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Sylvia Plath
left an aftermath:
to follow in her shoes
proved too much for Ted Hughes

Martin Amis
dad's also famis
but the magnum son
outshoots the old gun

Annie Wright



Robert Frost
got seriously lost
when he discovered that the road he had forsaken
was the one he should have taken

Barbara Cartland
inhabited the heartland
of that genre of historical romantic fiction
peopled by brooding dickhead heroes and virginal heroines with perfect diction


When was the point the balance tipped?

Carless youth flipped
To saloon middle-age?

Was it the day we changed
From full cream milk to semi skimmed?


She took the Pill
He used a sheath

And just to be sure
in triplicate

the icing on the cake
she smeared on spermicidal jelly

Rodents behind her skirting
multiplied, avoiding all entrapment
She, likewise, continued to fall pregnant

Her friend used nothing, never darkening
the door of family planning

Threw precaution to the winds
Gave it her best

Got laid in various locations
multidimensional positions

with many mouse-like men and lion-tamer types       to no avail


It will have to go
unsound ivory


She cannot face the morning unless she's done a line.
A habit she's no desire to kick. Weather is immaterial.

Clothes in a jumbled mess, she checks the paraphernalia.
Follows the daily ritual. Procrastinates. Anticipates.

She's ready to go. Measures out the fine white powder, sniffs,
clicks, sets cycle with spin. Breakfasts, showers, styles her hair.

Enough time left, and enough rope for a single hanging,
She pegs out.

Marilyn Longstaff




Driving rain arrived last night in a Scirocco from the East,
cats and dogs in raincoats alighted in the street
the Rainbow Club awaited, they queued up at the door
but none could gain entrance, the bouncer held up a paw
and brandishing an umbrella, kept them all at bay;
"Let you in you shower? No chance, no how, no way".

They'd been saving up, they must get in, tonight'd be a storm,
"It's Rain-Dance Night!" they cried, but the doorman didn't warm.
Collars up, hats pulled down, they re-grouped at the kerb
"We're over a barrel, he's watertight, but let's not be deterred!"
Heads together, they formed a huddle, their plan to precipitate
whilst a jester in a sou'wester was let in through the gate.

"It's not fair!" they said, looking up, as the rain kept falling down
"we need a plan, one that will wash, for our night out on the town".
It wasn't funny, they had the money, a nest egg for a rainy day
but they'd had enough, and in violent mood, started an affray
One grabbed his legs, another his head, blows rained down in a flood,
they all saw red, wanted him dead, but ran when they drew blood.

They were running scared, and scarpered fast, down the nearest drain,
that night they took a rain-check, but next Saturday they'd try again.

Lindsay Balderson



How can I be chased and chaste?

Listen. Tinsel is silent

Having a pulse is a definite plus

You peppered me with insults !
I felt assaulted.
How could you be so cruet?

Why did the music jar?
It was a jam session

A few pints. A punt. Lots of panting

Vicki Thomas


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Last updated on 15 October 2008.