Greying Hair
How silly can this old man be who writes with greying hair
A pink patch on my head to see and nasal hair to spare.
What happens twixt that time in life where functions are full bore,
When a smile got an erection but now bending down’s a chore.
I try to say the cool things but then grandkids laugh aloud,
I’m called to boot by young men, once I was tall and proud,
I’m nothing more than someone who now takes a vacant chair,
Who has to think a second ‘fore he walks out on the stair.
The mirror and the seasons tell the truth just who I am,
No longer Jack the Lad or a Rolling Stone young fan,
I try to see young logic but I haven’t got a clue,
The madness of a daft old man who’s still in love with you.
Dan Lake
Insomnia
I’m so tired when I retire up to my sumptuous bed,
I’m asleep as the pillow touches my weary head,
So why do I awaken, at the bewitching hour?
When it’s still too early to bathe or take a shower.
I scramble for my glasses to find slippers for my feet,
Now the house is cold; it’s too early for the heat.
I wrap my robe around me as I tip-toe down the stairs,
Whilst pinning up and catching, any wayward hairs.
With a cup of herbal tea I sigh a lonesome groan,
As Ted the dog is now awake and looking for his bone.
I sometimes find a chore to do but quietly of course,
I have been known to sit and watch an episode of Morse.
Why do friends all have to sleep when I’m wide awake?
I curse and have another cuppa, with a piece of cake.
When young and couldn’t slumber an arm would enfold me,
To spoon me back to sleep with my thighs against his knee
And his arms, entwined with mine, encircling my breast,
I so miss being devotedly and ardently caressed.
The sweetest goodnight kisses that I took so much for granted,
Each wondrous, sensual kiss so perfectly implanted.
Passion I have known and wish to know once more,
Before my maker cometh to lead me through death’s door.
Till then I’m doomed to wander in the middle of the night,
Sometimes, until I glimpse the sweet dawning of daylight.
Lulu Gee