Democracy? (all my eye and Betty Martin)

Here we in our State of things

Preserved like pickles in a crock

Demanding that our open lid

Be tightly screwed up in a lock

No longer part of anything

In our soak surrounded brine

In charge of all our little things

Hoping all will turn out fine

Summertime infused excessively

Hot air everywhere we breathe

A silly season in a madhouse

Where all the inmates want to leave

Cogito ergo sum

In this minor point of being me

A nowhere place too hard to find

Thinking things as I observe them

Without paying any mind

Not questioning the evidence

Beyond the visions in my eyes

As I struggle to interpret

So many meanings in disguise

Playing with all kinds of numbers

In other worlds where others swam

Not alone as part of consciousness

I sit and ponder who I am

Carpe Diem

Horace is a stand-up guy

A humour two-way-switch

Wizard of the turn of phrase

A slightly careworn missing stitch

He has a way with subterfuge

Performing 1^stclass misdirection

Pulling rabbits out of boaters

Feigning kindly right intention 

He’ll tell you what you want to hear

Seize momentary bottom lines

Reassure the tearful fearful

That his sunlight brightly shines

In ballrooms of the great and good

Where the well-off sang along

To count the cost of what they lost

Not my fault screamed Horace Bronson

Caught and Stranded

The trapper neatly set out traps

Much urgency required

Morning time would soon appear

Demanding many things desired

The market square with many stalls

Which must be opened on the dot

Displaying must have articles

Before the sunshine starts the rot

Dashing and collecting yields

From well disguised contraptions

That shook the living daylights out

Providing local food attractions

Heading off to make her day

Having skinned her finest prizes

A feast of meat plus pelts and hide

She would command the highest prices

Sanguine

I’m feeling buoyant in a cheerful way

With a jolly smile in tow

No sombre song or mournful tune

Today I’ll make a joyful show

I can’t be doing sadness

There's so much I can’t put right

So I’ll just take the jaunty view

On sunny sides to my delight

If only I could change the world

I would do it in a thrice

But there are those who peace oppose

Without a thought of being nice

There isn’t much we need to do

Just let go of castle keeps

Plenty much to share around

Allowing all, their goodnight sleeps

Can I get change of a Tweet?

Twitter’s making changes

A whole new bag of sweets

For those who do or don’t have

Something stirring in their tweets

Some features are intriguing

For those who tweet at night

A ‘dark mode’ with a bookmark

Until the Twitter morning light

I hope it’s not too complex

Cos right now it’s rather good

Though a switch account facility 

Has me wandering in the wood

Good Point

Staring at my fountain pen

In its state no longer gushing

Wondering if the nib is blocked

Or its reservoir needs flushing

I check it comprehensively

Strip it down and clean each part

Then reassemble and refill

Must try it out and make a start

I check its fluid cursive flair

A real 'real-writing' test

Taking note how stylish doodling

Leaves me wandered strayed digressed

That'll Do It

In the corner is a rusty nail

Underneath the snips and awls

Remaining there unnoticed

Until that needy moment calls

Something sacrificial 

Which can be used as anything

To scrape and scratch and lever

Release the stuck and steadfast ring

When called upon it is invaluable

Something never taught at school

That implement to compliment

The finely crafted perfect tool

Pore Wars

Some germs really matter

In the battle with invisibles

In the way we murder germs

Forgetting we are full of them

Misunderstanding clean up terms

So many ways our bodies are

Abundant planets full of life

Skinful highways of bacteria

Steadfast legions running rife

In or out above beneath 

We need to know what we must keep

These cooperatives our bastions 

That guard us from the compost heap

STORY LINK

July

July the month of hot dog days

Long sultry sleepless hours

Garden parkland gatherings

Summer tiptoed tulip flowers

With much to do and say in crowds

People dance in time in song

Cooling down in evenings gown

Making babies all night long

Everything seems possible

With July’s  Caesar salad dressing

Down and dirty in the atrium

A perfect roman fast food blessing

Eyes In The Dark

Travelling at the speed of dark

Which seemed to be in front of night

Though I looked to get there first

I was surrounded by the light

Light and dark run side by side

Arriving everywhere together

When light is there the dark is too

These partners can’t untether 

Where one absorbs the other shines

In such a way where nothing shatters

And one day when the light goes out

There will be only dark that matters

The Hour of a Flower

Life is not her masquerade

Her game of costume drama

A special way to paint the day

Dressed in seamless panorama

She is the call of morning light
The daytime market square
Providing and receiving life
For her regulars who share

A temptress with a colour scheme
Rewarding visitors with treats
For passing on her game of life
Creating floral city streets