Flow to Go

He’s a top-notch analytical 

analysing industry

Where the busy teams

need super vision

On their daily target spree

A guiding light consistent

With cogent process plans

His valid stake in steps to take

Turning ‘don’t-do’s’ into cans

A master of the ‘check-it-out’

His diagnostic crucial keys

Set the scenes of ways and means

Required essentially to squeeze

Kilo-Verse Hours

It seemed a chore more tedious

To write a chiliad of rhyme

Questioning with Kilo What’s?

Such a grand-stairway to climb

Chasing any word that moves

For milligrains of something more

Many thousand roads and alleyways

Umpteen paths to yet explore

Led on by early hours ideas

Too numerous to count

Lyric lines in milli-meter

Seldom clear-cut to surmount

Looking back to find a motive

And put this killing-verse to bed

Raise my hands accept the blame

One thousand pardons for my head

Oxford Dictioaries - Oh what a lovely word

On this 30th Day in July 2018 my 69th birthday. I completed my blog quest to exceed a thousand rhyme posts along with 160 mini-muses. A special 'THANK YOU' to all who pop in for a peep at my wordy extravanzaas and apologies to all the really great poets who howl in dismay at my impertinent missives.

Now Where Was I

Sitting unused in the evening sun

This day has somehow paused

To leave me checking second thoughts

As something else I may have caused

Quite sure I’m still responsible

A doing-nothing activist

Who begs for silence to be heard

A here and now contortionist

Reflecting on my mirror images

That back and forth in light diffused

Swapping sides a picture paralysed

Where right and left look back confused

Bucolic Frolic

Slow down Sunday so they say

A seventh day of rest

Dallying doing handiwork

Minor borderlines at best

Early risers on the fairway

Swing away to hearts desire

Sweet spot strikes a perfect shot

Sunday’s handicap's conspire

Church bells join in singing

Special breakfasts on the go

Perusing gardens in the Sunday air

Bibs and tuckers out on show

Maybe bake a cake or pudding

Enjoyed with lunchtime wine

Take a walk about the village scene

Let ticking over realign

Enjoyable Ingredients

Life is living everywhere

Searching to fulfil

Doing what the living do

A lineage of will

On top or in the show below

A camouflage in good repair

Living menus on the table

Fresh today or what’s left there

Life is all things edible

Hunger drives each needy yearn

For those who made it yesterday

Are tomorrow’s final turn

No matter how you fill your space

Each living cycle is progression

A game of passing through today

Is merely hand to mouth succession

End of an Era

Torrential rain is telling me

That something’s going down

Soil around me parched beyond

In disparate shades of brown

The money men on bottom lines

Are seeking ways to drag it out

Squeezing all remaining moisture

Lending profits one last shout

Chomping everyone’s last morsel

Before tomorrow leaves us out

Selling tickets for the festival

With no audience to tout

We colonised and fraternised

Building empires great and good

Desecrating natures wonderland

We sucked the lungs out of our wood

Vain gloriously our temples high

Pleaded mercy for our wrongs

As if a choir could ever mitigate

The way we plundered natures songs

If I May Have A Word

Living in a well-read book

Where words most probable

Live happily in eloquence

Enjoined connected plausible

Aspiring in smart paragraphs

In high rise printing blocks they view

With conviction their description

Introduces something new

Making sense in past or present tense

Attending to the readers eyes

Who follow eagerly the characters

Plainly written in disguise

A Ramble Amble Gamble

Heading nowhere purposeless

Taking pot luck on my feet

Clicking rhythm of a Rolling Stone

Out of time on limbo street

Happy drifting in the hollow space

To some way-out lyric line

Imagining I’m holding court

I sing in Muddy Waters time

The bending notes of desolation

Grabbing at my heart and soul

A wishing well of all the love I miss

I pay the heavy midnight toll

Stale Pace

Hail the thoughtless blinkered fools

One track minds without remorse

Living lives on one-way streets

They keep their ‘My Way’ only course

Never looking for the untried way

Ignoring broad street avenues

Preferring routes in worn out boots

Stuck in the mud of ‘Poor Me’ blues

“Doing only what we always do”

Fearing situations strange

Just in case they lose their comfort zone

Blind to brand new calls for change

Thankfully they’re happiest

In prisons cells of repetition

The self-imposed who never diagnosed

Fresh ways to alter their condition

Blood Moon Song

UK Friday 27th July 2018  21:15 - Midnight

Story Link: The Week - Blood moon: what it is and how to watch on Friday

Sitting ‘Piggy in the middle’

On a moonlight Friday bright

As refraction paints a solar scene

Of moonshine  rosy red delight

Atmospherically this overfly

Gives our sun its orange hue

A light show stretch elastic

Skylight shades of wistful blue

A sight to see this rarity

Electric orchestra of light

Electromagnet holding eyelines

Rayleigh scattering the night

Whose Round Is It?

