The Tree

 

Picture by Keith Mills - Hythe, Kent

It stands alone, a sentinel
Four seasons of the year
Gives witness to the elements

A commanding belvedere

Light flickers through the foliage

In a quiet morning rhapsody

Being present in the quietude

A lifetime dancing melody

A natural guardian of a place to be

To give and take eternally

Sustaining life-enhancing

So much more than just a tree

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.

Cracking Verse

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 

A Niggling Verse

 

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

Autumn Sundown

 

Days pass by discernibly

Autumn clouds now congregate

Gathering in a weather meeting

In changing times, they conjugate

 

In the distance, many farewells

Returning softly minimally 

As the closing summer festival

Resigning philosophically

 

Faint reflections blend with twilight,
Echoes of the days gone by,
In the ebb of fading sunlight,
Dreams dissolve without goodbye.

 

Make Up Required

 

Stuck in a sleeping paragraph

By a headline tightly tucked in

With the sound of power alarming

Too early to soon to begin

Nothing more than a point of view

Stating a case of disparity

Avoiding the line that rises up

In a bubble of hooting hilarity

 

Silent echoes chase the chorus
Of hidden truths behind the scene
Paired on the edge of meaning
What is real remains unseen

 

Words like shadows stretch and wander
Framing thoughts we dare not voice
Caught between the lines of reason
Lost amid the noise and choice

Already?

 

Something strange about a wristwatch

It seems the time is always there

Not necessarily right or wrong

My ticking questionnaire

I consult it when I have to

Then check again for confirmation

Will the next bus that I’m waiting for

Transport me to my destination

Minutes blend into the silence

Seconds pause to catch their breath

Moments trapped in quiet puzzles

Wrestling with the hands of death

Yet the watch a timeless presence

Never rushing where I wait

Moves me through the blurred decisions

Charting futures shaped by fate

Suchness

Skipping down the aisle of time
Bothered not about the beat
Neatly stepping casually
Depending on my feet

Out of style with cravings
I aim to find my outlook sweet
Keeping up without a pace
Avoiding pauses as I greet

Gliding past the hurried places,
Lost within my quiet stream,
Moments stretch or gently linger,
Carried in a subtle dream.

Drifting where the rhythm loosens,
Released from rules or bounds,
Finding joy in soft abandon
Where my consciousness resounds

The Grand Composer

 

The musician sensing notes and scales

Becoming consummate infected

By grains and strains of melodies

In the pulse of beats detected

 

Looking both ways at vibrations

Feeling atmosphere in bones

Chasing four things then another

Discovering multiples of clones

 

Strings entwine with whispered riddles
Echoes weaving through the air
Crafting tales from silent moments
Soundscapes vivid, raw, and rare

 

Hands become a sea of motion
Fingers dance in fluid flight
Capturing the soul’s devotion
Painting music with the light

Based on a recently watched Netflix documentary on Keith Richards and read of Merlin Sheldrake's fabulous book on Entangled Life.

 

A Time and Place

 

Knowing how I once was here
I leave behind a short despatch
Written in a morning moment
For future eyes to catch

 

No hidden meanings in my note
To puzzle on or solve
Maybe write an answer in return
Simply something to involve

 

A whisper caught between the lines
A gentle thread through time’s embrace
A quiet voice that softly shines
To light a stranger’s face

 

So if you find this simple page
Remember pathways we can share
A fleeting glimpse from age to age
A story told from here to there

 

 

 

Pimpernelian

 

The visitor encroaching
On places not allowed
Vague impressions rambling
Hardly following the crowd

 

Moving in a quiet walk
At a slow deliberate pace
Hoping the custodians
Had no record of that face

Shadows lengthen, footsteps hushed
A secret kept in stride
Each corner holding stories
Where truths and doubts collide

Yet every step unsettles still
A presence stretched too thin
A whispered warning lingers close
Of where he’s never been

 

 

 

 

 

Dancers in the Diner

 

The Fork and Knife well-suited
Decided on a date
Initially were overseen
On both sides of the plate

They gleamed to see each other
Neither one outshined
Working well in tandem
Never once were undermined

Through dinners, rich and humble feasts
They danced their silent art
From ranch to royal banquets
Two halves that shared one heart

Though sometimes saucers clinked in haste
Or spoons sought sweeter sound
The Fork and Knife, a steadfast pair
In harmony were found

Their union, simple yet refined
A story told in grace—
Of balance found and functions matched
Two roles that time embraced

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sharp Tongued

 

Lemon on the windowsill,
shouting CHICKEN! at the sun
Not realising time is limited
Now the Lemon's on the run

Who knows why it did it
Maybe chase a fleeting dream
Or to outpace the ticking clock
Before the daylight’s gleam

Perhaps to find a secret place,
Where citrus scents once stirred,
A realm beyond the windowpane,
Where its sour call was heard.

