Grease Slighting

Always on the wrong foot

From the wrong side of the bed

Will preach a vitriolic gripe

Spout comments better left unsaid

In a scratchy broken record rut

Repeating what remains behind

To leave you reeling with the feeling

How slight the sleight side is defined

A remorseless table turner

Sham double-dealing underhand

To mock eschew your point of view

Then leave you legless where you stand

For them, it’s not the argument

Nor hot pursuit of how things are

But dagger jabs and poison stabs

Sharp retorts that leave a scar

Supercilious

With automatic eyebrows

Left or right self-raising

Objecting to the lower types

Denying well earned praising

Hoity-toity undermining

Disapproving with a squint

Preserving order in the lesser place

Among the menial stint

Without merit wearing dead men shoes

Has risen by default

By snobbery soaked in ignorance

And good fortune’s catapult 

Ostensibly

On the face of it the reason’s sound

No need to dish up dirty slop

Where what is said is plausible

Until the greater heights let drop

Newsprint guys may catch a scent

Of clues to twig in hot pursuit

Where seemingly the answer’s in

A pirate chest of rustled loot

Champagne glasses smugly raised

Patted backs are slapped all round

For those besieged in guarded bastions

Live trinket lives extremely found

Here Is the Weather

Weather is
a time machine

That holds the future
and the past

Connected by
a set of rules

Predicting nothing due
can last

Its route was changed
by yesterday

Which never settled
as it should

Before tomorrow
trying something new

Arranged our
future neighbourhood

So, in the end,
today we see

Stampeding out
of fixed effects

A raging force
on a pre-set course

Where the past designed
what’s next

Rubbish Rant

STORY LINK

The guilty game of laying blame

On the common shopping sack

Believe taxation will deter

Those who dump and don’t look back

The Litter-Lout will throw about

Empty packets nonetheless

Habitual discard trashy lobs

Lawless chumps who don’t care less

Plastic bags are made by billionaires

Who carry-off enormous cash

Spewing out their mass production

So generating bags of trash

Taxation is the government way

To maximise collection

Squeezing dry the little guy

Who takes no part in dereliction

Plastic bags for free have never been

Hid in costs per item paid

Oceans have been laid to waste

With rot-free rubbish human-made

So let us face the facts responsibly

By plastic bag eradication

Stop producing toxic carriers

And packaging contamination

Odd Goings On

Closet cupboard lover

There’s a cupboard in the cellar

In the murky musty gloom

Where unsavoury dust has settled

In the misplaced futile room

This tunnel to neglected voids

Now sealed forever out of sight

Has a lonely twice trod footprint

Where dejection stayed one night

For here the memories disappeared

No longer speaking to the bones

In this cupboard where the skeleton

Hangs out among the undertones

SKY HIGH CLUB

I suffer aeronautic ears

That block and bubble when I fly

Affecting sounds of simple words

From my telly tuned to Sky

Not content with reading lips

Half-heard crucial narratives

Pleading with my wife to tell

The missing detail on what gives

Sadly though quite recently

She says her ears no longer prone

To pick up on the plot I’ve lost

Nor doesn’t hear me when I moan

“What was that? What did they say?”

She cocks a deaf-un to my pleas

As I rewind or turn the volume up

To louder muffled mysteries

Then suddenly it dawns on me

As though an omen caught my eye

I phone for technical support

Get through to Damien at Sky

Explaining that it’s murder here

Our sound has got the evil eye

We cannot quite believe our ears

You little devil tell us why

I could feel him staring down the phone

As I made clear my earie state

When Damien warbled “Luvvly Jubbly

I can fix that for you mate”

He offered me a one-off deal

To lift the wicked hex that blocks

From here on I will hear it all

Because I bought the sky sound box

No more malignant evenings

No Raven spitting feathers curse

The hateful muffles exorcized

That put my lugholes in reverse

That Damien is a smoothie 

He'll earn a fortune flogging wares

Why not move to Rodney's Peckham pad

Sky-bound next years millionaires

Many thanks to Damien at Sky for lifting the dark cloud of malevolent sound creeping out of our TV. If I had a good cartoon I would use it in this post.

