Thursday 30 December 2021

No Idea!

  Photo by Preet Gor on Unsplash

Perceptions are my point of view
From sensations in my mind
Cloak-and-dagger confidential
All my feelings underlined
 
I look at others hard to read
Of whom I’ll never truly know
As though they live in other worlds
Mystery seeds that ebb and flow
 
Aimless games of second-guessing 
A flight of sentimental hope
Lost in partial explanations
Where weak positions cannot cope
 
Isolated in my garden pond 
Where local living things might be
Or have I made the whole thing up
And imagined all I see

Tuesday 28 December 2021

I See You Baby

Photo by Tengyart on Unsplash

 From the confines of our minor dot

There’s a lot of space to see

Silently it floats out there

In vacuum-packed eternity

 

From where we are it seems not far

When gazing out beyond our eyes

Looking back on early doors

To where existence severed ties

 

Tantalised by how we came to be

Long before our first surmising

Full of startling opportunity

From humble cells arising







The James Webb Space Telescope launched from Europe's Spaceport at 7:20 a.m. EST on Dec. 25.
The James Webb Space Telescope launched from Europe's Spaceport at 7:20 a.m. EST on Dec. 25. (Image credit: NASA)

Friday 24 December 2021

Mad Matters in the Dark


 





Photo by Štefan Štefančík on Unsplash

Although we’re not sure what it is
It’s there, on that we’re certain
But on the gravity of matters
Too dark to see beyond the curtain
 
The subject matter is a heavy wait
Until we helpfully unearth
The ‘what it is’ unknown to us
And how much value in its worth
 
On balance there’s much more of it
Than our scant fifteen percent
Which houses all our everything
Outside that blackhole vent

https://www.livescience.com/64113-dark-matter-mysteries.html

Wednesday 22 December 2021

Real or Imagined



 









Photo by Martin Sanchez on Unsplash

Is it real or my deception?
Where I sit or what I do
Am I devising or surmising?
Is a figment ever true?

Reality the pundits say
Is best described in codes
To disprove myself invented
I need cryptograms and nodes

I’m counting on complexity 
In a back yard of square roots
Finding genius in number games
Finding singular best suits

https://www.livescience.com/imaginary-numbers-needed-to-describe-reality?


Tuesday 21 December 2021

Careless Rhyme

Photo by Javardh on Unsplash

A Poem fights for liberty
Unexpected even strange
However odd it started out
Simply difficult to change
 
Peculiar is favourable
If it stirs a dormant brain
Or occurs as something dubious 
That may go against the grain
 
Slammed as if immodest
Left to hover in the air
Lacking strength to read again
Nothing good in it to share

Monday 20 December 2021

Sitting

Photo by Roberto Nickson on Unsplash


Arriving here from nowhere
Each moment pressing on
As nothingness is left behind
Slowly something comes upon

How many moments we encounter
Depends on forces unforeseen 
Until the nothing where we started from
Has no care for who we've been



Saturday 18 December 2021

Belated Words


Photo by Concha Mayo on Unsplash

 


Days gone by now distanced

Become enveloped in the past 

Held in names and photo frames

Before a future wager cast

 

In the land of mournful tears

Where love had taken flight

A life too soon extinguished

Passed on into the night

 

Too late for one last send-off

No time left for goodbye’s

Just the heavy air of loneliness

A hint of whispers in our sighs

 

In memory of Dan 24yrs old

who died 14th December 2021


  

Friday 17 December 2021

Dots Period

 


Inundated with a host of dots
Almost too many to comply
They flutter flap in chancy ways
Bringing chaos to my eye

Unlike the dots that I create
To enhance my vowel sign
Held on high to please my eye
Above my letter on the line

What would I do without my dots
To fill the air of vacant spaces
Where emphasis would be amiss
Misunderstanding decimal places

Saturday 11 December 2021

Inspector Robin Spector And The Case In Hand

Part One - Beneath The Layers Seeking a Nark



Robin Spector scanned the room
Weighing up the way things where
With hunters eye for tell-tail parts
Confusing truths that facts infer

With overshoes and rubber gloves
Filled plastic bags with likely clues
Fine-tooth combs and microscopes
Sought proof that might accuse

 A notebook full of memoranda
Concise with facets unexplained
For he knew how often little things
Could lead to larger things obtained

In amongst a heap of debris strewn
Scattered ornaments and mounts
Lay a body dead a bloodless head
A gunshot wound by all accounts

