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But do not let us quarrel any more,

my dear. It breaks my heart to hear you say,

those things that way. I felt we were as one

on points of great import as if we shared 

our thoughts within our minds before we spoke

out loud the values cherished by us both.


But no! We’re here in troubled strife. For life?

On better days that would, I tell you this,

be just the term I wished to serve. But not in chains,

nor have you chained to me alike.


Not that! Oh far from such a penance please.

The apron’s tied, for certain's not a noose

and we can ebb and flow, unbound, released,

’til passion rages for a while, enduced? Entwined?

We were as bound, but not in chains!

By forces uncontrolled. Oh who would wish

to stifle lust, be free of love’s appeal,

to take control and act as from a script?


Far better to react with rash impulse,

enjoy the moment’s worth as stolen wealth

and fence it for a share of mutual bliss.

Not grant me that? But is it not the same

for you? Oh dear! My artful labours fail

to bear upon the point?


I'm over sexed!

And you are vexed, because of my neglect.

But now is not the time for that discourse.

Let's put it to one side, digress. Of course

we'll come to that again, yes, yes, of course!


To urgent's matter now, its crying for

a fix, you're right, this day's amiss when points

of view diverge, divide and hold no parity.




Browning and the Wife

Ian Colville

But will it last? An interim state? A mode,

a way of thinking?

Rational yes, though transient,

impermanent, I do believe. Let's hope

it's so and unity prevail once more

in this our house of wedded perfectness!


To love ...and what, you say? Adapt, conform,

but not obey? For whom would honour whom

when from a pool of two we'd choose – a queen!

To be the head of state? It shall be shared,

it must be joint, we must agree, adjust.

But how to reconcile, resolve dispute?


The logic's sound for both our causes makea sense of sorts.

A snort! I sense you feel

my case is weak and lacking somehow, clarity,

but yours my dear as equally still

lacks the substance needed for emphatic trump.Inbuilt?

Its worth is absent yet, I'd claim.

The answer lies in compromise, agreed?

A lucid, sane accord and we'll proceed.


That's what we need right now before the time's

too late, before the game will start again.

But what, quite how? I wear the kilt, you don

the trews, I reach and grasp and fail to see

that what's a metaphor, is merely imagery

and compromise means giving in to thee.

I see it now; that even though there's two,

that me and you makes we, there's only one to rule.


So yes! I give you servitude.You'll be the object of my love, my love

and subject only to affections true.

Is that enough my dear? I'll yield the throne.

You only have to switch the football on!


 Ian is a Scot who lives in England, which sometimes annoys both parties. he blogs – infrequently nowadays – on Scottish historical events (a sort of 'book of days' – which you can find ). He has had over twenty poems published in various online magazines (with editorial control) and in half a dozen or so print collections. He is a regular contributor at local poetry readings and open mic events in Bedfordshire. Some of the pieces that don't make it into magazines, He publishes for vanity here: 


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