I told him to shut his gob
But he kept on, the stupid sod
I just wanted a quiet place to be
Why wouldn’t he stop pestering me?

No, I knew then, that he would have to go
The little shit ground into my soul
This world of his, he would leave behind
He then started on the mate of mine.

Now that was it, he’d left it too late.
He didn’t see me move my arm.
He was stupid, thought I couldn’t do harm
I felt the blade as I follow its arc.

it doesn’t seem You wish to answer my request
I wonder what has caused You to desire to taunt
the perky breasts I asked for are too gaunt to flaunt
though everybody says You always do your best

they say for You to grant exactly what we ask
we merely have to order it and we’ll receive
I don’t remember asking for them to my knees
just what was so damn difficult about the task?

THE ISLE OF MAY By Ian Thomson

Weekend break with friends, we travel
To the place I spent my youth
Beaches; sand and rock and gravel,
Villages with pan tile roofs.

Arrive in Anstruther - it's raining
Waves are breaking on sea - wall,
Same all over, no complaining
Scottish summer? dodging squalls!

Saturday we walk the coast path,
In the rain to Elie bay
Cheering up with Sunday forecast,
Dull but dry for Isle of May!

it’s nice
an evening outdoors for the first time in a long time
what with winter being so very wet this year
and so very cold
spring’s coming
its essence tantalises expectation of
jasmine and wattle and amenity