Flowers,
seen in full bloom,
are pleasures to enjoy.
It’s from toil and endless labours,
that we receive our desired reward!
Even when fully occupied
with labourious chores,
still we enjoy
flowers.

Rhymer.  May 27th, 2018.

(Rictameter - Syllables - 2,4,6,8,10,8,6,4,2,
Last line same as first.)

Without warning, you left in haste:
planned celebrations, went to waste;
Christmas - ruined by a cruel thief,
turned expected pleasures to bitter grief!

The Grim Reaper, called!  No warning given,
and through our hearts a stake was driven!
A call to leave, which you could not deny
gave me no chance to say Goodbye!

In that moment my future was changed,
when Granddad - nothing pre-arranged,
answered the call of “He” whom he adored!
That he had gone to Heaven I was assured!

Heavy curtains tightly drawn, told their tale,
to neighbours passing, who could not fail
to know calamity, had overtaken our family!
Christmas forever one I’d remember bitterly!

In my early days, though many years apart,
Grandad was the one who ruled my heart!
Being the epitome of what I hoped to be:
encouraging me to remain steadfast, he

fostered and supported my life’s ambition.
Following his advice, I denied inhibition,
and followed my dreams without reserve.
Knowing education was essential to serve

my future needs, I seized every opportunity
offered me, and learned skills that would be
essentials in the years ahead.  Though bereft
of his advice on living a fulsome life, he left

me more determined to follow his advice,
knowing that second-rate would not suffice!

Rhymer.  May 25th, 2018.

The Many Stages of Life.
Shakespeare wrote: that in Life,
we pass through seven,stages,
and for each stage, we fill many pages.
Recording details, joyful and sad:
of deeds done, be they good or bad.
Lifestyles led - be they short or long:
a mournful dirge or joyful song?
they’ll mark times of joy and strife
each book recording a stage in life.
But of all events therein, there’s no doubt,
The Rhythm of Life, runs throughout!

Herewith my attempt to describe poetically,
the Seven Phases, of life in metred rhyme:

A baby’s first cry, a Mother’s sigh,
a Father’s joy, be it girl or boy!
The Rhythm of Life - renewing.

Tho not adept, a toddler’s first step:
an excited giggle, a hesitant wiggle!
The Rhythm of Life - exploring.

A chilling dream: a piercing scream:
a splashing bath, a show of wrath!
The Rhythm of Life - revealing.

It’s off to school, playing it cool,
friendships made, twixt lad and maid,
The Rhythm of Life - inviting.

In the Class, shy looks pass:
Girl dates boy, flirting coy:
The Rhythm of Life - delighting.

Embarrassed flush: a girlish blush.
With proposal made, plans are laid,
The Rhythm of Life - maturing.

Lovers matched, a wedding hatched,
with banns said, the twosome wed.
The Rhythm of Life - inviting.
Twixt a couple paired, love is shared.
Next it’s three, maybe more to be?
The Rhythm of Life, expanding.

Heaven be praisedACA, the family’s raised,
then comes the desire, to retire.
The rhythm of Life, now slowing.

After happy years, and some tears,
walk grows slow, soon time to go.
The Rhythm of Life, is waning.

When The Reaper calls, the curtain falls:
being time to leave, some will grieve.
For The Rhythm of Life, has ended!

Rhymer.  May 23rd, 2018.

I am the one you’ll deem contrary;
I strive to be a worthy adversary.
I refuse to accept the status quo:
I speak up to let my listeners know
I listen, but seldom change my mind!
I hope you will realise and find
I am the one you’ll deem contrary.

I am aware of my own poetic limitations,
I love to nettle listeners’ irritations.
I watch their countenance closely, then
I learn from their expression. When
I daydream of what might have been,
I laugh at hilarious scenes often seen.
I cry when suffering rhyming frustrations:
I am aware of my own poetic limitations.

I am a sceptic of self proclaimed experts;
I admire all girls, coquettes and flirts.
I respect the modest educated man,
I expect to assist me when he can.
I accept all men as equal on sight,
I reject those who think that might is right!
I deserve to reap my just desserts
I am a sceptic of self proclaimed experts!

