Riddle

Six men went golfing and then to a pub,

For a drink and a laugh and a plate of pub grub.

They grinned as they eyed up the neighbourhood talent,

They tried to look worldly and tried to look gallant.

Matthew and Mark met Izzie and Clare,

Who happened that day to be lunching there.

They had a nice afternoon, with nods, smiles and winks,

That’s as far as they got – and they bought all the drinks.

Simon and Spencer met Margie and Kath,

Out for the day and out for a laugh.

These four left the pub and walked down to the beach,

Where they found some large rocks within easy reach –

Went discreetly behind them, in high expectation,

And there the relationships reached consummation.

And afterwards, pledging to call within days,

They swapped fake mobile numbers

And all went their ways.

Two ladies conversed with Thomas and Stan,

Listening intently each one to her man.

Gleaming hair, lovely clothes and, as I made mention,

They gave the two boyos their utmost attention.

The lads gave their numbers, right ones, not wrong –

Two weddings resulted before very long.

With neat homes and consistent routine of each day

And joint accounts to manage their pay.

In the way of the world, the wives listened less,

Added some fat and the hair glistened less.

Children arrived – great joys, it’s true,

But loud and demanding and costly too.

With mortgages, bills and a budgeting plan,

It’s responsible living for Simon and Stan.

Their treats nowadays are the specials at Lidl,

Now here’s the question, the eponymous riddle:

Does anyone know, or can anyone say

Which two men got lucky that day?  

Frances O’Keeffe

Mindfulness

A jogger jogged into a tree,

stood stunned along the roadside edge.

He shook himself and carried on

and jogged into a clump of sedge

which stood on spongy, marshy ground,

and soaked his socks and tracksuit ends,

(luckily his shoes were sound).

A shopper eyed some juicy steaks,

but found the price was just too high.

Drooling, she turned and left them there.

She never heard the butcher’s cry:

“It’s buy one, get one free today.”

Not knowing that she had enough spends,

steaklessly, she walked away.

Cyclists, walkers, kids on heelys,

those on buses, trains or trams,

gardeners on summer evenings,

people pushing brooms or prams;

wear tiny earphones, neatly curled,

(you’d hardly even notice) but

are they a wall against the world?

Music is wonderful and we love it,

I think that most agree with that.

But what about living in the now,

being where we are, with what we’re at?

To quote a wiser bard than me,

(on living with heart and head and gut)

We choose to be or not to be.

Advice that doesn't always Work

A counsel that I’ve sometimes got,

(I think that few are dafter),

Is - you’re a woman, have a good cry,

You’ll feel better after.

You’ll see the truth of this advice

If you will only try it.

Weep your little probs away, just –

Make sure you keep it quiet.

Go weep your little probs away,  

You’ll soon be feeling chipper;

Open up and let it out –

As if we were a zipper.

Yes, sometimes I’ve been moved to tears

And sometimes moved to laughter.

And I know (don’t we all) which one

Makes me feel better after.

 Frances O'Keeffe

Fooled by the Lights

‘Twas a rush as I flashed my card.

Now the mirror at home won't hide

the clumpy, lumpy mounds of lard

and the massive backside.

A fool and her money are easily stunned

by mirrors and lights that say - score,

It’s not that I want an exchange or refund -

just to look like I did in the store.

Frances O'Keeffe 

Homage to the Villanelle

Isn’t it grand to be rhyming,

To follow the flow and the swell

Of the metre, the pitch and the timing

The cadences falling and climbing,

The syllables clear as a bell,

Isn’t it grand to be rhyming

With the ever-melodious chiming

Of  fruits from the bottomless well

Of the metre, the pitch and the timing,

That hone words with polish and priming,

Revealing their magical spell. 

Isn’t it grand to be rhyming

With language that soars to subliming

In the places where harmonies dwell

With the metre, the pitch and the timing.

Of poem-styles that harmonize well,

My favourite is the Villanelle.

Yes, it’s grand to be rhyming,

With the metre, the pitch and the timing.

Frances O’Keeffe

Night

Write a poem to the night,

To calm and quiet wed

In silvery, soft pale moonlight,

Easing cares to make them right,

Soothing every weary head,

Write a poem to the night.

Following their destined flight,

Planets of blue and dark and red

In silvery, soft pale moonlight

Follow their courses, new and bright

Through ancients orbits led.

Write a poem to the night,

Whirring a velvety, measured delight.

That was a wise one, whoever said -

(In silvery, soft pale moonlight),

- Never take tomorrow to bed,

Trust the healing hush instead,  

Write a poem to the night,

To silvery, soft pale moonlight.

Frances O’Keeffe

Wedding

Our old loves have found new love

With each other instead of us.

We stand at the back and listen

As they make their vows upfront.

Mine is black-tied and handsome,

Yours, an ivory meringue.

Yours, a jealous control freak;

Mine has a wandering eye.

We’d love to be flies on the wall

To see this marriage play out.