The Letter

There’s a letter lying waiting

Through my letterbox front door

The post mark is too fine to see

So where it came from I’m not sure

I often play this guessing game

Though disappointed when I find

As once again a pointless circular

Sent to the rubbish bin declined

But now and then more then than now

A body writes with penmanship 

I read it twice then once again

Dwelling deeply on each snip

So if a letter lying waiting there

Has a chance of read review

I’ll place it high as most essential

Along with pressing matters true

Then carefully will lay it flat

With correspondence I will treasure

As part of special times gone by

My chronicles of studied pleasure

Can’t Stop Must Hop

My ‘up-and-at-em’ appetite

Sets off my super motion mode

My limbs are bursting full of vims

And my vigour needs no goad

The sun is throwing spears at me

I skip and catch all I can grab

I’ve put my do-list into first things first

Avoiding things becoming drab

I get my needed bits and pieces

Spread them out like surgeons do

Spurring on my active action plan

It’s my springtime breaking through

Tabula Rasa

When a new born child arrives

With no innate perception

Without a clue no point of view

Nor any predilection

In need of warmth and suckle love

Sleeping soundly until when

Confusion of the senses call

Hunger’s fear torments again

Surrounded by so many clues

As each wakeful hour presents

Until the shades of patterned light

Make out where stories can commence

Living deep within surrounding hearts

Roaming free in brand new dreams

Consciousness demanding who we are

As ‘why?’ resides between sunbeams

Cosmical Cornetcopia

Credit: NASA/JPL

We’re taking space in restaurants

Us garden gastrognomes

Having landed in the milkshake whey

We drink in the starlight foams

We’ve travailed far for just desserts

Where back on Mars we had a plan

Jest for luck we filled up trucks

Out flatbeds made of marzipan

On the weigh we carried much indeed

Kept of course on our slipstream

With no fear of terror fervour

We’ll lick our foes with Marsicecream

Based on:

The Great Mistake

When confusion reigns and all around

Compass needles spinning

Where those in charge of promises

Dare not dream again of winning

They’ve fouled their doorsteps dirty

From their offside none shall pass

Ragged reins not steering what remains

They shamble headlong into farce

Pretender vultures circle low

Amid the scent of putrid air

As turning coats may save some votes

Whilst others drown in deep despair

Tea Times Table

Rising from the bed-box

To a pre-arranged alarm

Having snoozed defiantly

To reappear in wakeful calm

I nip down to the kitchen

Fill the kettle up afresh

Warm and fill the teapot 

Then let the brew enmesh

I sit and let myself arrive

Playing catch-up with my head

Morning news brings helpless blues

I play a mindful tune instead

I briskly pour a second cup

To reinforce my first cup thrill

Slowly bringing on my readiness

If not quite there I wait until

I have no ‘Plan B’ without tea

It would strain my early state

Near the brink without tea to drink

No morning chores would undertake

Interesting

Complexity matters in the long term

The trick is in the story told

Instalments full of sections

Where the what is said is partial

To keep a sense of new directions

Telling all denies inventiveness

It may leave the time served stale

Where in the end is nothing new

We need a semblance of a veil

Who we  were or who we are

Maybe the tale that we can’t tell

Where mysteries lie deep within

At the bottom of our well

When eventually the day arrives

Where all is said and done

The weight of tiredness descends

Obscures what's left of all that fun

Overcome Blues

Sea of Pity gallops

onto rocky shore

A wicked wave 

that overwhelms

Drowning any sign

of certainty

Removes dominion 

from the realm

Consideration 

for the way things are

Not much to ask 

in driving rain

To share the silence

with a kind heart

Who won't pretend 

to feel the pain

Every journey 

is a special wend

From summer day

to winter night

When all too soon 

the story falters

With no epilogue to write

Get Together

At last night’s poet’s party

Among the passages well known

I listened out for anecdotes

But found I had to hold my own

When asked about my latest book

I said the one before was doing well

As for now it’s work in progress

So how it’s doing I can’t tell

Oh really, who’s your publisher?

I thought I’d better write that right

For although I’ve sent out manuscripts

So far, I haven’t had a bight

The party circles spun like clockwork

Till the mainspring now unwound

Let hush descend and call the end

The windup words sang out profound

Then as the room returned to form

Once again with empty pages

All nagging doubts had taken flight

The way that vacant disengages


Bight -

• "Pete finally settled on an arrangement that he was happy with, consisting of a butterfly and a long loop leading to a bowline on the bight." Oxford Dictionaries.

Make Way!!!

