Twas purely happenstance,
that a quick passing glance
caused Love to be ignited.
Still three years would pass,
before that slender lass
and I were lovingly united!

Firstly to places far away,
I was sent, to work and play:
twas a journey long expected,
but on my return - a later day,
the fates in their devious way,
smiled on me unexpected!

From letters in her fair hand,
I learned about her island land,
and how her days were spent.
As months and years went by,
they helped to make time fly.
So much to me they meant!

With my duty done, I returned
for a vacation, I had earned,
and asked if she would visit?
For by now, the bond I’d made,
with this attractive maid,
had fostered dreams exquisite!

After my heartfelt personal plea
to come visit me and my family:
which she accepted gracefully,
we took cycling trips here and there,
that fostered memories to share
even as love blossomed naturally.

Twas then future plans were laid,
twixt me and my fair island maid,
to wed one mid December morn.
Staying firm in our endeavour
we planned for a life together,
confronting all critical scorn!

Leaving behind our carefree days,
and forsaking our youthful ways,
we set out on our chosen adventure.
Though some said we were deceived
to think love would last, we believed,
it would prove a long lasting venture.

Surviving times of joy and tears,
love has flourished for sixty years.
Having overcome all tribulations
by boldly facing each new day:
supporting each other in every way,
we have good cause for celebrations!

Destiny decreed we would briefly meet,
then go full circle, before we’d complete
the loving twosome we remain today!
The Vows we made, when first wed,
remain as true today as when first said:
and will remain so, until our final day!

Rhymer.  February 26th, 2018.
The truth and nothing but the truth!

My apologies if this is a repost.

The moon hangs low, o’er the glistening snow,
frost deeply trenchant within.
The cold winds sigh, and brush wolves cry,
so their nightly serenades begin.
The crackling house, the scavenging mouse,
that scuttles away in fright.
For the hoot of an owl, out on the prowl,
warns it’s seeking its prey tonight.

There’s an air of doom in the graveyard gloom:
the church stands quiet in silhouette.
Through rising fog, we hear a barking dog,
smoke spins in pirouette.
The chatter of trees in the soughing breeze,
and sounds of a distant train.
A rabbit’s scream, part of Nature’s scheme:
when the Red Fox kills again.

Roof rafters snap and rattle; soft lowing of cattle,
fowls huddle close in ranks;
ice hangs from gables, over horses in stables,
who stamp feet on wooden planks.
They’re impatient to go, out into the snow,
loving the brisk snap of the air,
but our cat does not aspire, to leave the fire,
or remove itself from my chair.

On a cold winter night with the moon clear and bright,
and stars are twinkling above:
it’s great for viewing; to see what’s brewing,
and a time I enjoy and love.
When the snow lies deep, the world’s asleep,
a pleasure for which I prepare.
Such a starlit night, is a joyous delight,
and a time that’s precious and rare.

Rhymer February 25th, 2018.

When Life hands you a lemon sour,
You're feeling down, demeanour dour,
The day ahead seems dull and grey,
Resolve to be upbeat. Find a way
To think pleasant thoughts. Life is short
And negative thinking? It achieves naught!
Resolve to give yourself a treat,
Ponder on things pleasantly sweet:
Soon the sun will disperse the cloud
The day will brighten: sing aloud.
Crack a joke: take time to smile,
See the blues depart in a while.
Abandon your feelings of woe,
Return to living. Here's how you go:
Take the lemon, though sour it is
Squeeze hard, add sugar and fizz,
Brew yourself a tonic or elixir,
Then drink deep! It's a real Life fixer!

Rhymer February 25th, 2018.

Or
An Overnight Romance.

We met by chance in a shopping mall,
Could see you were “special,” the best of all.
I made my advances, which rang your bell,
That you liked me too, was easy to tell.

I said but little, as we walked round and about,
So took you home, for I had nary a doubt,
That you were ideal for an intimate tete a tete,
Being totally convinced our meeting was fate.

I sat on the couch, with you snuggled up tight,
That my arms now held you, seemed so right.
When it grew late, I suggested we share a bed:
With no objection from you, we went ahead.

I laid you down gently, holding you tightly,
And this passionate moment, seemed rightly,
One we should follow, for we thought it okay!
So every night, I cuddle up to my new duvet!

Rhymer.  February 19th, 2018.

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