Curtain Call

Photo by Franciszek Augustyniak on Unsplash

She dances in the almost light

Between the sun and moon

Like a feather weaves and hovers

Amid a forest-shade festoon

So delicate are those tiny steps

To the beat of nature’s heart

It is the music of the final act

En masse, the audience now depart

Tea Dream

Photo by Kinga Cichewicz on Unsplash

Tea has found a time for me

In the first hours of the day

A thought-appealing guarantee

In streams of steam’s placating sway

 

I serenely sit reflecting how 

The wistful tea is made to blend

A promise full of mistiness

We in togetherness transcend

 

Whether teapot brewed and strained

Or a teabag dressed to press

Teatime’s quietude infused

Unforeseen not second-guessed

Herbstmonat

Picture by:Robert Zunicoff @unsplash.com

 

In the age of ripe September

Third quarter of the year

Giving birth to autumn’s fall

Letting long roads disappear

 

The summer cycle drifting onward

New beginnings in the air

Though now the bright is just a beam

Where all is left cannot compare

 

Walking through to winter’s doorway

In hope our harvest see’s us through

On a carpet pressed with golden leaves

Singing winter songs ice blue

 

Treetop Feeders

Picture by Cristian Newman @unsplash.com

Our governments
Who make the law
For all of us to live by
Demand that we must
Toe the line
Suffer strife
Lest we comply

But there are those
Who rule the roost
They say on our behalf
Clearly doing
As they please
Some sort of civic
Other half

But then again
Our mouths are closed
For being lazy in the mind
As the order of the special few
Leave people
Stripped and undermined

Laws are spider webs where the big fly’s pass and the little ones get caught - Honore de Balzac

Text You Later

Picture by: Laura Chouette @unsplash.com

 

Those words of text have got me vexed

Lacking warmth and prose

With its “if I must I’ll keep it short”

When judging mood one must suppose

 

The text is like a muffled mumble

Stripped bare of tenderness 

A naked note of slapped shortcomings

Of nothing more and so much less

 

A one-way send of little said

Inattentive by default

That is if one replies at all

To cause a freefall somersault

 

So who you are and where you stand

Your rating loud and clear

A put you in your place affront

Blandly distanced cavalier 

My Kind of Kind

Picture by: Dayne Topkin @unsplash.com

You and me

A similar kind

We kind of

Beneficial share

One might teach

The other learn

Our kindness

Steeped in care

Generosity

And friendliness

Are our favourite

Kindly way

The kindest act

That we can do

Is look out 

For me and you

We need a kindly

Smile again

Kind-hearts are 

Shelter from the rain

Penned

My head is like a farmers field

Scattered seeds of growing words

Gleaning meanings in reflection

Placed in groups of lively herds

 

I would like to write this picture

A coloured scene in dappled green

Populated full of well-meant stuff

Supported by the unforeseen

 

Avoid bewildering long windedness

To let ones reading times fly by

And reap rewards when harvesting

Feed satisfaction to the eye

Coup de foudre

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I saw we saw

It was like 

A gentle seesaw 

The fluctuate

The oscillate

A primal state

Of grandeur

Each trading state

Each rise and fall

Each ripple sweet

A loving call

Taking turns

We jumped and leapt 

Our smiling eyes

Each other kept

Egging on

To greater heights

We shared the sways

On days and nights

Slowly as we levelled out

Balancing our days

The final smiles

Our soft implores

No more seesaws

Just closing doors

Porthole Progress

Picture by Marina Khrapova

Window watching has my eyes attuned

An almost scene of life in doubt

Where points of view and conversation

Can draw my musing inside out

First views might be distracted

By limitations of my sight

A sunlight stream a midnight beam

Or something too immersed in light

In a row of well-placed colours

Waiting silently for stares

Not merely short-lived glances

Where clear attentiveness compares

Finsbury Doughboy

Cafe picture by: Daria Volkova @unsplash.com

From Manor house to Stroud Green
Stretch the lawns of Finsbury park

Where all around free life is found
From sunup until dark

A people’s kinship parkland scheme
Let’s free expression breathe at play
Children’s games on climbing frames
By the Finsbury Park Café

Lifting Coffee mugs and cups of tea
Amid the sandwiches and cakes
Are the welcome brew at the ‘daylight do’
Where the physical take their breaks

No need of ticket stubs or vouchers
Just saunter down on easy way
Take time out for breakfast anytime
In the Finsbury Park Café

 

