ChasingCars Poetry (5)

I am an evil parent,
I know that this is true,
it’s a crime against humanity,
the things I make you do.
It’s really mental cruelty,
when I start to shout and ball,
of jam that’s splattered up the stairs,
the cornflakes in the hall.
The smelly socks that span the landing,
really aren’t at all outstanding,
It wasn’t you that broke the door,
nor dropped the clothes that sprawl your floor.
I bought a cake for Sunday lunch,
you ate it all and called it brunch.
I made a pud all yummy goo,
you took one look and scoffed that too.
Some things I do you find obscene,
like fill a plate with things of green.
As if such things would pass your lips,
so I relent and you have chips.
It’s Amnesty for brussel sprouts,
a swede would give you temper bouts.
A hormone rush you’d scream and rage,
I daren’t tell you to ‘act your age’.
‘Your music’s loud’ I say so bold,
a grumpy fart and oh so old.
But all these things they are forgiven,
when Speech Day prizes they are given.

Tears fall upon a hand,
And rest bejewelled glistening,
Where a diamond aught to stand.
Hurt blinds his eyes and furrows brow,
Hangs heavy tiles on a heart a bowing rafter,
And silence stills where once cracked lines of laughter,
A box, blue hard and lined with white so plush,
On which sits the ring that once had said so much

Snog is such an ugly word,
for something so divine,
That sizzling sensual harmony,
Of when your lips meet mine.

Snog’s not a word encapsulating,
The beauty of our embrace,
Much more than kiss, an utter bliss,
No kin to ‘sucking face’

So who first scribed the ugly mot?
It can’t have been from Bard begot,
That runt of a grunt of ugly ill,
Came not from ink on Shakespeare’s quill

It warms the core of this man’s heart,
Sends shivers down his spine,
And trips across my very soul,
In dances soft sublime.

And melding melting, here with you,
Enwrapped in this kiss supreme,
I float in mind enlocked with yours,
Like some ethereal dream.

Come dally soft with lips and tongue,
In oneness, fragrant honey brung,
A tear of joy rolls down my face,
If there is love this is its grace.

This is the kiss of head and heart,
Not founded in the loins,
But stirs the passions more than all,
When we become conjoined

Could just one word, one measly word,
Describe the rapturous bliss?
God given in this wondrous act,
Most heavenly of kiss

So kiss me now in this pure way,
And let it reach up into your eyes,
That laugh and tease and shine for me,
Unlike that word despised.

The moon hangs clear in indigo,
My heart is bleached but blue,
My only wish ‘neath silvery orb,
Is holding kissing you.

For when the sun beats high and warm,
And dapples all in hues,
It warmeth not my darkened soul,
That chills for missing you.

I fear not winter’s clawing cold,
Nor summer’s shimmering heat,
But that my ears as sense eschew,
Miss your heartbeat or your feet

For were you to whisper words of love,
It would be a clarion call,
To one that craves your comfort
And would give you loving all

Kiss me now,
In the white hard light of a high-summer day,
Where our lips may meet soft-sweet,
In sight of each and every blemish.

So that when you kiss me this eve,
In the soft glow and musk of dusk,
We know its each other we crave,
And not the husk.