Trawler

Trawler.

I trawl the clubs in search of sex.
I am entirely free.
I like to lure young women
Into debauch-er-ee.

All my drinks are soft drinks,
No spirits, wine or beer.
While other men are sozzled,
My mind's entirely clear.

I can make you laugh or cry,
Or make you rock and roll.
People with emotions
Are easy to control.

I'll use you and I'll leave you,
That's the way I plan it.
Where other people have a heart,
I have only granite.

I am highly erudite.
I'm charming and I'm witty.
Give me everything you have,
All, except your pity.

*

Ex-Trawler

(This is a new poem, written after I moved from my old website to this one. I will work out how to create matching fonts.)

I trawled the clubs in search of sex.

I was entirely free.

But I no longer stop up late;

I lack the en-er-gee.

Once very lithe and lissom,

I now possess a belly.

Rather than go clubbing,

I'd rather watch the telly.

But my life is not too bad.

I do not dwell in Hades.

I go to the seniors' club,

Where I seduce old ladies.

*
Natalie.

Your hobby's wrong, young Natalie;
Take up the brush or pen,
Or knitting or philately,
But stop collecting men.

Try building model aircraft
From manufactured parts.
Try collecting beer mats,
But stop collecting hearts.

Try tennis, golf or badminton,
Or even crown green bowls.
Try any sport you care to name,
But stop collecting souls.

On second thoughts, it's not your fault
You turn men into wrecks.
The problem does not lie in you.
It lies in the male sex.

You drive men to distraction.
The poor things feel so blue,
Because there are so many men,
And only one of you.

But one day you'll be older,
And men won't care so much
About your eyes, your lips, your hair,
Your bosoms or your crutch.

So go ahead, enjoy yourself,
Give those rascals hell.
Take up some other hobbies;
Collect your men as well.

*

Good Old Days.

We’ve never heard of ghorfing,
And grongling’s rarely done.
We still go out in daylight,
And drinking counts as fun.
These are the good old days.

Music is accepted,
Not banned as sinful noise.
Unarmed people use the street,
No fear of choppyboys.
These are the good old days.

Los Angeles is thriving;
London has not drowned.
Europe is still fertile,
Not desert, barren ground.
These are the good old days.

These are the good old days,
The future’s rosy past.
These are the good old days;
Enjoy them while they last.

*

Smirking Face.
(This was inspired by an ex-colleague who showed off in front of his girlfriend, my mates and several dozen strangers by demanding that I recite a poem and then complaining loudly when he did not like the trite couplet I came out with to humour him.)

There's many things in life I love,
Like words upon a page,
But when I see your smirking face
It fills my heart with rage.

There's many things in life I love,
Like books upon the shelf,
But when I see your smirking face
I wish you'd kill yourself.

There's many things in life I love
Like every sunny day,
But now I see your smirking face,
So please, just go away.

*

Humankind.
(Here's one for when you're in a very bad mood.)

What a work of God is Man,
Every man my brother;
Lots of nonsense from one end,
Ordure from the other.