Objectively the crime was clear
But many things to yet uncover
Did they know the perpetrator
Some rival foe or jilted lover

There seemed no sign of subterfuge
But then again one must beware
For garden paths are two-way streets
Misleading ways to who knows where

Part Two - Clueless






Robin Spector felt a nagging sense
How mundane can pass unheeded
By an overdose of obviousness
Second-guessing what preceded

He checked the scene inventory
Reviewed each snap again
Scoured the layouts back to front
Seeking evidence in vain

Probing deep no stone unturned
He put his team on door-to-door
Checking out surveillance cameras
In every street and local store

The victim lived anonymously
Went to and fro to who knows where
Unknown in local tavern life
His world a game of solitaire

What first appeared specific
Drained optimism into gloom
The information river running dry
All trails contingent on presume

No passport licence no ID
Body present yet no trace
A couched divan a murdered man
In a vacuum cleaner space

 Part Three - Breakthrough


Robin Spector felt the pressure build
He had a burning need to act 
a dragon breathing down his neck
Driving matters craving fact

The bullet in the corpse’s head
Had somehow passed clean through
No sign of cartridge blood or bits
A mass of misconstruing grew

How do you move a heavy body
From scene-of-crime to quiet calm
Creating chaos where it never was
Outside its origin of harm

House to house supplied a likely lead
How late one night arrived a hearse
A coffin carried in then out
Such offbeat happenings perverse

The hearse in question spoke out loud
On how the corpse had been chauffeured
And trails of mud outside the house
Gave clues to where the crime occurred

Reconnaissance of woodland tracks
Betrayed the perfect scene-of-crime
Displaying evidence of left behinds
Footprints sealed in setting slime


Shielded crime is covered tracks
Scheming games of second-guessing
Placing wrong shoes on the other feet
Much cunning fact suppressing 

Scientific and surveillance means
Offer guidance and direction
Homing in on every bungled trip
To magnify each in-correction 

Tireless search and deeper scrutiny
Truth in detail brought to light
A smoking gun was pointing fingers
At daytime business done at night

Suspects traced for questioning
From the funeral cortege
Who with more than passing interests
Might remove and disengage

What at first, appeared improbable
Inspector Spector saw beneath
A hidden shroud of common decency
A final message in the wreath 

The felon had in arrogance
Penned a farewell message joke
Implicating by his stylish hand
How he was the guilty bloke

A survey of the parlour books
Gave proof beyond a doubt
Columns full of written clues
Showing how they went about

It almost was the perfect crime
A masterpiece it might have been
But with eyes and ears and subtle clues
They finally proved the murder scene

This tunnel-group deep underground
Dressed as White Knights for the grieving
Distastefully hid subterfuge 
Whilst all along much double-dealing

The victim had been one of them
Who they suspected was a nark
A triple crossing infiltrator
Who they had followed to the park

A meeting surreptitiously 
Had lit a fuse of group mistrust
Which forced reaction to his action
That left him laid out in the dust

Inspector Robin Spector sighed
The case in hand was hard to grip
A mettle-testing tricky trial
Brought to book by pick and chip

Who would have thought as things turned out
A murder victim met his maker
Presented as a mystery plot
Delivered by an undertaker



Wednesday 8 December 2021

Sudoku make mine nine

 



How to do Sudoku
A challenge to the eyes
Numbers jumbled One to Nine
May catch you by surprise
Horizontal-vertical
Each box fulfilled by nine
Every puzzle doable
Nine different digits every line
Of the numbers you can see
Up down sideways in their locks
Once again it’s One to Nine
An extra clue in every box
Now look at lines of boxes
Three by three in parallel
Twenty-seven gives you three of each
As you begin to break the spell
The number clues are everywhere
Spot one number then the next
Filling in the vacant spaces
Is how the cross trail now connects
Do not guess you’ll make a mess
In the Sudoku you’re completing
Just let go and come back soon
You’ll find there was no need for cheating
Bit by bit each number fit
By uncovering soon revealing
That steady eyes are all you need
To find the hidden space concealing

Puzzle from https://www.websudoku.com




Tuesday 7 December 2021

Chocolate

 



I love the taste of chocolate
It is a buddy to my buds
I can’t resist its melting charm
Nor treasured essence as it floods

A tasteful spatial instant hit
Three dimensions all in one
A shape to dream in landscapes
My roller coaster number one

Whether bar or chunk or spherical
It is a sumptuous shapely feast
Plainly wrapped or golden capped
Pandora’s inner moon released



