The air? Full of tension
with fearful apprehension,
spawning much consternation
that firmly grips the Nation,
due to the Lock Down decree!

Neighbours avoid contacts close:
standing apart - with few verbose.
Though many care to stop and talk:
a brief Hullo - resume their walk,
due to the Lock Down decree!

The stores? No bustling crowd:
only sparse numbers allowed.
Life in general, is now abated.
Needed essentials? Oft debated,
due to the Lock Down decree.

Busy streets - once traffic filled:
rarely seen - their hubbub stilled.
Oft heard and part of daily life?
Angry spats, twixt man and wife,
due to the Lock Down decree.

Few children seen: no school today.
Learning at home, the new found way.
Essential workers - walking brisk,
speed to their task.  A daily risk,
due to the Lock Down decree.

Life once known, has been emended:
habits too, have been transcended.
Stress of every known description,
rules. Patience our prescription,
due to the Lock Down decree.

Across the world, Nations decide
all normalcy must be set aside.
Citizens must abide to rules,
placed to curb, uncaring fools!
So states the Lock Down decree.

Rhymer.  November 26th, 2020.

Oft times of late, throughout the day,
I  wonder, if somehow I’ve lost my way,
as day after day, hours slip quickly by,
and well laid plans seemingly go awry?
Despite intent, I accomplish naught,
except indulgence in a passing thought.

On awakening, aware day has dawned,
I remain recumbent, as schemes spawned
overnight race pell-mell through my head,
whilst I analyse their merits.  Lying abed
allows me to focus upon the possibility
that some, ever dependant upon my ability,

may be suited for a new poetic exercise?
But all too soon, I see it is time to rise,
so thought is put aside for there’s no time
to sit and consider composing a  rhyme.
Though opportunity knocks, I must dress
and be about my daily chores. Doubtless

all memory of what I proposed to do
will disappear, but this is nothing new,
for age determines memory is fleeting.
Thoughts that can set our muse beating
vanish long before opportunity arrives
and today will be as others in our lives

of late, as we live our ‘elder’ years.
As memory fails, laughter and tears
often allow us to cover our chagrin
and discomposure, but soon we begin
to find, as memory diminishes more,
amusement wanes, and we deplore

our weakness, and inwardly retreat
further into ourselves, afraid to meet
others to socialise. When seen bemused
by vague memory, some are amused
as we desperately scramble to find
rationale within our incoherent mind.

For inability to recall a familiar name
or maintain a train of thought, I blame
advancing years, as do we all at times.
Still I will persist in composing rhymes,
when I remember what it is I would say,
and my concentration does not stray!

Rhymer.  November 14th, 2020.

Of late, I tend to reflect on what I’ve seen,
On folks I’ve known, and where I’ve been.
Often consider decisions made - few I regret,
Recording events experienced, ere I forget.

Age offers many pleasures, and so you see,
I doubt you’ll hear many regrets from me.
With countless occasions I’d like to recall,
I doubt I’ll have time to record them all.

I’ve embarked upon wondrous explorations,
Some disappointed: others lived up to expectations
Yet others left me standing agape, at what was seen;
Or questioning what this experience might mean?

From consequences, and soul searching reflection,
My Life’s future intent, then changed its direction,
And from world traveller to the rustic life I went.
Later seen as sagacious, now Life is almost spent.

I relished my days of travel - with some exceptions;
Tried to be honest with all - employing no deceptions:
Sought to be fair minded in all my day to day dealings;
Tried never to slander anyone, nor hurt their feelings.

I kept an open mind, never jumping to conclusion,
Tried to stay objective - this prevents undue confusion;
Gave the benefit of the doubt, whenever it was needed,
Noted body language - its warning signs were heeded.!

Yes, I’ve seen my share of trouble, poverty and strife,
But today, closing towards the final days of my Life,
I feel I’ve been fortunate: have seldom felt deprived,
Whereas many met, think they’re lucky to have survived!

