Diana and Actaeon

From the shadows I see her there/How can I do aught but stare?/At a beauty twould freeze anyone:/Short or long until I'm done?

From the shadows I see him there,/As if he has the right to stare!/Rigid as a statued one-/Stare, boy, you'll soon be done.

What a cheek, what a nerve,/I'll make him pay for every curve./Make him the object, make him prey,/Make him curse his luck this day.

My body changing, front to rear-/What is this, am I a deer?/But worst of all, a change of scent!/My dogs no longer look ‘me decent.

Never thought that I'd get caught,/Nowhere is this thing taught./Wandering eyes bring a risk/Of relations somewhat brisk.

Never do they think I'll see,/But always, for all eternity,/I'll have chewed to a bloody mess/Any man who sees my naked flesh.

So run now, boy, give us the chase,/Run now, boy, redden your face./Try to escape, try your new run/And let me now have my fun.

I run now, for fear of death,/Run now, ever losing faith./For the gap, it thins and narrows,/And no one can outchase arrows.

Oh, curse these hunt-dogs, curse my luck/Why couldn't I just have ducked?/Such a cheek, such a nerve/Now forever known as, "Perve."

Too Intimate

"Hello, my darling- 

 How are you?"

"I'm afraid I'm straining

 For a poo."

"If you wouldn't mind

 I'd like it private."

"That's ok, my dear,

I'll leave you to it."

Tweet Repeat 10

our love had to be discrete/a secret we had to secrete/behind closed doors so as not to shame/those who would not like us aflame

Tweet Repeat 9

Across the library I can see the cogs whirr.
Through the concentration in the eyes,
I almost hear the burr,
Of the factory making thought pies.

Tweet Repeat 8

When he tried to put a putsch in it, he only put his footsch in it. 

Angry upstart scoundrels don't impress the damsels.

Trying to force your hand will make you damned:

Remember kids - fascists are fools! Remember kids - democracy rules!

And in picture form... pic.twitter.com/0FchWLu

Tweet Repeat 7

My boozer changed, made calls to yuppies-

all those slick, smug monied puppies.

The beer got fizzy, I got dizzy. 

Now I drink in hope to sink.

Tweet Repeat 6

Bosky fellows all of them, basking deep within the forest's hem.

Frolicking in the wood's light, balmy air-

Dryads aplenty,with leaves for hair.

Tweet Repeat 5

40 layers piled high: each no barrier from pain, Her royal secret let fly after arrival from the rain.

Tweet Repeat 4

All the livelong day he dilly dallied, all the livelong day they rilly rallied. But he was like a stuck pin: he was always their chagrin.

Tweet Repeat 3

I wait, genuflect, for thee. You run, far away, from me. Mistakes, I made quite a few. I pray, to please start anew.

Tweet Repeat 2

The lost bear made his home there where the weather was fair. But was only king for a year.

Or

The lost bear made his home there in the Valley of Beer. But was only king for a year.

Tweet Repeat 1

He was bemused by her, would find a muse in her. Forever writing on the page here, fuelled along by foamy beer.

Mr Win Whimster

Mr Win Whimster, wag of the whimsical whim,

Was most often seen as exceptionally dim.

Especially in regard, and because of, his death,

The day he was en route to his friend Seth.

When along on the way he did stop to pay

To have a climb up and ride upon the hide

Of an elephant within his most local zoo,

Thinking, “Just like my lovely friend, Sue!”

Upon the elephant’s top Win felt like the Raj:

The world did take on a brand new visage,

Giving him the really quite marvellous feeling
That, actually, most actually, oh yes, quite anything

Was most surely possible, not merely probable-

And that’s when the final whim came unto him,

Like a long-forgotten hazy dream

Of a children's cartoon scene.

And up onto his feet Mr Whimster leapt,

To the top of the trunk Mr Whimster crept,

From where he surveyed his route down,
And did make his decision without frown,
To ride the trunk in one great slide

And end in a cartwheel- no, really- for real.

Instead it went as onlookers feared,

With Win upon both the tusks speared.

One through the chest and one through the crotch-

Each as deadly as Grim Reaper's touch.

A whim too far, a whim did end,

Whims were no longer Win's friends.

An unforeseen slip ended in skin ripped,
A lack of a plan ended Win's lifespan.
No longer whimsical, now only deadly
Luck can turn all a bit too read'ly.
And so our Whimster is known
For his final, uncomfortable, throne.
Not for his life of fun and frolic,
But the full stop of deadly colic.
A whim-led life leads to strife,
Not keeping safe brings a wraith.
It's not wise to become a bloody mess,
As surely Whimster would now confess.