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
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