Echoes of Carol

She always seemed unbeatable

With boldness carried on

Defiant smiles and laughter

We’ll miss her now she’s gone

 

Naughty Thoughts

 

Crowded in a thought surround

Bombarded into sleep

I can’t contain them in the main

As they wave and quietly creep

 

Do thoughts have ears to listen

Or, eyes to paint ideas

Why then such a rapid dump

On my synergistic lean veneers

 

Active when uncalled-for 

Interrupting smart solutions

Falling like confetti rain

When swept away cannot remain

Perception

 

My perfect picture window shines

Prominent figments on my wall

A flawless stream of grayscale

Whose distant memories, I recall

 

Harking back to bygone days

In roaring twenties style

Something opulently Gatsby

Like Scott Fitzgerald might compile

 

A vision speaking out to me

How times have slowly rearranged

Thoroughly modern artificial

Hinting times gone by have changed

 

Feasts of Yeasts

 

Strings and threads in flower beds

Braids in the forest glades

Earth divining crosswise intertwining

Growing deep arrayed brocades

 

Food for thought miscellany

Repairs with flair agronomy

Charming farming life returning

In a realm of soil autonomy

 

Her messages interpreted

Mother Nature watches on

Each living brood returned as food

New life to build upon

 

In Pursuit of Home

 

Travelling on the underground 

Fifty metres deep

In an empty carriage late at night

Far away from silent sleep

 

So much emptiness surrounds me

It invades my space in time

As the end-of-line approaches

Where I’ll take the exit climb

 

Even at this vacant hour

As I go, they’re coming back

Crossing paths with future pasts

Way above that lowdown track

 

Thrown

Bricks with numbers one to six

Rustled, jostled, bumped, and spun

Random patterns one-on-one

A gaming cluster in the mix

Roll and twist make magic tricks

Before your very eyes

Hand illusions mild surprise

Unexpectedly for kicks

Nothing dicey about a dice

Unless you find them loaded

From a shaken cup exploded

Algorithms make a tidal splice

 

52nd Birthday

 

Simon shuffles life like a deck so grand,
Fifty-two years dealt by fate’s own hand.
Each card a moment, a story to trade,
A royal flush of memories made.
Happy birthday, may your luck never fade!

 

With every card flipped, a new chance to play,
Jack, queen, and king guide your joyful way.
Through highs and lows, your hand stays smart,
A lifetime of wins, dealt straight from the heart.
Cheers to Simon—let the good times stay!

Life in the First Lane

 

A child sits waiting, watching

For a moment, not yet known

To draw the eyes in mild surprise

Where seeds of thought are sown

 

In a state of sensing chance

Unsure, not knowing why

A natural curiosity shapes

To expand a child’s mind’s eye

 

Movement, shade and colour

Dancing patterns all around

Briefly finding something new

In its sense of sight and sound

 

Down at the Pillory

 

Sounds of handcarts rattling

Death knells in the air

Telling tales of ignominy 

Bring destitution and despair

 

Societies turned inside out

Blunting blades for splitting hairs

Denying septic points of order

Extracting demons from their lairs

 

Shackled in their cages

No longer shielded by their cash

Coddled in horsehair blankets 

Suffering needle eye whiplash

Investigators Found No Prince

 

 

We’re in a royal pickle

It seems a bit of a do

The bastions of the cosseted

Have to reappraise their view

 

Among the many scrapings 

Who bowed and vowed their lives

To a bunch of well-off chanciest

Where entitlement survives

 

Step and fetch it straightaway

Below the radar, stay unseen

Brushing, buffing shiny things

Amid palatial ways and means

N.B.

Whilst I have little sympathy for the plight of Mr Mountbatten, I do not subscribe to paparazzi photography shaming.

Mind Out

 

Where does it sit or emanate

This entity, my mind

Although it’s there, I don't know where

And strangely hard to find

 

Seemingly, I cannot see

The seat of my perception

A tactician of my everything

Owning up to introspection

 

It is a pilot automatically

Guiding or misguiding

The last word that I’ll ever say

Though irresponsibly in hiding

  

Ah So

 

Looking for the perfect word

In a spree of special context

Harmonious in simplicity

In well-presented hypertext 

 

To think out loud without excuse

Finds a perfect thought to share

Performative informative

Without compromise foursquare 

 

Among so many perfect sayings

In settings planned to be

Can the digital compartmentalise

Construct a flawless soliloquy

 

 

Another Play On Another Page

 

They came home just after nine o’clock one chilly, damp November evening. 