Story Link: Petition launched to drink foul sarcophagus fluid

There are those who have a need to drink

A cocktail cup of human paste

And so many who are daft enough

As sixteen thousand vote to taste

Millenia of ingression seeps

Are now a toxic putrid potion

Wishing to ingest a fusty slop

Is at best a perilous notion

It seems there is a weird belief

A ‘Mummy Powerful’ solution

That drinking dodgy sewage drafts

Will bring on ‘New Age’ absolution

Although Egyptians like the rest of us

Who wished longevity immortal

To live in Never-Ever Land

By slipping through a cryptic portal

As for me I think I’ll pass on this

Taking best bets ascertained

Leaving Flies to drink my shitty share

As I on Sewage Juice abstained

Peculiar Pieces of Eight

In our spatial tiny minor spot

Afloat in vastness hardly known

Where seeds of mathematics grow

In all directions number prone

Calculations seek to unify

A final theory which explains

How all the numbers neatly fit

In most beautiful terrains 

Forces physics clashing particles

Can strike the dabbler as insane

Making neat and tidy everything

Wrapped up within the ‘Fano Plane’

As we project our understanding

In the smallest outlines dot-to-dot

Solutions end up most peculiar

In hyper strings without a knot

Story Link

Do have a browse on the above link it is truly amazing how humans are moving towards the ultimate essence of everything. So I rhymetized the journey with a tongue packed in my cheek.

Space Time

Being here and there apparently

It is more likely that one sees

Like standing in a 'trail of things'

Tricky time-span mysteries

Living upbeat in my ‘Now Point’

In my world of self-deception

Allowing me an inkling

On fake illusions of perception

Confounded by my state of play

And my somewhere nonexistence

I wonder where I ought to be

Amid my angles of consistence

All at once I’ve been and gone

Or still waiting for my birth

Whilst never having been here yet

I am my future place on earth

So thanks a bunch for numbers

Maybe I’ll meet them during sleep

Or in my wakefulness rewound again

Prepared to take the quantum leap

 

Past present and future is only an illusion albeit a persistent one

NEW - STORY LINK


I first posted this rhyme on my blog Arhythmytic'. and now I have read a recent article in Quanta Magazine  Octonions . I'm no mathematicion not even in the slightest sense but I do enjoy the descriptions of super complexities these great minds bestow on us. I am re-reading the octonion article in hope that I might rhymetise the subject, such is my cheek.

