TATOO
I think I will get a tattoo, or two,
Of you
Or a sleave with some serious ink,
In pink
May be something in words so felt,
Not misspelt
I’ll get them all over, even near the ear,
No fear
Looking like Joseph’s cloak, I’ll be the bloke,
No joke
But then I think of the pain, the pain, the pain,
Refrain
And when I’m ageing, skin dried and wrinkling,
An inkling
That I should have covered in kid’s transfers.
© Neil Dufty
O, Jasper I’m so sorry for what I have done:
I surrendered you up to the local cattery,
I was selfish, thinking only of number one,
An act tantamount to assault and battery.
O, Jasper there is a void left in my heart,
I miss your licks, smooches, plaintive miaow,
That pat-the-ball game, it was so smart!
Our fun went on for hour after hour.
Jasper you ripped our lounge with no thought,
Spewed on our carpet, cried to break our sleep,
As arrogant as a model strutting the catwalk,
There is no way you could stay in our keep.
O, Jasper, who’s that in the cattery window
Smiling at me with a young lady cat in tow?
© Neil Dufty
Don’t you wish you could fly?
Leave the ground and touch the sky?
Don’t you want to break the mould?
Be strong? Be brave? Be tough? Be bold?
There you lie, thinking of what can be,
Banal life preventing you to be free,
Weighted down by routine, daily pain,
A prisoner coupled to ball and chain.
So look for the wings within your reach,
Fix them on, so the sage would teach,
Be Pegasus, take flight towards the sun,
Don’t give up till you’re number one.
© Neil Dufty
Dearest,
Our connection is so close
We talk all day, gossip
You organise me, tell me where to go
Remind me of events – birthdays, meetings
You sing to me, over 1,000 tunes
Do my banking, run my business
Tell me about the weather, sport, news
Play games with me, humour me
Take photos of me, come on my trips
Our attachment is so strong
You are My Wife
I mean, My Life.
© Neil Dufty
Testosterone
Ron on the phone
Fading farts
Tinkering with parts
Bawdy jokes
One for the blokes!
Sporting tales
Hammering in nails
Sweat-stained shirt
Dust, shavings, and dirt
Protective gear
Pass another beer
Basket weaving
Old Bill’s wife leaving
Closing up time
Hope you’ll be fine.
© Neil Dufty
MAN BUN
I think I will grow a man bun,
A man bun, yes that will be fun,
Tie it high so it can fly,
I’ll be a modern kinda guy.
Pull it back like ole Ma Kettle,
That will really test my mettle,
Some may think it’s really girlish,
I think they’re only being churlish.
And in days of yore it was the go,
A perfumed wig to steal the show,
History shows there’s nothing to hide,
Be in touch with your feminine side.
And I’ve been told they can’t resist
The juxtaposition of brawn and twist:
Six-pack abs and rippling pectoral,
And a bun: the ultimate metrosexual.
So I hope there’ll be no strong derision,
I might even get a gig on Eurovision,
The bun instant fame it will render,
To get as many hits as Kendall Jenner.
© Neil Dufty
YOUNG
New look
Look look
Partook
Feel crook
Called sook
Mistook
All shook
© Neil Dufty
OLD
Nose hair
No hair
Calf tear
Gasp air
Wheel chair
Welfare
Aged care
Life bare
Not fair
© Neil Dufty
Alone, at last, away from all care,
Gone bush to lose the daily stress,
Around blades of grass like spindly hair
Shimmer under the wind’s duress.
Close, a trickle from a lonely creek,
Somnolent music sounding so sweet,
This rustic mood for long I did seek,
Soil crumbles beneath my bare feet.
And in the distance a laconic herd,
Flapping tails fend off droning flies,
Early moon rises, the night’s first word
As the fading light of the sun replies.
Golden cascades stream across the earth,
Gone my aches, pains, the nervous cough,
This bucolic spa, it has the upmost worth,
Oh no, that’s my mobile phone going off.
© Neil Dufty
I almost didn’t write this poem I wondered, I pondered Walked around my home. I thought of an excuse not to write Fed the pet, placed a bet Went and got a bite. I went for walk around the block To clear the mind, find a line I must have writer’s block. I turned the computer on again Stared at the screen, at a scene I was finding this a pain. I almost put off procrastinating What a shame, no words came Sat there contemplating... We almost didn’t save the Earth Thought of money, of our tummy Didn’t know what it was worth. © Neil Dufty
Neil Dufty's stories and poems 