The house was dark and quiet, with no lights on, which made it feel a bit like a stranger’s place.

She said, “Is the front door shut properly? It can stick this time of year.”

He said, “I’ll check… Yes, it’s all closed up tight.”

She shivered a little. “It’s a bit nippy in here. Has the heating come on?”

He looked at the thermostat. “It’s set quite low for this time of year. Are we trying one of your economy things again?”

She was looking through the post, her eyes caught by one particular envelope.

He asked, “Anything wrong?”

She said, “I’m not sure. It looks very official, like a letter from the solicitor’s, all proper and legal.”

He smiled. “Shall I put the kettle on, or do you want to open it first?”

She opened the letter and read out loud, “It is now three months since we undertook to resolve your late husband’s legal affairs.”

She paused. “Is it really that long already?”

She glanced at the mirror and saw her pale, tired face. Then she switched on the kettle and went to check the front door once more.

Nothing Special On My Mind

 

Browsing through some offhand notes

In a wayward idle daze

Wondering if these twisting curls

Are more than rapid overplays

 

Looking out for hidden meaning

From unconscious points of view

Whether hitherto was my mistake

As I discovered something new

 

Looking out for easy cosiness

A less-than-challenging escapade

Where a play on words uncovers

The life behind a barricade

 

 

The Family Unfair

 

 

How did I get to be me?

Where do I stand among ‘We?’

Where do we stretch?

For I’d like to fetch?

From the roots of my ancestry tree

How long must it take to reveal?

What too many years can conceal

All the living that passed

By coincidence cast

In a spin of a lineage wheel

As I delve down the alleys now gone

Visiting stones laid upon

Is it likely I’ll see?

Early versions of me

Or a light that was never outshone

 

© C K Letts 2020

January Nights

Drifting at the speed of sleep

Where the time is never when

Spellbound in a moving space

Transitorily back again

 

In a swirl of homegrown shapes

Curio’s not tracked or traced

Where destinations have no purpose

Like eyelid patterns interlaced

 

In the blanket warmth of dreaming

On Sunday mornings wide expanse

To the disconnected ringing bells

Simply found again by chance

 

 

Too Much Jabber

 

When bicker, gripe and avarice

Infiltrate the bottom line

Where promises made are undercut

In a pigpen barbed with twine

 

Every strong link bond is cast aside

For the selfish fleeting gain

In a gold rush grab to steal the march

Leaving grandeur sought in vain

 

There sits the naked emperor

Riding high on a king’s commode 

Saving time whilst dumping excess

A restroom ploy that overflowed

 

Knock-Knock

 

Nested in a bone-made box

Is that mindful calculator

Speaking when not spoken to

A thought suggestion stimulator

 

When it first found itself aware

To consider circumstances

Interpreting those outside hints

Of sound effects and sideways glances

 

Multi-billion tools at hand

It begins to write its handbook

Amid a puzzle maze of mysteries

That came together by a fluke

 

Aera

 

Send this day to elsewhere

I feel I do not need it here

In a place where nothing happens

Without gloss, a flat veneer

 

Some days arrive so suddenly

Unexpected, some might say

Disadvantaged by agendas

Lacking helpful parts to play

 

So if this day should come to you

And tie you tightly in a bind

Let it pass, it cannot stay too long

A perfect state that’s left behind

Detachment

They're all the same, nothing will change
Promises made in a familiar range
Left or right, a well-worn game
Different faces, the rules remain

Voices shout, but silence stays
In endless loops of old clichés
Hope may flicker, dreams may wane
But in the end, it's all the same

Mercedes-AMG F1 W14 E (LEGO 3D)

Upon the table

Pieces spread

Each brick a dream 

Each gear a thread

Lego’s marvel 

Sleek and bold

Silver arrows stories told.

Hands assemble

Mind engaged,

Precision, patience

Fully staged.

Mercedes-AMG the key

In miniature

A thrill for me

Axles click 

And engines hum

Suspension set

The race begun

Every wing

And sticker placed

Detail fine

No time to waste.

The W14 E takes form

Ready for the chequered dawn

In Lego’s hands and builder’s art

The spirit of the track takes heart

Soon to be

picture by Egor Komarov

Here we are at new beginnings
making promises to keep

Letting times and dates turn up again

From another poor night's sleep

Intention of decisions made

Face to face with every hour

Browsing on tomorrow's menu

Letting now uncover power