© Clifford Letts 9th October 2016

Sunday 5 December 2021

For Sale



Photo by Daoudi Aissa on Unsplash

Here's a billboard ditty
To promote a super sell
Rousing those with surplus cash
To loudly ring their wishing bell

Exquisitely luxurious
Guaranteed to be admired
Mile high style flamboyantly
Way above things most desired

Purveyors of the super cool
Called me begging one for them
Though I reflected estimating
The carat value of my gem

Startled by my price tag
They shrank away to reconsider
Would not take part in cut and thrust
Or be the highest bidder

No matter what you think its worth
If you offer it for nowt
Suspicious minds will calculate 
It's hardly worth a shout

The Event

 



Everyone said what a terrible year
They could remember where they were
What they did in a final bid
From thereon in they would refer

Like slicing silence with a razor blade
There was a slithering hint of sound
As though beyond belief to great effect
There could be nothing more profound

People gazed amazed and looked about
Among the multitude they pleaded
All in vain they shared a sense of pain
What had happened wasn’t needed

Sometimes it is the way of things
Where many stand in lonely crowds
Helpless in their hopelessness
Enclosed in shrouds of woeful clouds

They Are Simply Love


What is love but deep connection
After all these love long years
The specialness in everything
Through the laughter and the tears

There is no perfect formula
In two gentle hearts inclined
The pleasure shared in family
Two beating hearts aligned

Love is no mans legal construct
It's what you give not what you take
Sharing sunshine on the coldest nights
In every promise we remake

Written for Brian and Sandra 
by C Letts 4th December 2021

"On the banks of the grey torrent of life, love is the only flower."  E. M. Forster


Saturday 4 December 2021

Muffled

 


The scrutineer was scrutinizing
With double entry eyes
For in’s and outs creating doubts
That mixed confusion with surprise

Looking deep for hidden meanings
In blandly typical disguise
Where content aimed to circumvent
And court a positive apprise

Not to put too fine a point on it
When writing up to itemise  
On text agreed one must concede
How much to lose where meaning lies

Thursday 2 December 2021

A Week in Rhyme









Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

SUNDAY

Slow down Sunday so they say
A seventh day of rest
Dallying doing handiwork
Minor borderlines at best

Early risers on the fairway
Swing away to hearts desire
Sweet spot strikes a perfect shot
Sunday’s handicap's conspire

Church bells join in singing
Special breakfasts on the go
Perusing gardens in the Sunday air
Bibs and tuckers out on show

Maybe bake a cake or pudding
Enjoyed with lunchtime wine
Take a walk about the village scene
Let ticking over realign 

MONDAY

Someone said it's Monday
It gave me quite a jolt
So much so I gulped my coffee
As though I'd swilled a thunderbolt

Monday morning feelings can
Pour darkness on my gloom
Send me back to front my demons
Beneath the sheets in my bedroom

I know I can get over it
I am a Monday morning Brave
Five more cups of coffee
Then maybe surf the seasick wave

TUESDAY

Tuesday slips in quietly
Not making any fuss
Not a day for changing things
Not bad enough to cuss

Tuesday doesn't matter much
Not a day for nights in town
Not a day for too much pressure
Not a day for staring down

Tuesday never makes a start
Not a day for start anew
Not a day for noticing
Not a day to not get through

WEDNESDAY

Something ‘when’ about a Wednesday
A day for mending wending ways
Caught between whenever endings
That once were early closing days

When middle days stuck in between
Arrive in either neither settings
One wonders when we are ‘til then
Between the comings and go getting’s

Take care when meddling middling’s
Remember half way’s far from done
Approach with care and breath to spare
For other halves are tough to run

THURSDAY

Thursday cool and comforting
Anticipating after hours
Maybe pop-in have a cocktail
Sense the rising of one's powers

Late night shopping can be tempting
With needs and wants in mind
A weekend wish preempting
To leave a humdrum day behind

Ignore the rush of rush-hour trains
Get a coffee take a seat
Catch the style of buffet people
A Thursday place to meet

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

SATURDAY

Saturday sitting by my steaming cup
Letting my mind drift free
Enjoying the morning freshness
Downing my first of three

It’s good when Saturdays like this
Allow the time to pass by me
No fuss no rush at my own pace
Quiet movements by degree

On icy morning Saturdays
Patterned window art debris
Begins to trickle and evaporate
With aftertaste of my last tea