The butterfly effect

Their eyes met across the lush green field.
He’d never seen her before,
but one look was all it took.
He couldn’t help himself.
Her long, blonde hair drew him in.
He rushed to her.
They talked, they laughed –
for a while.
Time stood still; all else faded –
for a while.
They parted with a smile,
and went on with their days –
he to his wife, who had watched and waited, nervously,
a short distance away.
They never saw each other again,
but lives were destined to change.

The End

I’m not a real poet
I don’t know why I try it
It causes lots of upset
When tiredness kicks in

Poetry I shouldn’t choose
I’ve far too many issues
And if you were in my shoes
You’d probably hit the gin

My poemy words get mixed up
The one I love gets shook up
I really am quite f**ked up
I’m lucky to have him

So when my poems seem bitter
Like sh*t sprinkled with glitter
That causes man to jitter
Just throw them in the bin

My world has not been all good
I’ve had my share of dead wood
Memories become mud
With good and bad mixed in

I ask for understanding
When sometimes underhanding
word tactics make a landing
It really is a sin

So, should I write of purity
To banish insecurity
Or sink into obscurity
I don’t feel I can win

Before I call it a night
A little tip – some insight
Think before you do write
Don’t rush the words in

Sweetie, please

Please, darling, not another one –
they’ve already eaten far too much;
I’m not sure they could bear it.
I know you mean well, my sweetheart,
but they’ve been trying so hard of late
to shed the last of their heavy burden.
Yes, honey, I see that you care,
and you’re just trying to be kind,
but it may only take one more
for them to fall back into bad habits;
to pile on the weight they’ve done so well to lose.
Please, babe – don’t feed my insecurities any more.