Rhymer.   November 13th, 2020

When I sit for hours in contemplation,
Do not search for an explanation!
If perchance you should ask me why
I let precious hours, pass idly by?
You’d find no cause for truth in my reply?

You’re sure to think I’m wasting time,
And my sitting has no reason or rhyme.
Why must I always give a lame excuse,
For doing nothing, and just sitting loose!
Does relaxation always need a use?

Of course, I could be making a big decision,
Which needs careful planning, and precision.
Chances are, that would be a blatant lie!
With no urgent plans, with which I’ll do or die,
Aimless thoughts drift like  castles in the sky!

When I sit motionless, making no sound
I like folks to think I’m being profound
Resolving philosophies, fathoms deep!
It’s an impression I would have them keep.
But truth to tell, most times, I’ve fallen asleep!

Rhymer
October 19th, 2020.

Once again the Season changes and there’s a story to tell,
of events that took place overnight, when Nature wove her spell.
A glorious transformation was seen: the world was rearranged,
for when the world awakened, the countryside was changed.

A canvas was set there before us, with hues that defied description,
as a cure to banish blues, they’d prove the ultimate prescription.
With a dazzling kaleidoscopic mix, of orange, yellow and red
she’d splashed colour everywhere, with hues to turn our head!

From these canopies of colour, now complete and widespread
first leaves began to flutter down, to carpet the ground we tread.
Even Poplars and Aspens, that sport summer’s greenest cloak,
had changed to burnished gold, along with the mighty Oak.

To see trees in their Fall regalia, is a feast for wondrous eyes,
but as this marks summer’s end, it comes as no surprise.
Within the arboreal forest, clothed in captivating attire
colours incandescent, are brightened with daybreak fire.

But their beauty is short lived, for winter waits at the door,
and scenes at which we marvel, will shortly be no more,
for when the forest closes ranks, under its forbidding shroud,
then surely winter draws nearer, as Nature has avowed!

Rhymer October 14th, 2020

Autumnal leaves keep falling,
with their colours fading fast,
as winter’s days come calling,
so their beauty will not last.

With their colours fading fast,
leaves lie heavy on the grass,
so their beauty will not last,
as autumnal days now pass.

Leaves lie heavy on the grass:
having drifted ankle deep:
as autumnal days now pass,
so Nature goes to sleep.

Having drifted ankle deep,
as a blanket for the soil.
so Nature goes to sleep,
and rest from daily toil.

As a blanket for the soil,
and keep winter’s cold at bay,
and  rest from daily toil,
is ever Nature’s way.

To keep winter’s cold at bay.
As winter days come calling,
until Spring returns our way:
autumnal leaves keep falling.

Rhymer. October 3

Sweet Summer’s reign now nears its end,
Even though it’s been a welcome friend,
Perhaps it will linger round for longer still
To delay the returning cold - a bitter pill!
Everyone who enjoys her warmer days,
Must be thankful for summer’s ways.
Being benign and graciously delectable,
Every aspect of summer’s stay is acceptable.
Remembered when the cold winds blow!

In winter, when storms of sleet and snow
Smother the earth, then we’ll fondly recall

Autumnal September, as was loved by all!

Kaleidoscopic colours brilliantly displayed
A profusion of pastels, are quickly greyed:
Leaden skies, herald cold winter’s returning.
Even though we rejoice in the solstice turning,
Ironically it is also a time for serious dismay,
Due to summer’s torpid weather, having gone away.
Only the plethora of colours, given as a warning,
Soothe the angst we start to feel.  Every morning,
Cloying fog shrouds the low valleys till midday:
Ominous reminder, the cooler days are here to stay.
Preparing for the winter, that will soon be here,
Everyone hustles hastily, from the cold most fear!

Of certainty, Autumn now makes its presence felt:
Fallen leaves are piled, and pungent smoke is smelt.

