why get the ‘good wife of the house’ go telling

the bumble bees of births, deaths and marriages?

rather, on days like this, let them rejoice, mourn

or stuff wedding cake, make honey their own sweet way

far, faraway allowing the dullard layabout to nurture

The Inferno’s worst demons, wearing just headphones

that blow his skull apart to Ride of the Valkyries clichéd roar


‘often’ she despairs of him

wants to pull the plug

sometimes, not that ‘often’

mostly she tries to salvage

the echoes sleep left behind


first he is up on his high pedestal

then he is down upon his knees

same-o, same-o, heartily fed up with it

a good talking to might do the trick?

pills, potions, darkest shades and Joni also

would it aid if he got laid? likely it would


she knows that when the southerly

blows Saharan red sand that cloaks

the sheets drying on the washing line

and gnarly waves nibble at the heels

of the late Cretaceous (why does he always

have to repeat ‘late Cretaceous’ when

he knows it pisses her off) white chalk cliffs

that these unlikely things will bestow his state of mind

the kiss of life, nature’s kick in the bollocks resuscitation

then all will be well in his world once more

fuck me, I hope so


a gypsy caravan’s confessional affords no anonymity

long gone now the ‘happy go not so lucky’ noughties

the overburdened, inebriated, money making nineties

in their dubious wake, a neo-sanity of a certain sort

more importantly though, a love that outlives happenstance


skirmishes and laughter, much better

than coffins and spitting feathers


20 thoughts on “SKIRMISHES & LAUGHTER

    1. Joni, my heroine Ms Mitchell in reality. All is just a reflection of times gone. Nutter Shirl remains a nutter presently talking to the TV…if I’m not mistaken she is blaming the weather girl for getting it all wrong (again)!

  1. Loving the scenarios conjured here, Mike, from headphones to shades and mutterings, Saharan winds dusting the washing and the intimate knowledge of partner’s moods and foibles. The last two lines sum up the poem, and relationships, perfectly.

    1. Cheers. Hate ‘confessional’ stuff generally and if the truth be told I haven’t inflicted a dark mood upon my lovely missus for an age now…yet one time I did rather overcook such things.

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