Living under blankets
Covering my face
In a place of many layers
A heavy, suffocating place
Pretending that I’m elsewhere
Disowning all my past
Emerging in another time
Where I knew it couldn’t last
Every day brought new reminders
Of things I once withstood
Until I made a break for it
Over effects misunderstood
The ‘Thing’ is often on my mind
Like background music playing
Sometimes it is another ‘Thing’
Like a paragraph read or saying
‘Things’ we take for granted
Like Things we need to do
And everybody has them
Like in bundles or a few
No longer troubled by a ‘Thing’
Like by my lack of deeper stuff
If too many things are in the way
Like putting golf balls in the rough
Learning ‘Things’ is still important
Like as time goes by, you’ll find
But ‘Things’ are made from many ‘Things’
Like taking too much space in mind
The speed of light and speed of sound
Are relatively known by many
But the speed of time just passes
In terms of pace, it doesn’t have any
Although in truth, time has no speed
The passing can be measured
In hours, minutes and seconds
Without argument endeavoured
I’ve heard it said, “How time flies”
Though I’ve never seen its wings
Ultimately all about the atmosphere
Where pros and cons are kings
Everybody counts on time
Though how much for all is uncertain
An accident or illness may
Bring down the final curtain
Wars and fights are thieves of time
Stealing hopes and plans, depending
Even with a life untroubled
Time for all must have its ending
Dolly put the coffee on
Dolly put the coffee on
Dolly put the coffee on
We need our caffeine hit
The descaling light is blinking
It’s time to flush it through
Irrespective of the rigmarole
No coffee can ensue
Although we’ve flushed it three times
The descaling light still blinking
So Dolly cannot serve our coffee up
In despair, our hearts are sinking
Dolly put the kettle on
Like Polly would agree
The coffee maker’s given up
We’ll settle for a cup of tea
We would buy a coffee maker new
Be warned, there are restrictions
The pods we have no longer fit
Machines are full of contradictions
Very many types and features
Coffee kinds and range of strengths
It is a carry-on too far
A cuppa shouldn’t need so many lengths
Levitating under moonlight
Beneath a peaceful light
Getting ready for her dream
To take her through the night
The song of life is sending out
Sonata messages serene
A lullaby creates a trance
In this pleasant lantern scene
Answers bring awakening
New knowledge breaks the day
For then it’s time to reappear
And pack the night away
The Creative Tourist (1)
I set my sight on Monaco
For an ‘oliday this year
But when I checked the prices
They came up much too dear
I looked at Venice and at Amsterdam
Where they speak single dutch
Still no matter how I tried
The prices were far too much
Lithuania and Estonia
Are far too cold for me
That’s because they’re right beside
The icy Baltic Sea
I didn’t look at Asia
For me it’s just too far
I might consider Scarborough
As I can get there in me car
I wouldn’t look at Blackpool
Huh! I’m far to posh for that
I’m not mixing with the hoi polloi
In a kiss me quickly hat
Trawling through the internet
I saw the prices did come down
But I found the very cheapest
Was Airbnb in my own home town
You see lodgings here in Bradford
Are geared towards the poor
But still I can’t afford ‘em
So I’ll stay behind me own front door
I’ll put a deckchair in the back yard
Tie me hankie in some knots
Then I’ll put it on me head
To save me ‘ead from getting ‘ot
The Creative Tourist (2)
I might just need a brolly
In case the rail comes down
Which in truth is fairly likely
In Bradford my home town
I’m sorry if I’ve bored you
You see I fantasise a lot
I never really go away
As to pee in I’ve not a pot
I did go to the corner shop
A month or two ago
I went there for an outing
As time at home goes by so slow
If you haven’t got a family
No children nor a wife
Travel fantasies can fill your mind
To brighten up your life
That Wordle game is testing me
On the results of letters chosen
Seeking Greens and Oranges
Omitting Greys left out and frozen
Six rows should get it sorted
If good vocabulary abounds
But in the good guesses count
To build statistic mounds
Remember though, it’s just for fun
To daily exercise grey matter
Teasing, squeezing possibilities
Whilst we munch our breakfast platter
Notions can be hard to grasp
In a raging flood of tide
A speeding train of thought refrain
To be deduced from far and wide
Notions are endless potion
Never outside of the rules
Riding waves of possibilities
Derided carelessly by fools
Notions are not always new
Many have been around forever
Like signals seek reception
When heaviness has overcome
Your sense of style and being
The trouser belt has no more slack
All your clothes are disagreeing
If diets never worked for you
All your favourites gone to grass
Along with energy for exercise
In a state of seized impasse
It is a national consternation
Driving new technology
Placating angry appetites
Employing pharmacology
The cost of doing nothing
May bankrupt wealth of health
So a lightweight little helper
May slim down your shape by stealth
Own up to your jelly belly
Admit surrendering lack of will
To a hope-inducing substance
In a weight reduction pill
There’s nothing worse than wedged
In a place beyond your wish
Akin to being end of all
Like nothing in an empty dish
Caught and feeling left behind
Watch the last ditch vanish
Hoping someone passing by
Doesn’t steal your finish
When the rut you’re in is ruling
Side high, soaked-wet and smooth
Little there to grapple with
To release you from the groove
Abundant life in every way
From the smallest to the large
Our best guess is that long ago
From a big bang supercharge
Considering data gathering
We are a planetary book
A host of numbered pages
Too many to overlook
Each chapter random fashioned
by cataclysmic chance,
A story written as we first mistook.