Bold and bright against the sky
It dared to break the still,
A tiny rebel on the move
The Lemons’ chasing will

 

All Things Considered

 

Picture by Jon Carling @JonCarling

Wallowing in a thought lagoon

In a pond of pondering

Not much here that interests me

Leftovers  lingering

Hoping that a passing dream

With nowhere else to go

Can lend a hand in situations

With something I should know

Deep search for inspirations 

Drives desperation for a plot

In cluttered forests, I meander

For something new, I once forgot

Who Said That?

 

Billboards shouted quietly

Graffiti mislaid words

Messages had lost their way

With slogans for the birds

 

Slow demise of points of view

As tweets and postings faded

A mournful sigh to the rallying cry

Grassroots colours jaded

 

Nowadays, a statement craze

Inscribed on the skins of limbs

Imminently out of date

Like would be, wanna-be whims 

A Phantom Lost Momentum

 

A ghoul howled low one misty night
Melancholic and dismayed
Such a lonesome, deathly sound
The haunting ghost was disarrayed

It spoke in lifeless apparitions

With emphasis on things amiss

And other faces it had been

Wailed, where to go on nights like this

A night of bright moon shadow
Weeping by the willow’s sigh
With recollections wide and shallow
Which vanished with a mournful cry

Meandering

 

Out on Syncopation Ave
Dancing steps clear of the cracks
To hip-hop rhythms that appeal
Letting melody drive my tracks

With jump-up notes and flying feet
Each beat lifts me above the street
Grooving through the neon hue
To glide beyond the morning new

 

Down We Go

 

Picture by Jon Carling@JonCarling

Late again, no time to stop

I can't afford the time

As I approach the Rabbit Hole

Without a step to climb

The queen will not be happy

To be rudely interrupted

Imagining that stamping foot

As her boiling point erupted

I can feel the clapping irons

Darkly cheering as I sit

Her scowling on the croquet green

As I pray my crimes acquit 

Elsie

Elsie optimistically

Her garland gleams delight

Her happiness speaks quietly

In gentle morning light.

Beneath the dazzling blush

She scatters hope like dew,

Each petal falling playfully

Repaints the world anew.

Her laughter lifts the sparrows

Dancing lightly in the breeze,

A promise softly spoken

Among the whispering trees

 

 

Elsie (female) 

Scottish and English simplified form of Elspie, a pet form of Elspeth this can be used as an independent name and in the early 20th century proved more popular than Elspeth `a contracted form of Elizabeth.

 

Elizabeth: used in the authorised version of the New Testament and in most modern European languages this was the name of the mother of John the Baptist Luke 160 etymology, the name means God is my oath and is therefore identical with Alicia name of the wife of Aaron according to genealogy at exodus 6: 23 the final element seems to have been altered by association with the Hebrew Shabbat sabbat.

Diacritcally Speaking

 

In writing words correctly

Crystal clear and sound specific

If using markers for inflection

Then one requires a diacritic

 

If like me, you’ve ever wondered

How to progress pronunciation

With those signal little gizmos

Adding verve appropriation

 

Type a letter, hold it down

A pop-up menu will appear

With mouse, select a thingy

A simple act to commandeer

 

Make It To Bake It

Picture by I McMillan

Now that's a super pudding mix

In a large, extravagant bowl

With ambitions to be rising

For the dinnertime patrol

They call it Yorkshire pudding

To grace the family feast

A super-size of crusty wise

Without the need for yeast

 

Doodads

 

We love our gadget gizmos

Our tolerant home-grown slaves

Meeting all our must-do needs 

Hardly ever misbehaves

Kettles boil our water hot

Teapots serve us earthy teas

Toasters roast our breakfast bread

Electric irons smooth the crease

Wash machines do clothes and plates

Tumble dried, no washing line

 Oven-baking pies and cakes

Air fryers at speed define

Night Light

 Picture by Jon Carling@JonCarling

Creating their sway undercover

Hidden in places elsewhere

Seldom on show

But to children who know

Inner dreams are their fairy tale share

Arriving in halos of light

Enchanting a voyage refrain

In sleep, filled along

Quivering whispers of song

A tranquillity, all can attain

Triche

 

A cunning rhyme that harbours tricks

Amusing or confusing

What you see can’t always be

Gently chiding or abusing

 

Tricks are steeped in humour

Can catch you out with no escape

Lock you up inside deceptions

Leave you stunned and out of shape

 

