Eighty Harley Ds
descended on Café Rouge,
how incongruous.
by Scooj
Eighty Harley Ds
descended on Café Rouge,
how incongruous.
by Scooj
Driving through driving
rain, hurtling along the
M4 to London.
by Scooj
I can see nothing
of your beating heart behind
those darkened windows.
by Scooj
As fireworks paint the
night sky, we celebrate Guy’s
failed shenanigans.
by Scooj
Banana fritters
promise so much more than they
ever deliver.
by Scooj
Faded memories
of innocents; I weep with
the passing of time.
by Scooj
It’s all merry hell –
telephone conferences
and builders don’t mix.
by Scooj
A final flourish
as green leaves turn brown, then drop
and cruel winter comes.
by Scooj
Autumn’s nakedness
unveils a seasonal boon
for Christmas kisses.
by Scooj
The wait is over,
excited children extort
sweeties from neighbours.
by Scooj