Cobwebs adorned with dew, sparkle in dawn’s first light:
Overhead, geese fly south in skeins, on migratory flight,
Leaving before the snow appears - seeking a warmer place.
Others leaving for warmer climes, increase their pace:
Urgency is in the air; for some, it’s time for hibernation.
Red Foxes marauding, cause hen house consternation!
Skunks that pillage noisily, disturb our nightly bed.

Butterflies such as the Monarch, prepare for their trip ahead:
Returning to their winter haunts, Swallows and Martins fly
In a quest for warmth and food.  Sadly we say to them “Goodbye”.
Gone all too soon are summer’s pleasant and languid days;
Having run their course, now comes Autumn’s brief displays.
The flamboyant fore-runners, forecasting Winter’s unpleasant ways.

Rhymer.  September 29th, 2020.

(Without a Ghost of a Chance)

Glimpsed as aberrations of our imagination,
Which quickly disappear upon close examination,
These past, present denizens of the afterlife,
Are now dead ringers condemned to eternal strife!

Some are meek apparitions of lesser standing,
Who, when randomly met upon a stair landing,
Are no more than pale visions of a phantom state.
Ill-starred victims, sentenced to a haunting fate!

Often preceded by musty miasmic vapours,
Wellspring of grief to the living with their capers,
These grotesque caricatures of once living form,
Continually cause chaos!  Refusing to conform!

These discarnate spectres, with ghoulish impudence,
Frequently display transparent signs of decadence,
But when spooked, the poltergeist or doppelganger,
Discharges destructive and high spirited clangour!

They, having expressed their wraithful spite,
Flee to nether regions in full fugacious flight.
Doomed to haunt those they eternally deplore.
Their eerie ectoplasmic state is for evermore!

These ephemeral visions, we so seldom welcome.
Are often too real to dismiss as pure 'bunkum!'
For these incarnate spirits, we know as Ghosts,
Are seldom well-received by their haunted hosts!

Rhymer. September 29th, 2020.

When a myriad of shooting stars sparkled bright,
sped by in a glittering display, one Autumnal night,
they quickly traversed - as is their universal right,
to the Milky Way, I was overtaken with delight!
Being warmly wrapped - for the night was cool,
wearing a heavy old coat, that was lined with wool,
I was snugly warm. Dozing off, I began to dream,
where in my stargazing reverie, a beckoning beam
from a passing comet heading out into space,
beckoned me on a journey to a far distant place.
One where I’d visit worlds - in galactic profusion.
At this, in the midst of my kaleidoscopic confusion,
it seemed my dream became transformed into reality,
as planets and stars in great numbers, sped by me.
Though I knew not how to tell, one planet from the other,
I suddenly saw one passing, that was earth’s twin brother!
It was seen a speeding planet, flying by in blurred haste,
but from what I could see, it looked a lifeless, waste!
Even today, I can clearly recall my dream as I write,
and shudder at the sight of that lifeless, barren sight,
for it was the bleakest landscape I have ever seen!
Heaven forbid it was a sign, that earth’s verdant green,
will be looking like this, unless we change our ways,
and end the senseless spoiling, that’s rife these days.
If not, soon our unique oasis, could drift in lifeless state
a victim of the same perceived, barren apathetic fate
that has befallen every single planet known to man.
Today, we should appreciate the pleasures we can
enjoy today. Often taken for granted by you and me.
As for my dream? May it never become stark reality!

Rhymer September 25th, 2020.

A golden shaft of sunlight, pierces the morning sky.
Splits the clouds asunder.  Announces.. Dawn is nigh!
The lustrous leaves of Autumn, roused by the early light,
Dislodge tardy remnants, of dark departing night.

Beaded dewdrops sparkle.  Soft lit by the yellow sun.
Wraiths of mist meander, and mark the river’s run.
Iradescent damsel flies, hover among the reeds.,
Skim over shallow waters, safe among the weeds.

The **** crow then declares, the start of another day.
His cry echoed by an owl, returning home with prey.
Smoke from the homestead chimney, is reluctant to rise,
And break the unspoiled clarity, of the morning skies.