STORY LINK

We walk around 

Walk where we like

Love rambling

Enjoy the hike

Respect the road

The traffic flow

Our sidewalk way

We’re free to go

LookOut wheels

Of biker man

The pathway rider

Claims he can

Rings a bell

Squeals a wheel

Pushy biker’s

My-Way deal

Pays no heed

To traffic rules

Red light jumper

Two-wheel mules

Up yours mate

I’m on my bike

A highwayman

Do what I like

Middle finger

Should you protest

From Easy Rider

No contest

A Dreadful Rhyme

Caught between two spider webs

Checking out which way to hop

Facing present possibilities

Do I leap or chance a drop

I can feel a movement telling me

I haven’t long to go elsewhere

Too dark to find the anchor point

Maybe a jagged rock down there

Who knows what’s across the way

It’s too dark to trace the view

I sense a need to make my mind up now

Then realize I’m stuck with goo 

By the time you get this message

I will have passed long by the date

Smothered in a web cocoon

A feast the spider ate

Rancour All The Rage

Putting out a platitude

Proclaiming moral rectitude

When balking at the magnitude

In a point of law’s ineptitude

When answers for the multitude

Demand much more than attitude

To deal with random turpitude

With aims for global servitude

To build on lying certitude

Inflaming hate when interviewed

Destroying love where greed accrued

Leaves us on the edge of finitude

Outside on the Outside

Ambling down that street alone

Having never been before

With feelings of the offbeat kind

My watch I check to reassure

These new streets take so long to walk

Unlike my shorter streets back home

Much better if I know how far

When aimlessly I sometimes roam

The houses may seem similar

Yet still the atmosphere holds back

Next time I’ll drive or taxi here

When off the beaten track

Skinny Mini Mote

STORY LINK

Harder than diamond 

stronger than steel

Smaller than anything 

We humans can feel

As thin as an atom

A bit like a jot

More stringy and stretchy

The toughest we’ve got

Speeding up actions

Much faster than now

Untearable wearable

Trend shifting know-how

Life as we know it

Many parched on the brink

Can filter seawater

And sumptuously drink

Deeper than skin deep

Like a miracle machine

Such particle articles

Amazing graphene

Limelight

Lighting up with striking white

A spectacle on show

People drawn in fascination

To the highlight’s famous glow

Performances beyond belief

Delightful theatre of light

Illuminates a new illusion

Living pictures in the night

Everybody sitting star struck

Filled with tension and suspense

In the entertaining limelight 

A fleeting interlude intense

STORY LINK

I Had This Great Idea

Flickering thoughts

that bounce about

Will not wait 

for hands to catch

Can be netted 

in a question

And from then on

may unlatch

To be acknowledged 

and progressed

They split in 

two ways ‘either or’

Unlike answers 

speaking ‘Yes or No’

Like spinning dancers

on the floor

Mysteriously they 

come and go

Rearranged 

but unrepeated

In a tense that 

won’t make sense

Too soon discarded 

or deleted

Transformative

There is movement on my keyboard

I get the feeling change is ripe

I’ve scribbled too much rhymey stuff

I think I’ll change the way I type

To begin with I could write the end

To give me trails I might pursue

Or perhaps I’ll start in Medias Res

Where in between I follow through

Creativity my potential quest

Imagination drives each scene

That clarifies and underlies

The kind of aftermath I mean

Passed Down

Oh dearest wise Great Grand Mama

Her soothing wisdom our delight

Look before you sleep and dream

Find nothing there to spoil your night

Take time when doing clever things

Don’t let hasty call the tune

It’s not the speed that gets it done

When you have all afternoon

And time will never wait for you

When you misplace you from fun

For idleness obeys no clock

If you wait for hands to run

The world is full of oyster beds

Nothing good comes easy though

Luck will rarely help you find your pearls

For easy come is easy go

Life finds ways to test us all

We must take note of our mistakes

Accept that laurels cannot last

And balance all our gives and takes

A Little Night Write

I try to be more flexible

Let my stimulus unleash

I read a lot to find out what

A more perceptive kind of niche

I’m looking out for additives

Insert more flavour as I plod

To bolster my expressiveness

And give my impetus a prod

The reason for this exercise

Helps me type with all my write

Should a good idea in words appear

To keep me company at night

Mother’s Day

Don't wait for Mother's Day every day counts

Our robot washed the washing clean

Drip dried for hanging on the line

Our robot washed the dishes too

Removing grime restoring shine

But still there was much work to do

The hanging out and pressing

The emptying and putting back

For us to find no second guessing

Our plates and cups on tables laid

Dressed to kill and looking smart

As mother serves our favourite grub

We underestimate her part

It’s clear she thinks about us all

We take as given without thought

Every day and week throughout the year

She rarely asks us for support

We lounge about and sleep till late

Carping whingeing picking holes

Sneaking off with limp excuses

To strut our stuff on show patrols

Day in day out our life’s routine

Supported quietly without fuss

Until she’s ill or on her holiday

We wail and howl we stomp and cuss

Once a year is nowhere near enough

A mother’s life is one short straw

Remember when you raised your voice

The blame was yours you know for sure

Negatively Curved

In relating to the size of us

We are but far too small

Some place where space enormous is

Yet nowhere near to us at all

Tiny though our homestead is

In a hot bed full of life

We struggle to improve our odds

In a cauldron running rife

All depends on what comes next

Based on how we made it so

Instead of sailing on an even keel

We choose the rapids in full flow

We are but images in holograms

On a theatre stage burlesque

A vision changed by what we see

Portrayed in pictures Escheresque 

STORY LINK

Python Link

Idiomatic

Find me a word I can use as I choose

To explain and interpret my meaning

Able to vent the method I meant

Guard clarity from noise intervening

Then if when I write and try as I might

To bring imagery and vision galore

Finding the mother of one or the other

Making friends with a new word next door

Keeping succinct with a view interlinked

As my picture portrayed comes to fore

For all those that see what was written by me

Emphasised by supreme metaphor

Drawn a Blank

Staring at my blank page

I thought I’d write with nothing doing

By letting words just write themselves

To see if they have something brewing

I use this aimless method

To keep me straying from the line

Filled with words of any form

And then pretend that they are mine

I do this often when I’m clueless

All too frequently I stare

Optimistically I wait and see

If I can use whatever’s there

Then when I’ve counted sixteen lines

I check the state of my despair

Released from blank page emptiness

The blank page gone I do declare

This fab rhyme inspired by

Seedtime

On this day in early March 

Some possibilities occur

The weather and the daylight hours

Are working hard on winter’s blur

There is a pleasant sense of likelihood

That has me staring out the cloud

Saying farewell sad old season dark

Longer days will shred that shroud

Movement draws my new day curtains

I feel a sense of something near

I’ll now pretend that June is soon

Remove the remnants of last year