Driving Lessons

 EL Driver School

Gears pedals steering wheels

Mirrors side and rear

Nearside offside left or right

Indicators over here

Windscreen wipers if it rains

Road lights when it's dark

Keep your eye on everything

Especially when you park

Use the clutch left foot depress

Select the early motion gear

Left foot right foot toggling

To get you going if it's clear

The moment you feel movement

You will need to be alert

Your arms and legs in harmony

So many hazards to avert

By now your sense of travelling

May not be logical to you

In spite of all that engine noise

The vehicle moved an inch or two

All your presence and your purpose

Along with any sign of mirth

Has taken flight in panic fright

Has shrunk your sense of worth

Ice-cold beads of perspiration

Violent shakes leave you appalled

Then deathly silence lets you know

the bloody engine finally stalled

Time Wise

 

Rain was falling cold and fast
Time passed by so slow
As I looked back into the past
At those I used to know
My mind it drifted in a haze
To places that I'd been
To starlit nights and balmy days
And moments so serene
Then suddenly I realised
It caught me by surprise
The future is idealised
From the memories we prize
So if you seek to know your fate
It is not the new you seek
But a doorway or familiar gate
A once pristine antique

© C K Letts 1994  

Suds Law (Something in the soap)

I like to think 

I’m keeping clean

Shower vigorously

with soap

Change my towel 

once a week

To help the planet cope

Soaps I use 

have bragging rights

Smelling good enough

to drink

Though six days on 

removing drips

My wearied towels 

are on the brink

Perhaps 

some kind of residue

Which infects 

and taints my wipe

Sprays bacterial material

A type of towel 

shabby stipe

Maybe a clue 

that clarifies

Whether washing 

hot or cold

A dormant something 

in my drips

The wet effect 

of water mould

Hesitant 

it makes me feel

Somehow forlorn 

and lacking hope

If I don't smell 

then what the hell 

There must be something 

in the soap

Ich mag den Gedanken 

Ich halte mich sauber

Duschen Sie sich ausgiebig

mit Seife

Wechsle mein Handtuch 

einmal pro Woche

Um dem Planeten zu helfen

Seifen, die ich benutze 

haben das Recht zu prahlen

Sie riechen gut genug

zum Trinken

Obwohl ich nach sechs Tagen 

Tropfen entfernen

Meine müden Handtücher 

sind am Rande

Vielleicht 

eine Art Rückstand

Der infiziert 

und mein Wischtuch befleckt

Sprüht bakterielles Material

Eine Art von Handtuch 

ein schäbiger Stiel

Vielleicht ein Anhaltspunkt 

der klärt

Ob Waschen 

heiß oder kalt

Ein schlummerndes Etwas 

in meinen Tränen

Der nasse Effekt 

des Wasserschimmels

Zögernd 

fühle ich mich

Irgendwie verloren 

und ohne Hoffnung

Wenn ich nicht rieche 

dann was zum Teufel 

Es muss etwas 

in der Seife

Übersetzt mit DeepL.com (kostenlose Version)

Tease Time

Photo by Callum Shaw on Unsplash

Today I'm trying WORDLES
Five letters speculating
I begin with simple guessing

Then much deeper cogitating

Finding letters and their places

I slowly move along

Stretching out my limitations

Hoping not to get it wrong

Maybe they use a letter twice

As with motto papal label

Adieu and queue ouija too

Will help your start enable

There is no perfect way to play

Practice helps to smooth the way

Take your time but stay alert

Reflect on each array

WORDLE is a neat little 5-letter brain exercise. Almost 160-thousand 5-letter words will mean that complacency has no place in the guessing scenario. Be prepared to make mistakes and your reward will be an expanded vocabulary

In Reply to the Bard

🚂
On the train

We pass lit houses
Where stories wait
To be shared
And songs wait
To be sung.
All those untold stories,
All those unsung songs.

Written by Ian McMillan

📃

Today Tomorrow or Yesterday's Sorrow

Where each life Is an age on a page A passing beat On a lived in street A footstep sound That spins around Like a look in a book Once left on the ground

Written by Me

A Gist of the Scenarist

 

I’m writing a play using wordplay

A play where the players impute

Passing a buck who is well out of luck

Where villains find it hard to refute

The witnesses struggle with truth

As opinion keeps ringing the changes

Onlookers spectate amazed at the rate

How the scenery scheme rearranges

The cast is a blast of delivery

Flipping words in a tiddlywink pot

To cheers of the crowd all laughing out loud

Yet completely bemused by the plot

Words Aloud

Writing stuff 
For writing’s sake
Is not enough
To ease the ache
You’ve got to write
With blood and sweat
Stay up all night
But don’t forget
It’s not just words

That help you say 
Like wings on birds
Who soar away
And when they land
On fertile ears
They’ll be on hand

For years and years 

Wilsonian Study

Photo by Vova Drozdey on Unsplash 

The man who scours the beaches

Where so much evidence

Has surfaced from the chaos

Of unstable turbulence

 

Remains of crumbled mountains

A cemetery of sea life

Where today was born of yesterdays

From the depths of so much strife

 

Restricted by arrangement

No longer headlines in the news

Leftovers from discarded time

Where going-over now pursues

 

Each visit offers transformations

Like a well-made hotel bed

A hall of residence of once upon

That speaks of something else instead

 

These monuments to wanderers

That may never come to rest

Shifting on the sands of time

In a shrouded treasure chest

Dedicated to the persistent pursuits of Dean Wilson of Withernsea

Arry's Platter

Now, what can I get you?

