If we looked to our children,
So simple and pure.
If we looked to our children,
We could learn so much more.
If we looked to our children,
We could rise above.
If we looked to our children,
We could learn how to love.
If we looked to our children,
We could find a way to be free.
If we looked to our children,
We could learn how to see.
If we looked to our children,
Without being so stern.
If we looked to our children,
How much we could learn.

I felt the look from well inside the waves.
A pleasant face, a quick and somber smile.
There is a friendly devil who so often saves
a lovely gem for me, a jewel of the Nile.
Just to enjoy, like flowers on a meadow,
and do not touch, you break it so you pay.
Is he just teasing me by showing me her shadow,
or half expecting me to lead myself astray?
It must be age that gives an urgency to meet
all kinds of birds and bees of God's menagerie.
And different stages, much like drummers and their beat
feel innermost the feral calling to be free.
It be not lust or superficial fast consumption,
or boredom, breeding with some hormonal excess,
to overshadow our pretended high presumptions,
which leads to talons clawing more, but getting less.
Yes, there is fire even when a whisp of smoke
drifts from between two bodies, barely juxtaposed.
The free expression is but hampered by a yoke,
both peers and strangers flash the sign at you:
NOW CLOSED.

So, I go up to her, with confident expression:
'Would you be able Ma' m, to spare a dropp of screen?
You see, my nose is fond of sun, it's an obsession,
but in the morning one can tell where it has been.'
With lovely hands that previously had smeared,
the creamy stuff, ejaculated from the tube,
she dabs it on me, laughing loudly, then I feared
my nose would quickly get its filll of rub-in goop.
Just when I thought that I should have suggested
a bigger target as in need of sun protection,
which, with her housewife's fingers she could have molested,
she rolled her eyes and blinked: 'Upon reflection,
your back is turning bright red like a lobster,
so, let me now, don't argue, be your saviour, '
as down the dune came, looking like a mobster,
with strides of purpose, I was smearing good behaviour,
upon her shoulders and the soft folds at the pits,
annoyed by an intruder with no obvious class.
And then he spoke while I was ogling her tits.
This mobster with an accent had arrived,
went down to her, began to lather now her thighs.
Then introduced himself, I heard, Ye Gods Alive!
as her dear husband, what a bloody, cute surprise.

I'd missed her slight, but foreign-flavoured intonation,
if nothing else while pulling in my gut,
so hubby pumped my hand, as in the distant nation
of our homeland is the custom, then said: 'But,
appreciate the time you took to chat,
so many weirdos populate these lovely beaches,
so vot yuuh ssay, yuuh ssink, now vee haf met,
vee haf zum beer and talk vot my vife teaches,
next year in school, to High School shdudents yet.'

The hours went, we finished all the cream,
most of the beer and salty pretzels in the dunes.
And reminiscing of the homeland, it would seem
that we'd been friends already for a thousand moons.

You have imagined that my thoughts were less than pure
throughout the pleasant session of the afternoon,
you are correct but I was never really sure,
was he fair dinkum then or p'haps a clever hoon?

In closing I should mention one more fact,
her loveliness, magnetic to extremes,
had turned my pilot light to three, enough to act,
although the word 'behaviour' was, in hindsight so it seems
an early warning, followed by -her name is Mary-
the story of a fascinating past in heathen jungles,
where she'd met hubby as another fiery missionary,
to straighten out the natives and their rulers' bungles.

Wise to the savages of godless, blackened skin,
and back unscathed from God-abandoned regions,
their minds and bodies well attuned to dealing with much sin,
they saw their fellow men as humans, worth allegiance.

When sunset finally threatened with a sober chapter,
to slip in place of many hours, filled with laughter,
we'd taken turns as conversation captors,
and hasty dusk felt much like cobweb morning after.

The barbecue is scheduled for next Sunday,
both daughters will bring videos of lions.
And Fred is saying that it ought to be a fun day,
with frank discussions on Christianity and Science.
As one who's never been a diligent practitioner,
the word of God is something private, so-to-speak.
Nor would you see me as a somber-eyed parishioner,
or part of those who witness, share and truly seek
the genuine wisdom for their fellow man's salvation,
who believe in natural goodness of us sheep.
I must say that, as for me the revelation
was souls I met, they were pristine and deep.

I love to see the man, a long-lived child,
As yet uninjured by all worldly taint
As the fresh infant whose whole life is play.
'Tis a serene spectacle for a serene day;
But better still I love to contemplate
The mature soul of lesser innocence,
Who hath traveled far on life's dusty road
And proudly bears his small degen'racy
Blazon'd on his memorial standard high
Who from the sad experience of his fate
Since his bark struck on that unlucky rock
Has proudly steered his life with his own hands.
Yet there do chiefly lurk within its depths
Furrowed by care, but yet all over spread
With the ripe bloom of a self-wrought content
Noble resolves which do reprove the gods
And it doth more assert man's eminence
Above the happy level of the brute
And more doth advertise me of the heights
To which no natural path doth ever lead
No natural light can ever light our steps,
-- But the far-piercing ray that shines
From the recesses of a brave man's eye.

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

Now must I these three praise
Three women that have wrought
What joy is in my days:
One because no thought,
Nor those unpassing cares,
No, not in these fifteen
Many-times-troubled years,
Could ever come between
Mind and delighted mind;
And one because her hand
Had strength that could unbind
What none can understand,
What none can have and thrive,
Youth's dreamy load, till she
So changed me that I live
Labouring in ecstasy.
And what of her that took
All till my youth was gone
With scarce a pitying look?
How could I praise that one?
When day begins to break
I count my good and bad,
Being wakeful for her sake,
Remembering what she had,
What eagle look still shows,
While up from my heart's root
So great a sweetness flows
I shake from head to foot.

Desiree knows little of desire
Except what she detects in hungry eyes.
Sometime soon, perhaps, she'll feel the flame
Instead of merely acting in its name,
Reduced to an estate she will despise.
Each dances like a moth before the fire,
Even when she knows the end is shame.

Wedding Poems