Nil Satis Nisi Optimum

It's right how the ones who show you the most love,
Are often the ones who say it the least

It's right how the ones who tell you they love you the most,
Are often the ones that hurt you the most

It's right how the ones who beg for forgiveness,
Are often the ones who least deserve it

It's right how the ones who mess everything up,
Are often the ones who make you feel guilty

It's right how the ones who are the happiest,
Are often the ones who've known the most heartache

It's right how those hearts can always mend themselves,
If you give them enough time and space

It's right how this life just keeps going,
No matter how hard you may beg it to slow down.

It occurred to me that if all the world were paper,
And all the sea were ink;
And all the trees were cheese and bread,
What should we do for drink?

If fryers had no baldpates,
nor nuns had no dark cloisters,
If all the seas were beans and peas,
What would we do for oysters?

If there had been no projects,
Nor none that did great wrongs;
if fiddlers shall turn players all,
What should we do for songs?

If all things were eternal,
And nothing their end bringing;
if this should be, then, how should we
here make an end of singing?

You know it is often said that all bad
poetry
is just one poem:
"Oh I'm deep and in pain
and it's raining outside."

Whereas mine tend to go:
"Heck I'm shallow, I'm
drunk
and I just took a shower."

Obviously this often leaves me several raindrops
short,
for readings.

That is unless I come
straight from the dentist,
through
a Tornado
Which is still only

Two out of three!

Tell me what do you say to a young woman
who addicts you to Lollyices

and then abandons you
after putting metal rings
where rings don't
belong
and other rings where
rings under absolutely no
circumstances
ever belong?

Well,

I've switched off
my fridge so I can't buy the
Lollyices.

Just One look, that’s all it took me and I want desperately
to take your
breath away for a dirty weekend.

When I glimpse down your blouse, my
heart pounds
like two deaf cats tap-dancing on an old Belfast sink.

This isn't just love, for when my soul falls into your eyes
I know that on the
great sweater of life,
I've found another fuzz-ball like myself.

Yes someone who wouldn't look at a print
of Da Vinci's "Last Supper",
and
ask what a table like that would cost,
today.

Someone who knows that
love
isn't what you have to do
if you can't find your TV Guide
anywhere.

Now we all want to save our children from, shall
we say,
our
own "ineptitude d'amour"
and endless, Laurel and Hardy love lives.

We rightly hope our kids can remember their first loves
without disturbing mental
images of dirigibles
diving into the earth while horrified crowds
scatter;
ending in a monstrous thump of flame.

Yet we won't tell them
how we undid ourselves,
or give them practical advice, like:
"try not to
put an elbow into anybody's cheekbone,
because it's sex, and you can't
say:

"I'm sorry, I was thinking of something else,
just for a moment"
or tell her
"Christ, dear, I was concentrating on Lawn Bowls",

while she's lying there half-stunned.

The day we first met, I only wanted love
and did not care how it was spelt.

I allowed you to bring your runners into bed,
for better traction,
I kissed you while your hard eyes
glittered in the moonlight.

Then we would make love, and light our
cigarettes with just
our fingertips.

As I had found out,
exactly why it's called
a "headboard".

Obviously we were equals,
because we had a chess clock by the bed.

Then when you asked to have my children,
I said yes, because my ex-wife
sure doesn't want them.

But then you left!
And all because I said I'd like to
marry you.

If I could bring a date?

Quote:

Woody Allen.

The last time I was inside a woman was when I went to the Statue of Liberty.

Look we both know
the
opposite sex
is grief's retail outlet

And that you won't spit on my
grave,
in case something grows

Having now taken that fly off my
neck
I wore when I heard your husband say
he wouldn't hurt one,

Now
we're both angry as cornered pacifists
because forever didn't last
long
enough for me to get
my shoes and socks back on.

I'll admit - that
when I cooked,
and we were short of vinegar
I just used Streak Free Glass Cleaner.

Oh, without the Ammonia!

You know I want my epitaph to say:
"He died a
silly, silly way."
such as, upon the stone,

"Alas, dearly
missed -
his heart exploded in a dream -
where Barney,
the Purplest
Dinosaur,
was beating him for gambling debts."

or
next to my grave,
upon the stone,

"If you have time to read this,
you have time to phone
your mum."

I like Violins and Sex,

Ok I admit the music's slow,
and
a lot of people will get impatient

but then, it's not a race,
anyway.

But, people do get hurt this way,
just like everybody says,
but
not if your bedroom's big enough
for the musicians to stand back a
little.

This way, nobody
ever gets a violin up the nose,
even if
things do get out of hand,
or, even if the violinist does.

I think a
lot of the over-reaction to Sex and Violins,
comes from a time
when
noblemen blindfolded musicians before they played
- and a lot of people
were maimed.

Besides, I can't wait to get home
from a concert, now.