Spider on my garden wall

Is hungry I can tell

Spinning madly mapping

A local restaurant nouvelle

Between the lines a menu

Haute Cuisine prepared

With full intent a live event

Freshly caught a dish ensnared

Good vibrations on the house

A meal appealing to the senses

These dancing legs are prancing

As the premier feast commences 

Unaccompanied

Photo by Kyle Glenn on Unsplash

Sitting in a reverie 

where everything goes by

Letting go of space and time

Without a thought of why

No limit to the peacefulness

No force to stay or go

Obligation has no place in here

No script

No cast 

No show

Just below the surface waits

An invitation to return

Where the unexpected hesitates

To adjourn without concern

  

Save Yourself No one Else Will

To beat around a pointless bush

Where the only game is gone

Where nothing but activity

Leaves little left to set upon

Much better lighting candlesticks

Than trekking nowhere in the dark

As chasing up blind alleyways

May quench the brightest spark

So in bleak winter jamborees

Politely mannered as directed

In gatherings of goodwill smiles

Presenting friends as none excepted 

In a Moment Back Then

Photo by Call Me Fred on Unsplash 

It seemed such a long way 

To get up to the roof

A building 

in the high street 

by a pub

Was it empty?

I can’t remember now

I went there with them 

for a thrill they said

Looking down 

from the roof

It was a long way down,

And we were small,

and it was thrilling

Sugar?

 

Oh sugar buddy to my buds

Dearest tasteful morsel

Smothering my second thoughts

A bursting discharge forceful

My favoured tryst I can’t resist

Our rendezvous I treasure

To sail away on come what may

At reckless speeds of pleasure

This inborn sweetness magnet

Sets my compass pointing south

To milk and honey destinations

Around my hasty tasty mouth

Invading all my softest spots

Where my deepest cravings hide

Cajoling me in sweetest dreams

On sugar fairy wings I glide

In hot pursuit of love’s devotion

Can there be ‘too much’ good things

To be caught inside a honeycomb

Tormented by its stings

LINK To BBC Radio 4 The Lure of Sweetness

Seedlings

 

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

Hold that virtuoso thought

That wonder of your mind

Scribble or record it quick

It will not leave a sign behind

 

Emerging ever uninvited

Will catch your being by surprise

It passes by like windy flurries

In between your blinking eyes

 

Turning up when least expected

In between your common sense

If you’re smart enough to nail it

You can claim intelligence

Without Reservation

Welcome to the planet Munch
Where everything is feeding
Not a single thing escapes a mouth
Even eaten while you're feeding

You do your best to live at length
Amid the active chomping bit
Consuming  every hour of life
As chewing eggs of dregs befit

You may have a special liking for
The In’s and Out's that happen by
So eat enjoy each gnashing part
Your turn we wait on you to try

No point in being fussy here
Conscience pricked when eating lunch
For the rumbling sound of all around
Are feasting hordes on planet Munch 

February In Motion

  

Photo by Jan Canty on Unsplash

The peaceful calm of a pellucid early sky

Like a choir of soft voices

Declaring a day to remember

Full of wherewithal and abundant choices

 

Here we can wait good-naturedly for better days

New beginnings as with unopened gifts

Strident in the music of better days

Feeling the light airs of harmony that lifts

Distracted by a ring of glittery light

Dancing crazy on the wings of change

 Catching spears of crystal lustre

Leaving winter to a future rearrange

Through the Eyes of a Tater

 

Do I need vibrations

Living in this street

Could be I need a light refrain

A mantra to repeat

I’m writing me a music note

To relax me and relieve

I’ve been feeling oh so crochety

I need to double up and breve

Thinking on this writing lark

How inspiration is the spark

No matter how much light I see

I feel tortured in the dark

In this room
I consider my presence
In this room
a nesting of me
A space for my trace 
to inhabit a place
In these moments
of strange certainty

On the cusp of massiveness

So many ideas in my head

Tonight I’ll write ‘til half past nine

Then ‘sod-it’ off to bed

Sitting edgy on a somber tomb

Waiting in a catacomb

Wondering if there’s any room

For parlour games amid the gloom