Hand-eye coordination moves

Clever phrases smooth and slick

Distracts you from reality

Until you work out it’s a trick

 

Sometimes tricks are played on you

Other times, you play them on

At summer’s end, it’s tricky treats

Could be appealing or a con

 

The Spangle

 

The angle of the bangle

That dangled on a thread

Writhed to unentangle

The mangle in his head

No matter how he wrangled

On the rhythms of fandangle

The raucous jingle jangle

Put the point on his triangle 

 

 

The Man Who Soiled the World

 

Grubbiness on dollar bills

Dirty money up for grabs

Lazy living in a hangdog bar

In the charm of concrete slabs

 

Pilfered tickets for the underground

Invaded charities for dough

Denigrating loyal friends

Became a favoured way to go

 

Letters filled with intimation

Exaggerating blatant promises

Dribble, speaking, splutters out

Stifled atmosphere encompasses

 

 

Interim Gaps

 

In between the intervals

A breather or a rest

When waiting to progress again

Or not, who knows what’s best

 

Releasing concentration

Letting air between the ears

To clarify the inner eye

And rub away the smears

 

Intervals are everywhere

They can release you from a chair

Allowing twiddles, jigs and fidgeting

Unaware of those who stare

 

In between the intervals

Is not a loaded cause

To link, connect or interject

Complimented by applause

 

Summer Haze

 

On these July days of marvel

We can be here for each other

Understanding what we need to do

To enhance, though never smother

 

To be a friend, the challenge is

Never looking for reward

To be around a friendly sound

In summertime, go forward

 

Discovering the best of ways

Appreciate the sunny hours

Sunny colours paint communities

Like scented sprays of flowers

 

 

The Last Word In June

 

 

That heady month is leading us

Into summer style and flair

Crazy nights in solstice lights

To gather near and share

 

When the temperature exceeding

Goes well beyond our general high

Confounding expectations

Where, under languid shades, we lie

 

When the weather turns up languorous

We indulge in ice on sticks

Dreamy Baked Alaska Cakes

Sip ice-cold Sarsaparilla mix

A Rhyme Indeed

 

Meanings change and rearrange

Tweaking words when speaking

A type of language blending

Vernacular interleaving

 

If what is said has implications

Narrative must be aware

With firmness and conviction

Conveying messages foursquare 

 

Convincing by persuasion

To be accepted, not dismissed

Understood with clarity

The content of one’s gist 

A Song In The Night

 

The other night, as I was sleeping

Someone’s dream had lost its way

I offered it an easy seat

Where it could rest awhile or stay

 

We didn’t try to say too much

Immersed ourselves into the dream

No big deal on the daydream wheel

Where two imaginations lean

 

Unsure on how to progress

Something mutual or impartial 

In agreement with the fading light

A resting place most beneficial

This rhyme is based on a comment by Keith Richards. You can't write a song, you have to catch it in the air.

Playtime

A see-saw knocker 

On Marjorie’s door

To the sound of a dancer 

On a clay-tiled floor

Trusting on a bet

Like a worn-out chancer

Tapping out rhythms

Where there is no answer

Knock a rat-a-tat-tat

Johnny’s slog disaster

Won’t earn enough

He can’t work any faster

 

Time to Pop Off

 

Weasels go pop

As money goes west

Then nothing worth having

Like a good night’s rest

Tuppence a pound

For a full load of rice

Though half a pound

Will serve us four, nice

When out on the town

Dance in the Eagles

A frolic in fashion

Sing pop go the weasels

If you can’t work this rhyme out

Pawn a Tailor’s iron

Getting cash for an Eagle bash

These words you can’t rely on

You’ll get more from a weasel purse

Depending on whose round

A clue is in the weasels’ pop

Ten bob gets you half a pound

 

 

No Finer Light

 

The splendid orb in all her phases

Is powering our seasons

Invigorating propagating 

For immense sustaining reasons

 

Her enormity is limitless

Freely giving force to dream

Her circulating energy drives

Enticing brilliance supreme

 

Youth on Fire

 

Nineteen, a canvas bright,

Uncertain hues in fading light.

A heart that leaps, a soul that yearns,

A future path where hope returns.The weight of dreams, a whispered plea,

For all the things that might yet be.

A fragile strength, a tender grace,

A smile that lights a shadowed space.First loves and losses, sharply felt,

Lessons learned, though bridges melt.

Ambition's fire, a burning brand,

A reaching hand, across the land.Nineteen, a turning tide,

Where youthful dreams and fears reside.

A chapter closed, a new one starts,

In nineteen's dance, of hopes and hearts.