‘That huge iced bun is bad for me.
I can’t afford that ring.
He’s dishy – but my girlfriend’s man.’
‘It’s human to give in,’
the Serpent of Temptation smiles -
he’s full of wiles, often beguiles.
For the sake of an apple
Eden was lost.
So, what’s the cost
of happiness?
© Gill Dunstan
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Showing posts with label Gill Dunstan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gill Dunstan. Show all posts
Wednesday, 29 March 2017
Thursday, 2 February 2017
Paradise
Strange how humankind
fantasises, maybe believes
stories and dreams of paradise
of Heaven, Nirvana, Valhalla,
the Happy Hunting Grounds,
Avalon, Eldorado, Lotus Land,
Utopia or Shangri-La.
We speak of being
on Cloud Nine;
over the Moon;
in a Bed of Roses.
But is this yearning for bliss
just a sad fallacy
in a flawed world?
© Gill Dunstan
All rights reserved
fantasises, maybe believes
stories and dreams of paradise
of Heaven, Nirvana, Valhalla,
the Happy Hunting Grounds,
Avalon, Eldorado, Lotus Land,
Utopia or Shangri-La.
We speak of being
on Cloud Nine;
over the Moon;
in a Bed of Roses.
But is this yearning for bliss
just a sad fallacy
in a flawed world?
© Gill Dunstan
All rights reserved
The Seer
They
sat around the long table: her parents, grandparents, and younger brother,
ignoring her. She made tea and toast, settled
into the window seat, and quietly watched them.
Eventually, her brother glided towards her, arm outstretched, inviting her to join them. She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m just not ready to die.’
© Gill Dunstan
All rights reserved
Eventually, her brother glided towards her, arm outstretched, inviting her to join them. She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m just not ready to die.’
© Gill Dunstan
All rights reserved
Tuesday, 31 January 2017
Regret
I don't regret
things I should have done,
poor decisions,
words best unsaid,
if I have made amends,
apologise,
learnt lessons from mistakes.
How different those
where ruthless time has driven on
and like a hit-and-run, left carnage
in his wake - but all's too late to change.
Then painful, futile guilt,
like a wild dog worrying a bone,
eats me - and nothing can be rectified.
© Gill Dunstan
All rights reserved
things I should have done,
poor decisions,
words best unsaid,
if I have made amends,
apologise,
learnt lessons from mistakes.
How different those
where ruthless time has driven on
and like a hit-and-run, left carnage
in his wake - but all's too late to change.
Then painful, futile guilt,
like a wild dog worrying a bone,
eats me - and nothing can be rectified.
© Gill Dunstan
All rights reserved
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