Brainpickings Link

Concerto Crescendo

The trumpet blast of new arrivals

In a fanfare of loud air

A thumping heart accelerato 

Without a voice to sing despair

Early hours of affrettando

Agitato pleas for love

Demanding cover in the intervals

Syncopation’s music glove

To set the tone of expectation

Wrapped in a tenerezza coat

Living for a share of harmony

They finished on a pleasant note

Long Hot Dog Days

A bell proclaims school year is done

Let go the leash of uniforms

The learning war has called time-out

Summer sun rejects brainstorms

Put on your freedom clear-cut robes

Walk the fresh air with best friends

Meet and greet on any sunny street

Make plans with latest trends

These are days for making memories

No time to waste on inward bounds

Being street smart with the uptown kids

Is where it’s at in sunshine sounds

Make the best of now at your command

Keep your carriages at canter

Perform your stage lit summer show

Keep it cool with real life banter

Your Starter for Ten

Once upon a blank page line

A story laid in waiting

To capture thoughts original

Held by a writer hesitating

How then should a book begin

To captivate inquiring eyes

Should it gently build suspense

Or shake the opening with surprise

The writer’s blank expression

Blended with the vacant page

Wrote four words then crossed them out

And suffered first line rage

As the anger flood dissolved away

Tension eased new thoughts occurring 

As pages filled the writer thrilled

A sense of far beyond inferring

All through the night a writer’s plight

Must chase away a weak conclusion

By reading like a reader would

And so avoid The End confusion

Joie de vivre

The past was never quite like that

Today is changing by the hour

Futures turn on previous ends

Means no guess will have the power

Be happy in the moment served

Pay no attention to your giving

For what you gave you cannot save

So just enjoy the love of living

It’s not the what you should’ve done

But how you deal with present ways

Placing bets on overcoming debts

Can leave you cornered in life’s maze

Summer Evening July

Where else but now as daylight dims

With mellow breezes emphasizing

How warm the sunrays where today

The evening dew cool crystalizing 

A shape of cold beer on my table laid

Soothing smooth a quench inspired

Immersed in kindred easy time

So little else of more required

Pleasantly these placid hours pass

As we retire in gentle frame

Agreed to dream again here soon

Moonlight smiles our restful claim

The Wild Card

With lack of manners or respect

His mother thought him cute and sweet

“He doesn’t mean to be so mean”

She saw no wrong in his conceit

And as he grew in self assertion

Convinced he was the perfect choice

Became the louder mouth of those like him

Infatuated with his voice

With little time for playing any rules

Grabbed lion shares without remorse

Not doubting personal éminence grise
This double-dealing tour de force 

Centered by his sense of flawlessness

He wildly slid the downward drop

To drown in gloom of history’s doom

At Nemesis Railway Station stop

Waiting For Logo's

On days when I lack mull appeal

My empty net without a catch

Inspiration stations on the blink

When interlocks refuse to latch

I gather up a ball of loose ends

After filtering the knots

Sit back and stare at empty air

Not even focusing on spots

My inner self maybe annoyed with me

For overlooking brainy clues

Not hearing words that call to mind

The simplicity of muse

As Expected

Swimming in together shoals

All at one with one another

Taking turns within the in-crowd

On the lookout under cover

Doing what we always do

Chancy spins in life’s roulette

To bounce around the spinning wheel

A guessing game of our best bet

Riding high on peaks of energy

Propagating for tomorrow

In the bedrock of resourcefulness 

No need to beg or steal or borrow

Caught off guard in suddenly

The palace of the unprepared

Where the rule of action stations

Wrote a new book to be shared

Just In Time For You

The amazing you

First of all, let's look at you

And 'Odds Against' you being here

Such opportunity complexities

That go beyond the cosmic sphere 

The number is ginormous vast

Much more than every speck of dust

But you're here you know you are

Though temporarily robust

A lucky living strange coincidence

Acquiring ways to understand

Advised by those who make your rules

Until wisdom guides your hand

All those challenges you overcame

Each random prospect in the light

A final journey of a life by chance

Will be the hardest you will fight

Dr Ali Binazir "So what’s the probability of your being born? It’s the probability of 2.5 million people getting together — about the population of San Diego — each to play a game of dice with trillion-sided dice. They each roll the dice — and they all come up the exact same number — say, 550,343,279,001.

A miracle is an event so unlikely as to be almost impossible. By that definition, I’ve just proven that you are a miracle.

Now go forth and feel and act like the miracle that you are."

Mutt

By the window sill sat staring

Watching waiting wearily

Seeing faces in a backdrop blur

A state of wakeful bleary lee 

Facing up to tedium

Until the happiness returns

As the wagging tail anticipates

The disappearance of concerns

Living dreams of momentary joy

To greet again its favourite friend

To walk once more the aromatic path

Where all the other mutts transcend

Not me Oh No Not Me

 

