Don't Quote Me

Not wishing to affect the effect

Yet still allowed to say aloud

Enjoying aural when the oral was

On balmy days in a barmy crowd

Hanging on with bated breath

I cast my baited rod abroad

Among the horde of likely fishermen

Using maggots from my hoard

Annoyed at my position

When somehow, I missed my cue

In order to review my place

I had to form another queue

Commonly Confused Words - Oxford Dictionaries

Drop One’s Bundle

Once I had a fine machine

The like of which I’d proudly boast

Until the workings worked “no more’

It then gave up the ghost

Nothing ever lasts forever

Especially things we need the most

How tough it is to be without

When things give up the ghost

I could have written so much more

If I’d have stayed engrossed

I stopped awhile and then came back

But this work gave up the ghost

Tides Get High

All that stuff lives left behind

To rot and be transformed

Becoming jewels and fossil fuels

Cooking, washing, fires that warmed

Evidence mounts that rot is not

In the long-term life sustaining

By fouling up our precious air

Greenhouse clouds are heat retaining

The billionaires aren’t happy at all

Their mountain cash may be depleted

Though what is cash but paper mash

When human life is soon defeated

The planet will get over us

For time is largely on its side

As human monsters like the dinosaurs 

Find no place where they can hide

Caboose on the Loose

Today's the day

A stranger moving in today

In the room of knives and forks

Where pots pans and kettle wait

In a box whilst no one talks

Cupboards empty of their crockery

Except a cup half filled with tea

By a couple of tools and a battery drill

Unoccupied by Ma’s debris

The target time eleven o clock

Get a move on mother’s bitching

“Remove the wrecks and clear the decks

Make room for my new kitchen”

What?

Sitting in my sitting room

Not noticing the walls

Letting eyelids take control

Looking out for what befalls

My laptop waits for keystrokes

To record what now ensues

A patient state of what occurs 

In what transpires and then accrues

Among the information stockpiles

Where the obvious collects

Sending signals of assembled lines

To be added to what’s next

Untitled

When the sound of inspiration

Rattles windows in your head

Throws open all your unlocked doors

Drags you yawning out of bed

Down the avenues to wakefulness

Every footstep that you tread

Finds you wondering what time it is

Or what you might do now instead

You have a yearning to be comforted

Somehow your plot has lost its thread

As the kettle boiling rhythm calls

Your reason why you’re up has fled

This Way --->

The proof is in the pudding

In steps you take to make a mix

Every move in turn essential

There are no shortcut tricks

Stuck in the logic of simplicity

In bite-sized chunks we're often prone

To join the route that seems the way

To other places yet unknown

Take care when merely following

In hope of better things to see

On pathways missing signposts

On roads to nowhere travelling free

Discord Abroad

When mornings start like mornings do

Demanding wide awake too soon

Cacophonies without control

As all around they change their tune

No sign of logic to the rescue

No step by step all systems gone

A dance of mad dash ‘sorry-go-round’

Half cooked toast with nothing on

One by one the grunting groans subside

Uneasy silence hangs there heavy

I dare not hear the morning news

Until I’ve dredged my teapot levy 

My Painted Lady

Wikipedia Link

She is my little beauty

My inner me to hug

A living picture valentine

My sweet Picasso bug

I pledge my heart forever

To natures love idea

Coloured brightly ardent

So much deeper than veneer

A vision on a mission

Her message clearly sweet

A winner of my heart’s desire

My little love bug so complete

A February 14th Song

Those letters that I wrote you

That read the words I never said

About the times we spent together

Things we could have done instead

Recalling dreams of living easy

The sound of songs we made our own

With all the living possibilities

On many roads we shared alone

Walking high roads and the low roads

Climbing rugged mountain slopes

Taking weather as it always is

Wherever next that kept our hopes

Leaving remnants of our storyline

In the orchards of our days

Written in the minds of left behinds

Who shared our long hot summer days

Many well meant conversations

Every wistful heartfelt sigh

Driven on by hopes of no regrets

To write that final line goodbye

Way To Go

Now and then a day arrives
With nothing much to do
Too cold to be inviting
Every moment colours blue