Written specially for 

Chris & Leigh-Ann Eleftheriou

The Finsbury Doughboy

Chariots for Hire

Hail the palatial cabbies

Dougie the Cabbie

A knowledgeable hound

A streetwise conveyor profound

With memory flair

Will arrive anywhere

A mind-map of routes all around

Picking up fares

When the hire-light glares

To a journey that’s anyone’s guess

Maybe a tour or a sightsee explore

Wheeler dealing his Taxi Express

In a city of streets

Where the plentiful meets
Politicians with cabinet seats

Rest assured that he would

For the great and the good

Every journey time promptly completes

This rhyme is written specially for 
Douglas John Davis
London Cabbie Recently Retired

Fly-by-Light

Picture by Fiona Smallwood - unsplash.com

Music swirls about my garden
In a consonant of leaves
A mesmerising random dance
In a flush of light reprieves

They rise and spin and circle in
Impishly they stop then sleight
In bends and curves meandering
As though dissolving in the light

Listen well, they whisper boldly
Though they sing in secret mode
With crescendo innuendo
They harmonise in breezy code

What A Corker!

Picture by: Gabriele Lässer unsplash.com

Boil me up a biffin dish

With custard steaming hot

Maybe add a crumble crust

Or placed within a pastry cot

The biffin may be chipped or mashed

A soft and tasty chomp

A regal meal to please a Queen

After a promenade in pomp

There is no perfect time to serve

A distinguished wedge of biffin

Breakfast lunch or dinnertime 

A gleeful treat at tiffin

Gratitude

Picture by: Caleb Chen unsplash.com

Who would have thought, a year of mayhem wrought

With silent menace hanging in the air

No dropping hats where welcoming’s consort

Empty avenues full of nothing but to stare

Each tomorrow was another bad news day

Hopeful longing for good times to return

We then resigned it was the only way

To wait to be released from our concern

We need not crave those far-off prospects

Where crowds converge in cordial vein

For a while we’ll live in lesser times

Till days when carefree choices come again

May we never forget how much we owe

Those frontline heroes who took a mighty blow

The Fixer

Picture by Holly Mindrup - unsplash.com

When in need of some attention

Where something will not work

We need a problem solver-guy 

To readjust the knotted quirk

Someone always knows someone

Who can mend the mishap quick

A patient hand with implements

A Fixer and a fiddlestick

Such a way with tangled muddles

And a feel for twists and turns

Unfold a crease to then release

The Fixer solves and then adjourns

Later when The Fixer’s left

People sit there taking tea

Reflecting on the sheer simplicity

Where much twiddling sets you free

A Passing Rhyme

A Fond Farewell

My friends and foes all in the past

My loved ones always unsurpassed

Those days we spent in joy and fun

Helped heal my soul with golden sun

Those private times that special day

So much was shared in every way

And in that evening’s twilight glow

No more to say just time to go

My burden eased no toil or task

To be remembered is all to ask

Cliff Letts

"In the Netherlands, they have something called the lonely funeral project. If someone dies and there’s no one to claim the body or to attend the funeral, a local poet researches the person, writes a poem about them and reads it at the ceremony."

https://frombelgiumwithbooklove.com/what-ive-learnt-from-reading-fiction-part-9/

Rhymes About The Changes

Picture by Kat J - unsplash.com

When everything is changing

Everywhere you look

Where the rules become ridiculous

With nothing by the book

When everything explainable

Becomes a lame excuse

Where the reasons are unreasonable

With little to deduce

When everything brings you dismay

It’s the way its always been

After farms and manufacturing

Became the dominant machine

In a  space of so much everything

So many hoping for a share

Where the likelihood of something good

From those who have is getting rare

Me a Tree and a Family

Picture unashamedly nobbled from a tweet

from Albert@OwdAlbert

How did I get to be me?

Where do I sit among ‘We’?

Where do we stretch?

For I’d like to fetch?

From the roots of my ancestor’s tree

How long must it take to reveal?

What so many years can conceal

All the living that passed

By coincidence cast

By the spin of my lineage wheel

As I delve down the alleyways gone

Visiting stones laid upon

Is it likely I’ll see?

Early versions of me

Or a light that was never outshone

In perusing the records of past lives I believe one is looking for clues to the self. However one soon discovers that there are so many differences in previous lives as to hide the real map of there and then.