Noise of the world awakening, travels from afar.
While the rising sun, overwhelms the morning star.
Soon the wind is stirring, warmed by the gentle light,
And with new strength garnered, badgers the dawdling night!

Now the day has broken, and the sun is in full flight.
Our world appears refreshed! Drenched with life giving light!
As we start our daily chores, we note a calming peace,
And wonders of day’s dawning, we pray will never cease!

Rhymer.

Although eyes are opened, how few of us will see
What there is around us, or care what it might be?
For many shrink from truth, to suit their selfish need,
With eyesight that’s selective, troubles they’ll not heed.

Although ears are receptive, how few of us will hear,
The cries of those persecuted, living constantly in fear.
Deafened by the thunder, of righteous indignation;
Their pleas silently ignored, by lack of motivation.

Although our hearts are touched, by pity and compassion,
When action is needed, it’s considered out of fashion.
It’s an oft accepted view: that’s Life!  So what? It’s tough!
Then leave the matter shelved: tomorrow - soon enough!

We must exercise our senses, and open hearts much more
To mitigate the plight, that affects the sick and poor
It is by so doing, and the satisfaction Life awards,
That we are blessed, and reap life’s justified rewards.

Rhymer September 22nd, 2020.

I’m positive I met a man the other day,
One clearly negative in every way.
As I could tell right from the start.
The two of us were really poles apart.

When first we connected via the Internet,
I cabled him to visit and so we met,
It proved to be a really poor connection,
For sparks flew in every known direction!

With my every argument negated
He failed to be positively motivated
I immediately fulminated!  Blew a fuse!
That brought short his verbal abuse,

As this activated an under current
Which alternated with a direct deterrent,
I switched tactics to plug his flow;
Transformed his power trip from fast to slow

Being shocked by his constant negativity
With every reasoned argument of relativity
Wasted, I tried to ensure I was insulated,
Taking the line he was not positively motivated.

Since having conducted an ‘on-line’ survey
Of how matters came to be this way,
It was found contradictory polarity
Provided grounds to arrive at our disparity

As we’d broken our recent live connection
I wired him with a suggested positive correction.
That should he remain so negatively down to earth?
In Life, I’m positive, he’d generate little worth.

Rhymer
September 18th  2020

Always a country lad was I,
and in the country I’ll hope to die,
for there’s nothing like solitude
found in a land, ruggedly rude,
which thrives about and around.
Where spiritual serenity found,
is removed from noise and bustle
of the endless metropolitan hustle,
that chases and constantly chivvies
office workers and menial skivvies,
who chase a hopeless dream.
All part of the urban scheme
that promises followers gold,
if they trample the lesser bold!
Me?  I let the world go by,
as I idly sit and gaze at the sky,
to watch fleecy clouds pass on.
I blink.  Suddenly they’re gone!
I never wonder as  to where they went:
what of their destination or their portent?
for I know others will follow as before,
as I spend hours doing nothing more
than watching, enjoying the day.
Such is this country lad’s way!
Some say I’m wasting my life,
but hours spent free from strife
I’d say with all honest sincerity,
have made my life, in all verity,
a journey of lasting pleasure.
With special moments, I treasure,
captured in my hours of solitude,
I allow no one or thing to intrude
that might spoil my sacred reverie.
This is the life well suited to me,
and not one I’ll swap readily
until I go to eternity - happily!
Until that day, I’ll be content
to see my hours and days spent
in the serious consideration
as to what in all creation,
I’d do if I were city bred?
The very thought hurts my head:
how would I endure the noise?
Now as thinking upsets my poise,
I’ll quietly ruminate again today,
and listen to what nearby birds say
in their knowing country way!
Yes, I’m glad to be a country lad,
for rustic ways ain’t so bad,
and as I regard haste a crime,
I take each day in slow time.
There is much more I could say,
but feel I’ve said enough today!

Rhymer. September 17th, 2020.

