be nice;
My chequered path in life, I must review;
And so I have, and so it will suffice;
To give here, so much, ample material;
(I relate each vignette, as a serial).

That this is rough and ready - perhaps I've told you;
That I'm Australian, (and so I must be frank);
Good reader, I would never mean to scold you;
For reading this, I must then you now thank;
On the wings of Poesy, I'll uphold you;
Tall tales, and true, right from the memory bank;
I thus continue this poetic story:
Despite the odds, I've lived life in its glory.

This is a type of internal monologue;-
An anecdote to sketch a wasted life;-
I'm sober - finally lifts the mind's long fog;-
Now clarity can shine amidst the strife;-
With renewed poetic force my thoughts I log;-
For this, my muse, my muse it is my wife!
Through some Arcady, where I may yet travel;-
As from the pen, my story does unravel.


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