Picture by anniespratt.com - unsplash.com

Love Letters

Picture by Leighann Blackwood - unsplash.com

She loved to write with a friendly pen

Oozing all sorts of affable words

Like kindly pleasant and cordial

To the tune of sweet hummingbirds

Affectionate pens write in courteous script

Best suited to amiable eyes

Sociable, genial and kindly

With agreeable words to the wise

Her lovable pen delightfully wrote

Sincerely with heart felt accord

To confer and bestow agreeably so

An appraise one could always afford

See You!

Picture by United Nation - unsplash.com

In our ever-decreasing circles

We see Infrequent passers by

Secluded deep in second thoughts

No longer wondering why

Working hard asserting arms-length

Safety first’s headline exclusive

Chinwag’s kept to minimums

As market halls become reclusive

The draw of being out there

Has lost its power of attraction

Consumed by fear of being near

Losing face in mass contraction

One day when we get the edge

Let art and science lead the way

To win the war of things invisible

Then learn again to have our say

Tempo Tantrums

Picture by Byron Johnson - unsplash.com

Ticking clocks a sound reminder
Whisper questions to the air
Why does time in passing
Rarely spread an equal share

Like a fortune wheel selector
Where the pointer comes to rest
Your numbers up when out of luck
To leave your future dispossessed

Until that time when winding up
Take the weather as it comes
We cannot dwell on lucky stars
They do not count in lifeline’s sums

Pendulum’s are primed to swing
Until the driving force depletes
To centre stage and curtain calls
Where before and after meets

In the distant hour a baby's cry
Pulsates with furious heart
Demanding full attendance to
A newly wound and hurried start

The perfect pulse begins again
Not taking sides or second guesses
Driven by a swing momentum
A two-way arc where more or less is

Bought and Sold Out

“Please don’t dial our telephone

We’d rather not reply

Our message telling all who ring

We don’t answer on the fly”

Should you call us anyway

There are some options to select

Unless you spend new money

We’re unlikely to connect

Hearing lots of moans and groans

Because instructions don’t read true

Not our fault if you lack aptitude

Or the wherewithal to do

As time goes by and sales drop-off

When the bottom line’s in doubt

We may fall back on empathy

Should there be a business drought

With year-on-year their profits rising

After-sales not prime concerns

Things we bought leave us distraught

Until we drive down their returns

With every sale now looking tenuous 

Thieves and scammers rule on-line

T’s & Cs may well revert to please

To reassure what’s yours and mine

Business confidence is at an all time low. Customers have felt their trust levels plummeting. Emerging from the world business meltdown will require a return to real customer service.
Response to enquiries positive or negative will require a people-to-people interface.
The old adage "People buy people fist and products second" must become a forerunner
in the battle to encourage and regain sales.

The Ballad of Buster Fluster

Picture by Samet Kirtkus -unsplash.com

Not sure at all on what comes next

Buster Fluster’s in a state

On the border of disorderly

He feels he must concatenate 

The links he thinks are tenuous

Though well prepared to stretch a point

Where the pinnacles parenthetical

May connect but disappoint

So in the end we’ll leave it up to him

Buster Fluster’s flap and tizzy

Best not bother muddle further

For right now he’s baffled busy

We wish we could do more for him

Try with all our might to muster

Make his desk more picturesque 

Connecting sanity to Buster

At Large in Camouflage

pixpoetry.com - unsplash.com

Our town is incognito

In mosey mooching masquerade

A swarming droning shopper fling

Well concealed a spend parade

Secretly the racks are scanned

No emotion on display

No one can tell who said that thing

Nor who was that no one can say

Take care my friend when wearing out

A cover guise to save your health

To keep from things that awful brings

In-flight invading breathless stealth

Avoid the state of naked breath

Wear a plain or patterned mask

If seeking things you’d like to buy

Protect yourself before you ask

Bikerloo Line Hull

Everything is changing fast

The way our journeys flow

We love our car it’s best by far

Whether sunshine rain or snow

We know the ride is turning

No doubt creating traffic spikes

Bus lanes now have all-day rights

Plus much more room for bikes

No longer pedals to the metal

There’ll be wheelies everywhere

Motoring a lesser city thing

A traffic state to trap ensnare

We’ll be needing handle baskets

Clip-on heated weather capes

Two-wheeled trailers lockable

Suiting very shopping traipse

Handlebars will mean that jars

Can be swallowed to excess

Saddled with a drunken rush

As screeching buses make a mess

But all the worlds a cycle

In the summertime it’s prime

Where light fair-weather butterflies

Have no thoughts of wintertime

Let’s not forget it’s healthier

Less fumes less fug distress

As pedal thrust conveyances

Change the ways of NHS