Hot tea on my table top
Bacon sandwich by its side
Bad news on the radio
Where many worlds collide

Trains and buses running late

Weigh in heavy from the start

With a can't be bothered attitude

Today I haven't got the heart

Maybe I'll rifle through my workshop

Remind myself what I could try

Put away the stuff not put away

Achieving more or less I sigh

The Creature

A creature sat there gloomily

As the sunrise soaked its sight

Not used to such exposure

It was a creature of the night

Daytime creatures looked amazed

To see a creature such as this

One or two had licked their lips

Imagined creature breakfast bliss

The creature felt uncomfortable

But not the least bit unprepared

Though away from things habitual

Still large enough to not be scared

Features of this creature showed

At very least a hefty beast

Not used to being seen at large

Nor any lesser creature’s feast

Eventually with hangdog air

It sauntered back among the trees

To seek a hide where deep inside
There would be sleepwalk guarantees

A Bit Off

Tetchy testy matters not
Now and then we grump
Snappy cranky peevish
Sometimes we get the hump

But never mind it's how it goes
Give thanks for being wise
Crabby, cross, exonerated
We must accept apologise

That’s the way we beings are
Too often easily offended
When suddenly our feelings hurt
Requires a cool down recommended

Digging up

Often questioning the ‘who one is?’

Until one day with good intention

He set off to unearth his cause

And not be bypassed by convention

After meeting many changing minds

Talking openings and closings

Reflecting how unfair life is

Around the sundries and supposing’s

Frustrated by constraints on change

In spite of finding much anew

That proved the need to disregard

The pointless point of view

On returning having found his way

Much acquired revealed by stealth 

In circles spinning round and round

He never found more than himself

Anglishcised

Unique, amusing and food for thought
I recommend this dictionary

By far and away from the fuss

In a school with a strange quyllabus

Where little is prone 

in language unknown

To be larger not lesser than plus

The teachers won’t fussmucker round

Quiplomatic with ears to the ground

Quarter-hearted by strife

Through Quigh’s meaning of life

Find that dancing glissage is groundbound

In the morning when zespers are said

From the wundle by torchlight they read

Godsmacked in the hall

Late arrivals befall

A riddlesome puzzle instead

Check this link to Hoptanglish

Asking is Not Finding

When anyone asks for an answer

Rather than searching for clues

The answer alone lacks meat on the bone

Doing nothing to nourish new views

Too many places where answers appear

Denying the brain a reason to keep

No need to learn the wherefores and why’s

Is now putting astuteness to sleep

Controllers are jumping for joy

Allowed to dictate the minds going numb

Who do what they’re told, buy what is sold

Pushed about under media’s thumb

So beware of the 'answer machine'

If you feel you deserve something more

Than answers your fed, to slow down your head

Saves your life from becoming a bore

Clear Cut

Today I’m in decisive mode

So many sure things in the air

Surprises have no place today

No need to entertain a dare

Everything is as expected

All my eggs are basket laid

Hatching plans look opportune

Each situation has it made

My footsteps firm and forthright

Not a chance that I might trip

And any moment now I’m sure

Homeward bound will dock my ship

Coiffure Time

My beard and bonce are shabby

I’ll need to sort my lack of style

Check in at the barber-stop

Where they'll shear my ragged pile

My shock of locks will be attended

Reverse my stubbled  lack of flair

A princely trim of clipper strim

Restore  my verve and debonair

Then proudly with my pate adorned

A dapper napper on the town

I’ll strut my stuff no sign of rough

Parade my smoothly sculpted crown

February Streets

I’d like to sleep this weather off

In blanket huddles curled up warm

To be indifferent to the ice surround

And not be witness to the storm

No need to think about activities

Or meagre morsels on my plate

As I while away the winter hours

Too wide awake to hibernate