Sending the same email twice
Emails are sent blank
None of the emails are sent to the right person
It makes you forward the mail back to the person who sent it to you
Label to reply to people who mails you in error
Emails are sent to people you don’t know
Virus checkers quarantine your out going emails
It makes you forget to attach the attachments
Read emails are deleted before you’ve replied to them
Unread emails are sent straight to the trash
Send the email before you've finished typing it

Yes you know it’s going to happen

It’s been on your mind all day

Those thoughts are so pervasive

All others just in the way

Because everything reminds you

Of something that she said

Focus just can’t happen

It is she within your head

Pleasure and Passion

Raw ecstasy

Blissful relief from pressure

It’s the place you really want to be

Wrapped within those loving arms

Sweet words

Enamoured and charmed

It exists on another plane

Well away from the focus

That maintains the material

Nestling softly into the reward

Finally the lips you were dying for

Blissful Anticipation.

You know that you were so attracted to me
and even indicated so...
in front of many others
Yet I thought there was no
reason to react to it

The way I would have wanted
I thought you still had another...
The truth, I got it

too late for at that time
Your perspective of me

Had changed, and you have no idea
what that has done to me
Falling for someone like you
So shallow, not worth
my love, yet these feelings
are still such a curse!

You seemed so unique, so deep
not like most girls

I imagined us together
in a love that would unfurl
Resulting in such happiness
Instead we made the wrong choice
now it's come to this!

Let us go our separate ways
and pretend this didn't take
place
perhaps with another
more beautiful I'll save face

The taste you've left in my soul
is one which I abhor

So let us remember this
...Nevermore!

Those secrets kept inside your soul

So very, very long

Those secrets that have troubled you

The ones that seem so wrong

So should you share them one on one

With someone that you trust

Or should you keep them buried deep within

All covered up with dust

OK, Rejection is the risk you take

Or ridicule or hate

Perhaps you want so much to share your thoughts

Before it is too late

However fear will keep your tongue in cheek

As silence rules the day

Common sense and protocol

Define the words you say

You know some secrets can be good for you

And keep you right on track

They teach you what is right from wrong

And give you things you lack

Secrets.

Keep them close.

Let us begin with box, and the plural is boxes;
But the plural of ox should be oxen, not oxes.

However one fowl is goose, but two are called geese
Yet the plural of moose should never be meese.

You con find a lone mouse or a whole lot of mice,
But the plural of house is houses, not hice.

So If the plural of man is always called men,
Why couldn't the plural of pan be called pen?

Cow in the plural may be cows or kine,
But the plural of vow is vows, not vine.

And I speak of a foot, and you show me your feet,
But I give a boot would a pair be called beet?

So if one is a tooth and a whole set are teeth,
Why shouldn't the plural of booth be called beeth?

And the singular is this and plural is these,
Shouldn't the plural of kiss be nicknamed kese?

Then one may be that, and three may be those,
Yet the plural of hat would never be hose;

We speak of a brother, and also of brethren,
But though we say mother, we never say methren.

The masculine pronouns are he, his and him,
But imagine the feminine she, shis, and shim!

So our English, I think you will all agree,
Is the trickiest language you ever did see.

I take it you already know
Of tough and bough and cough and dough?

Others may stumble, but not you
On hiccough, thorough, slough, and through?

Well done! And now you wish, perhaps
To learn of less familiar traps?

Beware of heard, a dreadful word
That looks like beard and sounds like bird.

And dead; it's said like bed, not bead;
For goodness sake, don't call it deed!

Watch out for meat and great and threat,
(they rhyme with suite and straight and debt)

A moth is not a moth in mother.
Nor both in bother, broth in brother.

And here is not a match for there.
And dear and fear for bear and pear.

And then there's dose and rose and lose
Just look them up-and goose and choose.

And cork and work and card and ward,
And font and front and word and sword.

And do and go, then thwart and cart.
Come, come, I've hardly made a start.

A dreadful language? Man alive,
I'd learned to speak it when I was 5,

And yet to write it, the more I sigh.

Original Author. J T O'Leary.

Father doesn't want a dog.
Father says they smell.
And never sit when you say sit.
Or even when you yell.

Even when you come home late at night
And there is ice and snow,
You have to go back out because
The dog says he has to go.

Father doesn't want a dog.
Father says they shed.
And always let the strangers in
And bark at friends instead.

They do disgraceful things on rugs.
And track mud on the floor.
And flop upon your bed at night.
And snore their doggy snore.

Father doesn't want a dog.
He's making a mistake.
Because, more than a dog, I think
He will not want this snake!

Well another year has come and gone
blowing away like tumbled autumn leaves,
last night year was is in its dying throes, but with a hope
That after the travail of winter,
Newness may be reborn
Friends old and new are recalled
As this season brings their faces to our thoughts.

Those smiles and frowns, laughter and tears
We remember the joys of children
The horror of cancer, and the rot of old age.

A year filled with Ying and Yang
It is the nature of things to change and yet
Remain so much the same.

History lessons written and rewritten,
retold with different dates and names
a living soap opera.

Living in our thoughts.

Hopes rise like steam for the possibility
Of our perfect dream coming true, but
Prices increase and belts tighten as
Politicians paint rosy pictures of the coming year
With a brush dipped in constituents blood
Still this is old and familiar, almost expected
Will this year be our triumph or our defeat?

In the end it does not matter much, for there is always
Yet another year to come.