Continuing the delusion of my story writing, here are some of the poems I wrote at about the same time.
The young, naive, idealistic and innocent adjectives are never more apropos than here.
It should hopefully be apparent that some of these were written specifically for (or rather to) individual people. They must work on some level though, because as I re-read these, I still know exactly who they are about, and still remember something of the emotion that inspired the piece.
Again, I'll let you be the judge as to their merits (if any).
For the record, and IMHO, High was my best piece. Also for the record, I should point out that The Bionic Tool was not penned by me, but I have included it here because I like it :)
I don't know who the author was, so I cannot credit him/her.
A verse this time with happier tone,
A birthday wish to give;
In words of Paul McCartney's own,
Very simply: Live and Let Live.
I wish you all that's good in life,
This day and those to come;
And hope that all your days are nice,
And if not all then some.
I hope your day is full of fun,
And you get, maybe, tipsy;
And after rising with the sun,
Your hangover fades quickly.
When I see you, just sitting;
Your eyes, distant, unregistering;
Your face set firm, but strangely lucid;
I feel your thoughts.
Your delicate face, framed
By the ebony of your hair.
The gentle tone of your skin;
Smooth as fine ivory.
Your eyes deep and dark,
But with an inner flame
That torches bright, high;
A fire of spirit, cloaked,
In a shroud of innocence.
You're beautiful.
Yes I see you, just sitting;
Your mind distant, oblivious.
But you show, I see, I know just why;
And I share your thoughts.
I saw the way you looked at the them,
The hurt close drowned your eyes;
The tears have stopped, but not the pain,
I heard you asking why.
The love you had for him was true,
You thought he'd ask your hand;
But love can die and hurt those who
May never understand.
But love, to you, will come once more,
You never know quite when;
He'll love, he'll trust, he'll thrill your core,
You'll lose your heart again.
When, or how, or who or where,
Love comes as a surprise;
But don't despair, the chances are
He's right before your eyes.
She's gone, left on a high;
Tired, she said. She was too.
Dozilly, the heavy lids fell,
Small, as she is beautiful, lying;
Eyes pertinaciously open despite herself,
Her mind sleepily accessible, revealing
A slumbering, gentle ferocity.
Small kiss, I give, she gives;
Gradually her head succumbs;
Gentle sigh, her body lithe.
Enveloping, I surround her,
This living angel I protect;
Her indiscernable breathing warms,
A reason if never for being.
I live to be here, now, always.
She's gone, left on a high.
As it always is when she leaves;
I retrace my steps, back down them,
Glide, effortlessly without recollection.
No formality, or otherwise, of expression
To say now, but I feel it;
And I know why high.
A true love will never die,
It will live alone, afraid sometimes;
It hurts, hurts you when love fails;
The pain, pain that you feel,
Never really ends.
No amount of words can ease
The pain of a broken, betrayed heart;
Gifted in faith of love so deep yet,
Rejected as so shallow as to be inconsequent.
Though time will ease the hopelessness you feel;
Time, the slow, sure cure of time,
Will ease and smooth and soothe and comfort;
'Till the memory gently fades.
But deep and still the memory will lie,
It will live alone, and ache sometimes.;
The sweet, sweet love that you once felt,
Will stay, stay in your heart, and
Never really die.
Being Seventeen's an awkward year,
You're caught right in between;
The days of childhood hopes and fears,
And adulthood: Eighteen.
With Highers sat there's tears for some,
With others feeling dead;
But all prepare for the years to come,
And the life that lies ahead
Instinctively, you know what's right,
And that will serve you well;
You care, but you may have to fight
For love; for some can't tell
That the outer strength that you convey,
And sometimes use to scare;
Hides fear and sensitivity,
And a soul that truly cares.
But somehow you will always find,
Your problems you can solve;
For friends will always be behind
To strengthen your resolve.
So worry not, and use today,
To just enjoy yourself;
Throw all your worries and cares away
Have fun today; OR ELSE!
This is the story of young Freddie More,
Whose sexual equipment got jammed in a door.
By the time they had freed him, he didn't feel well,
For his poor private parts were all mangled to hell.
They rushed him to hospital, the ambulance flew,
But when they arrived there was nowt they could do.
What a sad blow for Fred, condemned without choice,
To a life with no sex and a high squeaky voice.
But lucky for Fred, so he'd not feel a fool,
Some bright spark suggested a bionic tool!
A compact electric one, made out of brass
(Though the batteries would have to be kept up his arse)
So newly equipped, and after a rest,
Fred thought, "I'll put my new tool to the test!"
So finding a woman, the nearest one handy,
He plied her with vodka and made her feel randy.
The girl without waiting put her hand in his flies,
'Twas then that she uttered a gasp of surprise!
"Like my new chopper, a bionic one?"
"No kidding," she said, "It felt like a gun !"
They both stripped off quick, and Fred entered fast,
Then turned up the speed knob and gave her full blast!
They clutched tiqht each other, as Fred's dick shook more.
Then they shook off the bed and fell onto the floor.
Now the pace hotted up, and they started to choke,
As the air in the room became filled with blue smoke.
With a BANG, Fred's left bollock shot up in the air,
While the other went bonkity-bonk down the stairs.
So back for repairs went poor Fred full of woe,
Was this how his sex life was destined to go?
A return to the doctor at the end of each shag,
With his prick in his pocket and his balls in a bag?
But they fixed young Fred up, made him manly again,
And they boosted the batteries with a flex to the mains.
So if he can't find a girl, lucky Fred doesn't cry,
Cos he's now AC/DC and can shag with a guy!
ust thinking about you,
Your soft shining eyes shrouded
With waving black hair.
Your lips pursed slightly,
Your eyebrows twitch;
And those green eyes smile through.
Your lips purse subliminally
At your realisation of my gaze;
Your eyes dance and laugh, tease
And mock my indulgence of your beauty.
Soft, the warm but cooling breeze blows,
Lifting a wisp of your hair from your eyes;
Revealing your contented gaze.
The remaining radiance of the sun mingles
With the warmth of your body as we lie,
Silent on the grass of the hill.
Your head gently pressed against me,
Your face resting on my chest;
My arms around you, feeling your gentle breathing
Soothe, as the sun sinks low.
No words, actions, anything: Just you,
In my arms, my world complete.