Within these lines, the echoes dance
Out and about in the countryside
Thinking how far to the pub
The going soft in the fresh air waft
Tempted by some ploughman’s grub
We hope the ale is cask-conditioned
Maybe a crisp aperitif
With onion mustard pickle and cheese
Enjoying walking boots relief
You can’t beat the English scenery
Walking by a field of wheat
The pub in sight is a sheer delight
Makes a healthy walk complete
The pen poised cruciverbalist
Considered every clue
Across and down, continuing
Each puzzle through and through
Testing outcomes arbitrary
Second-guessing one or two
Yet holding back insertion
Avoiding blatant misconstrue
Expending patience and cohesion
Wrote in answers by the letter
Double-checking intersections
With daily practice, things got better
In the twilight of a fading year
October sings a lullaby
As dark descends on wintry days
We breathe a collective sigh
Now is the time to kindly keep
Adding layers feeding flames
Maintaining comfort in the larder
Dusting off the parlour games
I approach the task with trepidation
Each morn as the sun doth rise
I search my mind for information
Looking for the combination
Gird my loins, full of concentration
I’m scanning for that prize
I want to keep my reputation
Before I rise from bed
This is my primary occupation
It’s stirring my imagination
I take RATED then give it some rotation
Oh thank gawd today’s word is TREAD……
Not the real wordle of the day of course
Written By Keith Mills - Kent
Ein großer Mann mit Bart so dicht,
trägt einen Hut, der strahlt im Licht.
Er wackelt stolz durch Stadt und Gasse,
sein Hut – ’ne wilde Kartoffelmasse!
Die Leute lachen, doch er lacht mehr,
sein Bart weht stolz im Frühlings-Meer.
Mit jedem Schritt, ein kleines Fest,
der Hut macht alles – selbst den Rest!
Also,
Ein großer Mann mit Bart so dicht, (A)
trägt einen Hut, total verrückt. (B)
Er wackelt stolz durch Stadt und Licht, (A)
sein Hut hat Farben kunterbunt geschickt. (B)
Die Leute lachen, voll Gesang, (C)
sein Bart weht wild wie ein Kapitän. (D)
Mit jedem Schritt ein bunter Klang, (C)
der Hut macht alles – kaum zu besteh’n! (D)
In English
A tall man with a beard so dense,
wears a hat that shines in the light.
He wobbles proudly through town and alley,
his hat—a wild potato mass!
People laugh, but he laughs more,
his beard blows proudly in the spring sea.
With every step, a little celebration,
the hat does everything – even the rest!
I moved into another world
Where profit had no voice
Shackles were the absentees
Control was in my choice
Free to come and go at will
Without stalking at my places
To leave me be creatively
Without unsavoury spies and traces
Here, imagination soared
Autonomous, dreams could take their flight,
With confines left behind me,
Each day was pure delight.
A sanctuary for my thoughts,
A harbour for my mind,
Where every spark of vision
Was welcomed and enshrined.
Whispers of dawn in a gentle embrace,
Petals of sunlight falling in place.
A breeze through the willows, soft as a sigh,
Painting gold halos on clouds drifting by.
Every dewdrop reflects morning’s first gleam,
Carrying laughter, hope, and a dream.
Hearts find their music in quietest hours—
Sweet is the promise that blooms with the flowers.
Schöen
Flüstern der Morgendämmerung in sanfter Umarmung,
Blütenblätter aus Sonnenlicht fallen an ihren Platz.
Eine Brise durch die Weiden, sanft wie ein Seufzer,
Malt goldene Heiligenscheine auf vorbeiziehende Wolken.
Jeder Tautropfen reflektiert den ersten Glanz des Morgens,
Trägt Lachen, Hoffnung und einen Traum.
Herzen finden ihre Musik in den stillsten Stunden –
Süß ist das Versprechen, das mit den Blumen blüht.
Time to toe the line, she said
Buckle down and play the game
Complying as expected
If to you it’s all the same
But the rules feel like a riddle
Twisting round my restless mind
Every move is weighed and measured
Marching in a silent line
Yet in the hush of order,
A question softly calls—
What if the game is broken
And the rules were never mine at all
Picture by Keith Mills - Hythe, Kent
The Art of Quiet Mornings
Finding Solitude and Inspiration at Dawn
There is a certain magic to mornings when the world still slumbers, wrapped in a gentle hush that precedes the day’s cacophony. The sky, barely touched by sunlight, glows with the promise of possibility. In these quiet hours, the boundaries between dreams and reality blur, inviting reflection and creativity.
Looking back on written things
In hope, one might reveal
The secret to the writer’s mind
Something hidden might conceal
First impressions, simple judgements
Where subjects twist and turn
Mischief in a coded secret
Ink stains shape what we discern
Lines inviting to imagine
Meanings waiting to be learned
Yet every phrase, each half-turned word
Is a door lock unconcerned
Inviting those who linger here
To see what might be matched
Shadows linger in the margins
As solutions are unlatched
You can’t do that there here
No, you can’t do that there, here
Anywhere else you can do that, there
But you can’t do that there here -
By Johanna Powell nee Leehan - Merthyr Tydfil