Oh me, Oh My, I must confess,
suffering from great stress excess
I am a Poet in duress!
A mental mess: a mental mess.

How do I ease my cursed stress
in a manner that is harmless?
Truthfully I herewith confess,
I’m in distress, I’m in distress.

I’ve tried Folklore cures that are less
telling, but taken to excess,
they leave me in a greater mess.
Increasing stress, Increasing stress.

Should peace of mind return to bless
my day, would it perhaps, suppress
or redress my extreme duress,
and ease my stress; and ease my stress.

I’ve lost the joys of happiness,
and weep from cursed stress excess,
so need a healing cure I guess.
A cure express.  A cure express.

Should you cure my mental distress,
t‘would be a blessing, I confess,
and I’d be happy to express
my thanks. God Bless.  My thanks. God Bless.

Rhymer. September 16th,  2020.

Oh me, Oh My, I must confess,
I suffer from excessive stress
that has me highstrung with duress.
Being naught but a mental mess,
how do I ease unwanted stress
in a manner - that is painless?
Truthfully I hereby confess,
I'm one, who under great distress,
seeks a Folklore cure, that is less
expensive, but taken to excess
would it leave me in a worse mess!
If excess stress took a recess,
would peace of mind, return to bless
my day?  Would it perhaps, suppress
the pangs of my extreme duress?
How do I ease excessive stress,
so normalcy can rule?  Much less
of this cursed mental distress
would be a blessing! I confess.
For any small sign of success
I would be happy to express
my thanks.  For such I’d say - God Bless.

Rhymer.  September 11th, 2020.

An Abecedarian composition
Besides being a tough proposition,
Constantly challenges a poet’s skill.
Daunting at times, it can and will
Evoke emotions, but barely amuse
For a short time, unless you use
Good penmanship and employ
Hard won skills with artful ploy
In your composition, you will
Jeopardize your effort. Use skill:
Keep rhythm and metre in mind:
Leave all your inhibitions behind!
Make poetry the window to your soul!
Noteworthy in this respect, is the goal
Of the competent Poet, who will ensure
Poetry opens that window. It’s no sinecure!
Question, query and contemplate on those
Reasons why, well written rhymes or prose
Succeed in imparting a picture or thought
To the reader?  Poor lines come to naught
Unless the poet exercises great skill.
Very often badly written lines will ****
Worthy intentions and the message is lost!
X marks the moment to count the cost  
Your effort exacted, though it came to naught.
Zestfully use the skills you were taught!

Rhymer.  August 15th, 2020.

My Soul suffers a bitter agony within,
To watch the devastation upon my kin.
To see Hope die under such fearsome strain,
As Alzheimer’s invades, to despoil their brain!

We see them fall under its inhuman spell,
To wander lost, alone in a private Hell!
For who can follow the path they now tread,
That leads to where?  ‘Tis known only to the dead!

Who can know the realm to where they’ve gone?
No sign points the way!  No light shines on
Their tortuous path!  There is no respite
To tangled thoughts plunged into darkest night!

Desperately we seek answers to their plight,
But none are found!  No reason sheds light
Upon their persecution!  Each afflicted breath,
A further step along the road that ends in Death!

Their fierce passion, though it might burn inside,
Lacks purpose or direction. Heartbroken, we hide
Concerns, lest we deny them Love they need.
Though we anguish over futile lives they lead!

Their ailment advances.  We know them no more!
They return to be the child they were before!
Though whims and desires demand fulfilment,
Reason is lost, as is sane discernment!

Next, into cataleptic state they retreat,
Needing constant Love and devotion to defeat
The grim effects on their tormented brain.
We pray for their release and peace again!

When freed of those chains, by which they were bound,
Should we celebrate the new freedom found?
Are we shallow hypocrites to rejoice this way?
As their torment ends when Death takes them away?

Rhymer.  August 13th, 2020

I’ve a coat with many pockets,
that’s special in its ways,
Although young when I first donned it,
still fits me well these days.
With a host of special reasons
for wearing it today,
It's  gifted to my chidren,
when I reach my final day.