Copyright ©  C K Letts  Year Posted 2018

Certain Changes

Every time a tale retells itself

Adding characters to each scene

Storyline connections stretch

Into landscapes unforeseen

Springtime is where the here begins

To write a contract with the cast 

Its optimistic narrative

Denies authority to the past

Summer is the nurture glade

Full of airborne shimmering treasure

Enticing all to join the feast

Indulge the ecstasy of pleasure

Autumn  hangs a threadbare curtain

Brought down on summer's stage

Time draws near to write the year

On the white of winters page 

Copyright ©  C K Letts  Year Posted 2017

The Cusp At Hand

When my pen is indecisive

However much I try

All the words that struggle through

Too heavyweight to fly

Sitting gaping in a blur

Hoping something comes along

As I look out impatiently 

Letting slight ideas float on

Leading edges in my margin notes

Inklings dancing jeeringly

Withering my sense of I know what

Refracting angles blind to me

Insinuating lack of depth

Tenuous plots transparent thin

Ever hoping something other will

Turn up a spanking brand-new spin

Onward then persistently

Digging deep not snatching straws

As I anticipate my nib

Yet again I stamp on flaws

I cobbled this together after watching Ian Macmillan on Countryfile  BBC 1 Countryfile the link will expire in 19-days

The Rhyme Bandit

 

A long time ago I wrote a rhyme

Without any outward aim

And since that time so many more

Rhyme became my writing game

I’d love to tell you why I do

Explain the purpose of my bidding

As if my motive was a master plan

And if I did I would be kidding

Could they be a moment framed

Or trite imaginings with frills

Introductions to the stuff I see

Or when enthrallment overspills

Well if that’s true then why a rhyme

A kind of runaway quatrain

My stanza lone when couplet prone

The curse of verse graffiti’s stain

But looking back I know these rhymes

Have purged the inner me I find

In a land where I  can’t understand

The shy inside my inner mind

Ultimate Weather

Coastal squalls a seagull calls

Let’s fold away and rest

Find shelter in a windbreak hide

Haven's flight free comfort nest

The air is full of weather stress

Thermal spires collapse

Counteracting sinew energy

Gauntlet runs haphazard traps

Waiting in whilst waiting out

Persistent forceful hurricane

Howling streams electric screams

The natural norm is now insane

Fortress guardians send messages

Killing time 'til  storms retreat

Seagulls test their wingspan lift

Where driving hunger must compete

Short and Tweet

Sitting perched in readiness

To sing out to the world

Whistling messages harmonious

That tweet and peep to be unfurled

Tuning in responsively

To other perch replies

Who having passed the idea on

A two-way street of feather flies

Not every birdie flocking here

Will share a squeaker’s corner view

Cordially in tweet pursuit

With magpie eyes on silver hue

The chorus rarely synchronised

Many droppings random land

Though some will meet the tweet repeat

Among the stormy clouds of sand

My Best Guess

Sitting still at Action Station

Feeling change is on the way

No sign yet from which direction

Prevailing winds will have their say

A window pane is softly muttering

Emerging slowly from deep sleep

Doorways pulse in measured tempo

Discarded wrappers scratch and creep

For the future makes an early play

Giving hints on its position

Revealing riddles to the weather eye

Who must react to each decision

Rearrangements bounce like lotto balls

Leaps of faith that swirl at will

As excitement reaches fever pitch

Taking turns to tease and thrill

My Day Friday

Friday isn’t Friday yet

Until the afternoon

When all last minute must do’s

Are no longer table-strewn

Tidied up and stashed in drawers

The stumped and do next week’s

Thoughts of being in control

A weekend full of aimless peaks

Our Friday friend is standing by

To opens doors on our way out

To breathe the air of devil may care

As we repair to showing out

Bearing in Mind

A thoughtful headed human

With abundant power to think

Looks two ways at everything

Therefore always on the brink

Seeing and absorbing crams

Alternate ways of scanning

Based on where it stands at times

Subject to attentive planning

It’s not enough to sit around

And wait for something in the news

A thoughtful head finds time to spare

New ways replacing long held views

In Addition Too

I'm counting on you

Counting on numbers

One through to ten

Using fingers and thumbs

Nimble trim tallymen

Trustworthy and fixed

Intact and complete

Numerically pointed

Gliding abacus feat

Overall assistants

Number crunchers true

Yielding answers simply

One-on-one as they do

United they stand hand on hand

Copyright © C K Letts Year Posted 2018

Occasionally

Laughter lines of yesterday

Once a guardian of your smile

Kept the funny side of sunny side

Held merry going for a while

How we laughed at simple silliness

Cheerful tears oozed from our eyes

Before the easy ways lost painless days

And took away that sweet disguise

Hearing strains of chosen good time songs

Relived in photograph reminds

Retelling magic legend chronicles

Our final feature film rewinds

Did I Say That

Based on a set of five essays on memory
as broadcast on BBC Radio 3 - 26^th Jan 2018

LINK to Essays

In muddled games of 'hide and seek'

