Signs of the Times

The thinker of so many minds
Amazed at what one found
Oblongs, squares, triangles
Many more, exactly round

Pure and simply circumvented
Nonetheless, all shapes related
Taking sides though not escaping
Or elliptically conflated

Level planes are less exciting
Than persistent hills and vales
Demanding less exactitudes
Going way beyond the pales

Unidentified Anomalous Phenomena

A dearth of data circulating

Above our space and skies

Much compelling evidence

Which US government denies

Unexplainable manoeuvres

Into space that goes someplace

Defying human concepts known

At a supersonic pace

A travesty of correlation

Concerning UAP investigators

No systems for reporting

Just closed-loop procrastinators

Stigma traps enigma

Whistleblowers no protection

As Tic Tac looking objects 

Make contactable selection

The Bad Dream

Seeking out perfection

In pursuit of famous tales

Where all is most delightful

In perfect balance on the scales

All colours bright and cheerful

Displayed in gentle weather

Smiling people greet on every road

Belonging peacefully together

This poem is a fallacy

No lines between to read

As the greedy take advantage

And let the gullible just bleed 

Bluebirds of Twitter

 

Should the little Bluebird

Find homelessness on Twitter

I’ll give it space inside my heart

With tweet memories not bitter

You’re more to me my birdie sweet

Wherein your post you sing

No need to give you garden leave

We so enjoy your twittering

Change they say inevitable

As we lose our tweet emitter

Unknown until time passes

For the Bluebird tweets on Twitter

Running On Empty

 

What is it that I want to say

Said the writer to the page

It’s no good giving me blank looks

That gives me writer's rage

I write down something stupid

Then scrunch it in a ball

Cussing my equipment

Turning flow into forestall

I start a brand new sentence

On a cheaper notepad leaf

Yet still I find it all too much

As I descend to writers grief

I check out Wikipedia

Consisting all things known

Though aimlessly I plunder

My sketchiness has grown

With best intentions I give up

Accepting all my limitations

Promising that later on

I’ll benefit from meditations

BLOCKED!

Shocked and blocked 

My visiting locked

Without reason or defence

Interfaces now invisible

It doesn’t make much sense

All I did was update

My venue’s new address

For reasons still unknown to me

My old one, no access

I’m posting as I always do

Never trolling no not me

My style is what it always was

As Teas-A-Geezer placidly

Ernest Letts (1917 Flanders)

 

Paying debts to memories

That the future could not hide

Decisions of the moments

With no time to decide

Certainties not clear to see

Not going by the book

No morals as the bullets flew

Letting danger overlook

Left standing in the oily grime

A dying statue to a life

Disobeying final orders

Unconcerned by strafe or strife

To the memory of Ernest Robert Letts 1886 - 1917

Who gave his life in the  Battle of Passchendaele (Ypres) - 

He left his wife Emma (nee Connett) of one year. 

Emma lived in Wandsworth until her death in 1964.

Emma never re-married and died Emma Letts.

Top Grade Jade

 

Jade a clipper sister

Adds sparkle to your crest

Snips and crops untidy mops

Revamps the old crow's nest

Zhuzhing up the hairline cracks

To bring the ruffled-up in line

Starting with the parting gift

Will make the bed-heads realign

Sorts the Barnet presentation

Refashioning the thatch

If unruly hair has lost its flair

She lets those seized-up locks unlatch

Specially written for Jade our local barber girl

I Hear You Baby!

 

Picking up a signal bandwidth

Medium Long or modulated

Powered up to listen in

Waves of sound premeditated

From receivers to recipient's ears

A multi-programmed share

This leisure heard experience

At your pleasure anywhere

Propagating on elastic bands

On the listening frontier

Far too slow for aliens

Radio stars not heard from here

It seems that light-speed broadcasts

Remain yet hopeful vocal

Not found in space between our ears

Via any Radio local

Hand Thrown

 

Playing cards down rabbit holes

Discarding helpful hands

Dealing with the double-edged 

Where not a leg to stand on lands

In the cryptic early stages

A table full of slapdash masks

Creates an atmosphere of laxity

That befits an aimless task

The ante waits to be increased

In the raising of intentions

Avoiding stances over-egged

Distorting angles through dimensions

With diligence, new cards are parsed

Like dancing puppets on a string

Any movement watched suspiciously

Hardly means another swing