I am the one you’ll deem contrary:
I have found serenity, when solitary:
I dance when my day is free of pain,
I sing when the skies are blue again.
I want for nothing of which I know,
I need only for the sunshine to show.
I pray for the poetic extraordinary.

I am aware of my poetic limitations,
I am a sceptic of self proclaimed experts.
I am the one you’ll deem contrary.

Rhymer. May 23rd, 2018.

I’m depressed, said the bellpush to the thumb,
and suffer endless ringing, until I succumb
to constant pressures, when jabbed for long.
So please be gentle; don’t press too strong.

Though firm, round and hard when I was born,
I yield to the grind, said the black peppercorn:
Me too said coffee, although I’m seldom refused,
after I'm roasted, and my grounds hotly infused!

I suffer a split personality said Nutmeg: my fate
is to lose my appeal (peel), when my kernel, they grate
to join Mace.  That’s the skin in which I am clad,
which makes a spicy additive.  It really is too bad,

but my life’s a whirl, said the busy spinning wheel,
and no one knows how warped and twisted I feel,
spending hour after hour in never-ending gyration,
reeling a bobbin dependant on my constant rotation!

Whereas I, said the needle, have a unique ability
to make a point.  Though it adds to my capability,
It’s a darned nuisance having to repair holes of size,
relying solely upon the size and state of my eyes.

Next, the steam iron, bragged it could flatten anything,
whilst the electric kettle, then professed it could sing
in harmony with any tuning fork that could thrum a tune,
Ii both were allowed to harmonise  and softly croon.

I’m a hoot said the Trumpet Vine, and gave a toot!
Whereupon the Bugle Plant, snorting a derisive snoot,
said, “you’re nothing but a social climber, whereas I
remember my humble roots, and such as you, I decry.”

Then we heard the woes of the fairground Carousel.
Suffering from “ highs” and “ lows,”  it thought it hell
to go nowhere!  This, despite having seen many sights,
and dizzy from constantly working depths and heights!

But the final word belongs to the toilet brush:.
Bristling with anger, it possessed a red flush!
Perpetually plunged into the depths of despair,
its only avenue of escape, was a place somewhere

unthinkable!  It had had enough of its dead end job,
and was wasting away!  At working it was no slob,
but it was a task not to be relished nor recommended,
having no future of merit, should fall-out be suspended!

At this others agreed, his was a dead end job
be it working for peasant or the richest Nabob.
There were few positions, few notwithstanding
to be found as lowly.  Be it sitting or standing!

Rhymer.  May 22nd, 2018.

When I'm within your arms, and you hold me tight:
I fear no cold, no rain, nor the darkness of night.
Firm in your close embrace, I'm warmly protected,
For you are my refuge, that's graciously accepted.
There's a familiarity we share, that's truly like no other,
As are the closest bonds of a sister and her brother.
Your comfort is a nostrum: you dispense it very well,
And with a style and flair that fits, you really do excel.
You're my guardian angel, who protects me from surprise.
Sometimes when accidents occur or a problem will arise;
Timely warnings are ignored or they're totally rejected:
Smugness then prevails; you're discarded and neglected,
But never once do you fail, to fly post haste to my aid!
Proving once again, you're the best coat, ever made!

Rhymer. May 22nd, 2018

I had a thought, as I’ll explain,
To go for a walk, out in the rain.
So donned my slicker, boots and hat,
Well prepared for what the day begat.
Having intended to leave and then return
Later.  But doing an abrupt about turn
Just before I left, I thought again,
As to what from my walk, I’d gain?
So without further thought, I delayed
My intention of walking, and stayed
At home.  Now having gone no where,
Thought this a rare happening, to share.
Having the thought, was surely enough,
But as for my reason?  Now that’s tough!
Doubtless I changed my mind before I left,
Thinking I’d have sufficient energy left
To use another day, if once again
I felt like taking a walk in the rain.
But then again, I might simply decide
To stay at home, and not to go outside,
Knowing a walk can be undertaken when
I'm in the right mood to walk out again:
though not when it’s pouring with rain!
Is this sufficient, to possibly explain,
the rationale behind my walk’s delay,
and why I almost went for a walk today?

Rhymer.  May 12th, 2018.