Announcing past stuff I recall

Recollecting states of hand me downs

Where I am never sure at all

Conversations in my childhood

My only clue those photographs

A comic book of joke existences 

Long day summer blue-sky laughs

Now that I come to think of it

As more and more I try to do

These misty steamed up memories

No longer let me think them through

How do I know what makes me up

Among my route maps misdirected

Like headlines of my past passed by

In cutting rooms of things rejected

A shopping bag less missing items

Where absent minds can’t repossess  

Something needed from that other room

I know not what and cannot guess

I originally wrote this on my blog Timely Rhymes Link to Timely Rhymes

Breakfast Love

Serve a breakfast to your love

Use the largest eggs you’ve got

Nestle up with crispy toast

Drizzled honey hits the spot

Add a  gentle morning compliment

Your loving cup a hot teapot

Chip Buffet

Marina has a chip shop

Peddles crackling roes in batter

A swimming dish of hot dipped fish

For the crispy sea-fare platter

Vessel shaped her sail-in chips

A nibble take-out for your lunch

Seaside sea-air hand to mouth

Abundant mushy pleasing munch

Find a wall or friendly bench

Create a table laid in lap

Fish and chip shop specialty

Alfresco gourmandize on tap

For A Moment

We are the pixel pieces

In some unknown picture show

Making up each tiny shape

So many pixels we don’t know

Now and then we get in touch

With others in our shade

Who add a new dimension

Refreshing patterns up for trade

We are the parts of bigger pictures

Border lines in paintbrush games 

A cinematograph of trace and shade

Found in reels of zoomed in frames

Ready Reckoning

When everything was said and done

No more doing left to do

Too late to snatch at one last straw

Or need to change that point of view

The die was cast and setting fast

Silence growing day by day

The last train left three weeks ago

Before that final flag display

The game was up but no one cheered

For the future ended here

Washed away in  molten ice

No saving graceful charioteer 

Peacefully a one last bubble popped

Mountain peaks lay deep below

A pregnant pause as all the natural laws

Refreshed themselves again to grow

Dad

That timeless picture hanging 

Behind our homestead entrance door

Harking back to olden days

No carpets on the flagstone floor

All sat together by one fireplace 

Home service BBC

Three jumpers and a cardigan

The outside loo and freezing pee

You couldn’t sit there whingeing 

Things could be worse by far

“So lick your plate be glad you ate

Take the jug I need a jar”

Dither and Wither

Winter with its lack of warmth

Competes with summer without ice

A living battle to console our clothes

For contentment at a price

Challenged by our life’s extremes

On mettle testing escapades

Swing pendulums to furthest points

Where ‘the either or’ pervades

At the absolutes of precipice

We must heed our warning voice

If by being here we’re unprepared

We find there is no other choice

Shot Sighted

Pete the six-gun poet

Snipes a hot quip from the hip

In the firing line a turn of phrase

From a whiplash cutting lip

His bullet points convincing

Piercing any hard-edged shield

Where hidden lah-di-dah's reside

Will force a high horse humbled yield 

Not a one for taking prisoners

Who hide behind the get out clause

Confronted with no hiding place

Felled by caustic pellet spores

Rhymeatism

  

I have no business being here

I have no goods to sell

My twitter feed is scattered seed

A raft that floats the current swell

If by chance you read a line

Which takes you to another thought

No need to pay just have your say

Maybe an idea that you sought

Keep an eye out for a word surprise

Let it fill your ragged sacks

See light glow in your picture frame

Lay back - look in - relax

By the Book

They’re changing many do’s and don’ts

To cope with new uncovered lacks

Where shortfalls showed up shortages

Pinpointing drop-throughs in the cracks

All things considered good or bad

Have been rewritten to replace

Poor construction misconceptions

That have bearings on each case

Precedents that once held court

Have lost positions as good guides

Replaced by standards more secure

Until amendment sub-divides

Best practice claims high quality

Forbidding points where lines are crossed

Whilst the money men find other ways

Spotting loopholes dodging cost

Scarborough Times

2018

Riding open top to Scarborough bays

Out on gusting Seaview lanes

Just being there in tranquil air

Relaxed and carefree no restrains

Seagull flaunts in graceful flight

Their sky-high peaks and swooping lows

Recounting primal mournful poetry

In speckled bursts of sunset glows 

Here we capture timeless moments 

Recalled in far flung other fields

Where picture postcard recollections

Hold fast our deep emotive yields

The Jokes Are On Me

 Funny things will happen

When you’re on your merry way

Triggering a dwell upon

“You’ll never guess” I say, I say 

Amusing tales that fascinate

Elaborated for the ear

Of those who like to hang on words

That get beneath a cool veneer

Did you hear or have you heard

Long gone lost comedic primes

Replaced by mono-logic quips

Tremendous laughing story lines

Crowds that meet to be amused

Sharing insights from each pun

Comic strips and streaming eyes

Diverting fast lives on the run

Drains

 

Just passing through

Wash away receptacles

Removing the discarded

In conduits and ditches

To the elsewhere disregarded

Filtering detritus streams

A natural top-soil macerator 

Softening the decomposed

A sluice refining generator

Without a churning liquidiser

Reconstituting left behinds

Life would romp in stagnant swamps

And re-imagine different kinds