They built themselves a buoyant boat

Where those afloat each had an oar

A coxswain pulling steering strings

They had team strategies galore

Though sometimes paddle angles

Out of rhythm lost their strokes

Causing stress upon the slipstream

And all the effort that provokes

They pulled hard into a watershed

To rearrange some seat positions

With a view to change some crew

In hope avoid offset divisions

New oarsmen who felt fit and strong

Demanded much more stray their way

Causing louder shouts and coxswain strain

Schemed other routes to sway the day

Not noticing the buoyant boat

Now overweight from too much drink

As the coxswain pulling other strings

Watched the whole caboodle sink

Floating homeward to the shoreline

To stand again they all agreed

That rudders lacking engine strength

Made their failings guaranteed

Hard Pressed

What makes a mind

want to write down its stuff

Teasing out words 

like it can’t get enough

Continually drafting

Annoyingly rough

To produce gut reactions

Quips straight off the cuff

Lines going criss-cross

A mish mashing slough

In a jumbled-up story

Playing blind man’s buff

Taunted by characters

On a shin digging scuff

Entrenched in tale telling

Distracted by bluff

Then gathering dust

In a snow storm of fluff

Settling on pages

Wrung out in a huff

Hullabaloo

In a world of din surrounding us

Blaring blasts of clatter noise

Rumpus rackets clamorous 

Raining death on our enjoys

Sounds of silence in the naked light

Reading lips of words unheard

Sitting hushed inside a padded cell

A Nightingale sings undeterred

On a hypertensive turmoil train

Ruckus clacks on railway tracks

Disrupting anybody’s quiet life

Relieved when carried off in sacks

The Week Unwrapped podcast: Death by decibel, sand theft and civic terror

Sunday Morning Dressing Gown

Are you the tooth fairy? 

No I'm the Truth Fairy.

Jimmy? did you know you are responsible for how your life turns out?

At the same time there are forces which uou have no hope of controlling which can damage your life forever! 

Not only are these seemingly contradictory statements I'm not sure which one is more daunting.

One more thing, someday you will die.

The Sunday hours are striking bells

The Sunday morning all around

For those who like to be among

Shared dreams of most profound

For those enjoying hearty breakfasts

Sunday papers wholesome reads

A distant ring reminding each

How kinship benefits from good deeds

That was the way when people met

To weekly meet whatever next

Now Vicars from their pulpits send

Their sermon messages in text

An Eke Name

 

Let’s assume by other nom de plume

See one eyed royals one eyed jacks

Watching out for one eyed geezers

Especially kings who pack the axe

Or the paleface in the background scene

Who was never one to boast

And could fade away in brighter lights

To be known by all as ‘Ghost’

Peg-Leg with her walking stick

Tap dancing in the night

A nom de guerre to fear beware

Will fill your sleep with fright

Those known around localities

Who play along to win the game

Clandestine cryptic monica’s

With their spritely spite nickname

Oxford Dictionaries Link

Off the Page

Air aglow with burning midnight oil

Flaunting thoughts in monochrome

Keeping up with tempo metrical

That driving rainfall metronome

Scrawling anything incessantly

To find a meaningful resource

In a pitter-patter splatter

Out of key without remorse

As expected when the flood subsides

Raking through the sediment

How growing plants need not preserve

All other ways to represent

So in the end we’ll start again

As we take it from the top

Enthusing every chorus line

In figure dancing skip and hop

Tell Us Another One Do

Oh, how they howled with laughter

At the Joker’s turn of phrase

Who could make a sentence ticklish

By underusing overplays

Keeping declarations clear to hear

With funny use of common speech

Could surprise and light expectant eyes

By putting mundane out of reach

For that’s the way to tell a joke

By turning tables altogether

Using down to earth for all its worth

In the vane of merry weather

Amusement seeks out laughter lines

Tapping in to smiles preferred

It’s not the joke but how it feels

When giggle punchlines smack absurd

Shambhala

 We’re putting up a garden fence

A warm embrace around our place

For when we feel the need to sit

And contemplate our special space

We’ve planted three magnolias

To satisfy our background glance

Amid arrays of hanging basketry

Where we can breathe in leisure’s trance

We like to call it Camp Composure

Our natural room to point our view

A trickle charge of sweet tranquillity

In twilight trace of mindful dew

Lines of Force

In circles that she mixes in

Discussing views around the rim

Not taking sides on central points

Or moving outside on a whim

Avoiding one side of the argument

Until it’s clear why they agree

Steering clear of taking too much spin

Just for the sake of harmony

Taking votes by showing hands apart

Coining phrases to explain

Allows the middle ground a foothold

Forestalling digress in the main

Each turn is taken in the ring

Where spheres of influence surround

What goes around can turn two ways

Preventing knockout blows unsound

Not Well Blessed

Erupting sprays of grubby spores

Discharging from my Nasal cleft

infective panic chaos manic

No healthy airspace left

Screams of “did you have to mate”

As I reeled weak kneed from shock

No chance I had to hold it back

Every stiffened limb in lock

I stumbled through like Quasimodo

Bumping shoulders spilling drinks

Spluttering drooling dripped apologies

As more eruptions scaled their brinks

“Oh My God make way, make way”

The hostess bellowed in disgust

Then I skidded on a sliding cube

More like a raging bull in must

With streaming eyes and breathlessness

I now began to cough and wheeze

I seized a passing waiter’s cloth

Then blew the tray with one last sneeze