Lo!  Behold the morning with such beauteous delight.
See diaphanous filaments bestrewn with beads of dew,
sparkling their display of every shade of prismatic hue,
exalting the spider’s art, woven throughout the night!

Lo!  See the wraiths of mist, slowly rising from the river bed,
whilst apparent rootless reeds, seen on either bank,
stand like ephemeral ghosts!  The air though heavy and dank
becomes alive with a myriad of creatures.  For the night has fled!

Lo!  Hear the clear crystal sounds which bid the new day awaken.
The crowing ****, the raucous cawing crow, the mourning dove,
all borne upon the breeze, which routs reluctant clouds above.
Once again with the breaking dawn perceived, darkness is overtaken!

Lo!  Give thanks for the wakening of sleeping souls once more,
for having survived the unknown perils of the past night.
Arising to witness another day graced by Dawn’s early light,
we are aware that the awaiting day invites us to come; explore!

Rhymer.  February 11th, 2018

I’ve tried Haiku - what a tricky “to do:”
Then there’s Tanka: this I’ll likely eschew.
Cinquain though another different form
Is to this poor poet, more true to norm,
And better suited to my proclivity!

Though Blank or Free Verse; even Prose,
Possesses an appeal: it’s a different pose.
Though it allows freedom of expression:
It’s not for me. Rhyming, is my obsession,
Suits me better; panders to my creativity.

So many genres, some of which I’ve tried:
But all too often, my over excited Muse, died;
Left struggling with a message, still unsaid.
Shortly thereafter find all inspiration dead.
Not the best way to ensure productivity!

So Tanka, Cinquain, Haiku or whatever?
It surely takes someone smart and clever
To emulate the Japanese.  Those wily men,
Who write their poetry with brush - not pen,
Yet retain their sense of rational relativity!

Rhymer February 4th, 2018

This poem is about nothing. I’ve naught to say:
No message to impart, as is my inimitable way.
I espouse no moral ground on which to stand,
No political axe to grind: please do understand.,
I’ve no religious viewpoints to get across,
As for thoughts on world affairs? I’m at a loss
To explain.  I’ll let the words flow as they will
I’ve no intent to let strong passions over spill
Into extravagant prose. I’ll allow no obsession:
Nor wax eloquently to promote aggression
Or on other matters about which I’m obsessed!
I’ve no personal indiscretions to be confessed:
I’ll write not of ill health, love, death or hate:
Nor to being consumed about something I ate.
With no cause to promote or examine moral rights:
Or reason to comment on other illicit delights.
I’ll not write on poverty nor warming climate change!
Though by a poem on “Nothing,” I restrict the range
Addressed.  Forsooth I must confess, my true reason
For a poem on “Nothing” is boredom with winter’s Season!
Being thoroughly tired of snow; ice and bitter Arctic cold,
Writing this poem, is “Nothing” but a sure sign I grow old!

Rhymer.  February 2nd, 2018.

While Mr. Bartlett was heard to declare,
"I will be famous.  I've found a new pear!"
He was nothing compared to Mr. Newton,
Who found the first fig tree with some fruit on!
When next in a biscuit, he rolled it*,
Enhancing its flavour.  Gourmets extolled it!
Next came a gardener who saw the rain
Run off apples he grew.  Leaving no stain!
Seeing their clean red skin, remarked "Oh Gosh!"
The right name for this brand is "MacIntosh!"
Next came a woman who reached her zenith
When they named a green apple, "Granny Smith!".
With even complexion, and no rumpling,
‘Twas an apple perfect for making a dumpling!
Then a little girl not to be outdone,
Said to her Father in a bit of fun,
I’d like to name that sweet English plum.
I’ll call it Victoria, after my dear old Mum!
Next a sweet, red cherry, they named Bing,
After a soft crooner who loved to sing,
Who cares if it's true? At least it’s romantic.
Besides, let’s not be too pedantic!
Was this how most fruit names were given?
First, folks found they were resolutely driven
To put their name to a specific fruit.
Then came others who quickly followed suit!
Whether we like the results, most agree,
It's how some things are named.  Will always be!
But should you develop a fruit like a pear,
Your name must be worthy for it to bear.
Can you imagine the grief begotten
If your name should  be Ava Rotten?!

Rhymer . February 2nd, 2018.

Just a few days ago, walking down the main street,
an old friend and acquaintance, I happened to meet.
As is my usual way, I asked him “Was he well?”
The way folks do, when they haven’t met for a spell.
“Oh pretty good” he said.  It’s the standard reply,
then before I could continue to walk on by,
he stood in my path, putting a hand on my wrist,
and his various troubles proceeded to list!
“You know of course, I lost the sight of my right eye”
“when a stone flew from a truck which was passing by,”
“and there is my left leg, which is still bruised and sore.”
“Doctor says it will be at least a month or more”
“before it’s healed, but now I can walk without a crutch”
“and my arm is much better.  It doesn’t hurt so much.”
“Not like my back, which aches all day and night long:”
“it needs an operation, once they find out what’s wrong!”
“Getting to sleep at night is very difficult.”
“I’ve had X-rays taken, but there’s been no results!”
Then sighing deeply, he continued to list thus:
“my ulcers are painful, but I’m not one to fuss,”
“but I do have to be careful of what I eat each day."
“My allergies trigger my asthma, but that’s okay,”
“for I’m almost rid of the influenza I had.”
“What’s more, my ingrowing toenail is not as bad.”
“Right now I’m off to have my aching tooth removed.”
“But good news is, my prosthesis has been approved!”
“Now I see my bus is coming, so I must dash!”
Turning, he fell on some ice.  Went down with a crash!
With that I slipped away from the gathering crowd,
for I heard some concerned person ask him, out loud:
“Do you feel all right?  Are you hurt in anyway,”
and I wasn’t staying to hear what he had to say.
So off I hurried down the street.: I almost flew,
until I spotted another acquaintance I once knew.
Just as I was about to call out “Hello” as a greeting,
I recalled what happened with my last meeting,
so biting my tongue, I quickly turned and fled!
Better I hear of his problems, after he’s dead!

Rhymer. January 31swt, 2018.

Do the dreams we encounter through the night
Echo a past indiscretion, or delight?
Sleeping, do we recall times we treasure?
Brief shadows which remark some past pleasures?

Could they be of a life, we lived before?
Such dreams, upon which some folks set great store,
Appear as scattered fragments of the great unknown!
Unlike past predictions found carved in stone.

Dreams?  Transient illusions of the mind!
Their being?   We’ve no answer there to find!
A message? None but trifling amusement.
Worthless, they contrive their own bemusement!

Born of our fertile imagination,
Appearing without co-ordination
Escaping from the mind’s peregrinations,
Feigning authentic prognostications!

While Charlatans promote these dreams as fact,
And seek simple, trusting minds to impact!
Others dismiss them with cynicism and disdain!
Still there are those with honest doubt, that remain!

When next, dreams turn to nightmares!   We’re left confused!
Tormented minds seek explanations?  Infused
With false premonitions, these singular thoughts
Offend our beliefs! But before it thwarts

Objectives, and we search for clues not there.
We must guard against deceit!  Have a care.
For dreams, are empty echoes of the mind!
This is the only answer I can find.

Rhymer.  January 31st, 2018