50 SHADES OF SURFING

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Watching wet suited fella’s a’bobbin’

Got to wondering and then some thinkin’

Why so much sitting, gazing  and waitin’

Continuous bobbing with legs a’danglin’

There goes a wave, what’s wrong with it?

Is he just enjoying a tight suited, comfortable, sit?

Occasionally…  Very occasionally, whilst waiting

Sudden activity occurs, legs and arms wildly thrashing

Damn, missed the crest.  One of the best.  Never mind.

Back to gently bobbing, legs apart, and feet aligned

But, about that previous excitement!  A watcher might brood

Perhaps there’s something’ else. Perhaps something … ‘lewd’

Could there be?  Bobbing alone.  So brave

Some reason other than catching a wave

Perhaps something much, much more complex

An act’  Three letters, starting with S and ending with X

An orgasmic experience only enjoyed

By those, rubberised, temporarily eunuchoid

Up down, up down, legs wide splayed

Eyes fixed on the sea.   Does he seek a mermaid?

Bondaged to board with tight ankle strap

Hoping with her scaleyed tail she’ll entrap

His slithering form with buttocks so tight

Providing the craving he longs to incite

His reverie of thoughts so lustful

Interrupted by an incontinent gull

Emptying it’s belly upon his board

He shakes his fist as away it soared

Then recalled the old belief it could bring him luck

With a wondrous thought he was struck

Untying his tethering  anklet cord

The shouted warnings of others  ignored

He slipped from his board and did dive

Would it be the last time he’s seen alive

No.  He bobs up.  His face says it all

Back to daily paper, page three, full frontal

So, when you see bobbing figures  from the shore

They are hoping to enter a mermaid’s boudoir

There now, the reason is no longer secret

You are gazing on someone forced celibate

Tough luck you might very well say

But, rest assured he’ll be back the next day.

LOST MEMORY

mercaston 001   All of the paintings hanging in our home are memories.  Sadly, last weekend, one of them, a watercolour of a favourite holiday place crashed to the floor.   Mercaston Hall in Derbyshire.  I recall on one visit it was the eighteenth birthday of the daughter of the owners.  I rang the doorbell and she answered wearing a beautiful ankle length evening dress.   …And trainers.

She was beautiful.

Artwork and Text by Jack Purvis   OOPs

 

OOPs

Never went to Uni., never had any qualifications. Never earned any letters to have after my name. So I decided to create my own award. Anyone can join, no forms, no payment.
OOPs stands for ORDER OF OCCASIONAL PAINTERS, or POETS, or PHOTOGRAPHERS.

DARK FOREST – IMAGINATION

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A sharp inhalation of breath.  Mine.

There!  Did you hear the snap of a twig?

Wishing you are not on your own? No, I’m fine.

Pressing on.  Carefully.

A small touch of fear

That thrilling nervousness.  Presaging excitement.

Is it possible someone is near?

I can’t see anything.  Only hear.

Where are the others?

I don’t want to know.

With their inane chatter banishing the magic

Of moments like these I find so rare

A moment so wantonly lubric

Wait, is that a gleam of light, there on my right?

Do I advance toward it and spoil this moment?

Decision made I thrust through the undergrowth

A swift glance behind I make the oath

To return again and yet again

HI EVERYONE!

Artwork and text © by Jack Purvis  OOPs

IT’S SO HOT

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It’s so hot
Let’s stop here my lady
It’s so cool, and
The trees are so shady
Oh! it’s so hot

Come, let us undress and do without
Us!  M’lady,  I’ll not bare my plums
I’ll sit and look out,
And, warn you if anyone comes
Very  well.  Please give a  genteel  shout
She unlaced her bloused top
Bared her chest. Not to entice
Splashed them, once, then twice
Stooping low, her breasts they did beckon
Sentinel did glance, just a swift check on
Lady calls, come join me and share
The stream’s cool embrace
On my feet, on my hands, trickling down my face
And see how my ‘nips’ stand forth, Oh!
Someone comes, we must swiftly go

Fingers hastily work because of her fright
Fastening laces so tight
She turns, with a smile, so bright
A gentleman, raising his hat. So right
A scene.  To forget?
No!
A scene, to delight.

Artwork and text © by Jack Purvis  OOPs

 

 

 

 

THE TEAR

What, to you, does a tear signify?
Joy, sadness, or just something in the eye.
How do you respond?   Grasp the shoulders and share the joy,
Hold her close and reveal that it’s a boy.
Give a sympathetic cuddle with it’s irritating stroking
Sorry, didn’t realise it was your eye I was poking.

Artwork and rhyme © Jack Purvis OOPs

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ONE LAST FOND KISS

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Autumn means the end of the bowls season,
A pastime, which, for many, has no reason.
With it’s competitions, friendlies, and roll-ups.
No! not a ciggie. Opportunities for tune ups,
Greens upon which friends, each try to outplay
By releasing a wood on it’s curving way

Sometimes sun baked, occasionally soaked,
Other times romantically, mistily, cloaked,
Cromer Marrams enviously elevated above the sea
Members hoping for weather so balmy
But, whatever the weather joy can be found
Especially when the words ‘a toucher’ resound

Remember last Spring, with it’s early promise
All leagues and challenges sorted and, no bias,
A look to the season forthcoming
Notices pinned up for names to be adding
Smiles all around, with just the occasional scowl,
A hope that there will be no need to call foul

The clubhouse buzzes with earnest intent
Then out to the tourney let’s make it a splendid event
The captains’ words, he or she does expound
Then split into teams, handshakes all around
Newbies rubbing shoulders with those so well versed
But all are now equal, in the sport, deeply immersed

Sadly, time moves on, to the final day
The verve that filled many a step, no longer gay
Shoulder to shoulder, members stand, only one game to finish
Please let it end with a wonderful flourish
Rink number one from road to sea for that tourney
Soon, a final drink, leaving only, the homeward journey

The evening draws on, a slight chill in the air
The last wood to be bowled, Oh! let it be fair,
That sensuous curve, it’s on the right track,
Closer, yet closer, nearing the jack,
This one final effort please don’t let it miss
Then slowly, slowly, they touch.

A last fond kiss.

(Photo is of Jackie, my wife)

Photograph and poem © Jack Purvis OOPs