It’s got pockets full of memories
and others full of dreams,
from my ninety years of living,
with more to come it seems.
there’s a pocket for the future,
into which I hope to add,
all the moments I’ll enjoy,
be they jubilant or sad.

Should I feel downhearted:
an occasion that is rare,
I’ll recall a favoured happening:
or a moment I can share
with anyone that’s listening,
that has befriended me.
With a moment that I treasure,
I deem a priceless memory.


When friends have come together,
a common human trait,
we’ll reminisce on our early years,
and how we faced ill Fate,
We talk of our successes
and times of yesterday,
as for achieving the impossible?
We’ll brag the livelong day.

But there is a pocket hidden,
it’s one embedded deep.
Within it, lie my broken dreams:,
that have hurt me rather deep.
They rest with irksome memories:
that make me sad and blue.
as do my angry thoughts,
that I'll not disclose to you.

There’s memories that are cheerful:
there’s others that are sad.
Whilst others make me wistful,
for the better times I’ve had.
When I think the world’s against me,
I’m alone and feeling bored,
I’ll rummage through my pockets,
for the memories I have stored.

In its pockets by the number,
there’s many treasured dreams.
Amongst memories I cherish,
there’s a host of madcap schemes.
Despite pockets overflowing,
and others fully filled,
there’s plenty more to fill,
before my life is stilled.

Yes, my coat of many pockets,
is a cherished one I wear.
Though somewhat worn and tattered,
about it I really care.
It may not look inviting,
when hanging on a hook,
but Memories therein stored,
invite your second look.

Rhymer. August 10th, 2020.

In the forest, there’s few things I find more to please
Than to walk woodland trails, strewn with fallen leaves.
But by their rustling underfoot, they sing a sad lullaby
Which serves to remind, that autumn, in the short by and by,
Brings closure to our delights, now summer’s passed.
Though it too, as do most things in Life, will not last.

My walk under branches, when bared of all leaf cover
Allows an observant eye to search for and discover
Abandoned nests of last spring’s long flown brood,
Or a squirrel in his lofty drey. This agile and shrewd
Forest dweller, is ever prepared to take instant flight
Should an untoward move of mine, cause him fright!

Moments later a ruffed grouse takes off in panicked flight
Though its presence was sensed, I’d glimpsed no sight
Of this woodland denizen.  At home within the forest scene
It haunts the undergrowth but often goes, sight unseen!
Next a snake, sunning, poised alert, quickly slithers away
Having sensed intruders were abroad and coming his way.

Unexpectedly from overhead, staccato sounds startle me,
As a busy downy woodpecker, intrudes upon my reverie.
Whilst a roving shrew, in never ending search for tasty prey,
Snuffles through the leaves: pounces, then scampers away
Replete with a fat slug delicacy for its brood of young.
Though its actions benefit man, they frequently go unsung.

The leafy paths of forest floor are bustling alive this day
With various sights and sounds.  When time allows, it’s my way
To fill hours that all too swiftly pass. But reality encroaches
Upon my walk.  I hasten my step, for darkness approaches,
So with one last lingering look, I take my leave and steal away
Determined to visit these arboreal woods again, another day.

Rhymer.

May your life be merry, may your load be light:
May your joys be many, and your future bright.
May the road be smooth, for the friends you know,
And may you make many more, wheresoe'er you go.
To all of you - grand folks to know - we raise a glass
And pray sincerely, that Peace soon comes to pass.
So to achieve this end, may our voices be raised.
As for Internet Folks?  Heaven be praised!
Let's keep the postings coming and let the rhetoric fly;
Be it solemn, comic, or inane? We'll either laugh or cry
When we read such opinions or indulge in idle chatter,
But all discussion should concern us, so let's natter.
While there's the Internet, and we can keep in touch,
Whether we write frequently or not very much,
The camaraderie enjoyed here, is second to none!
So to One and All - and I'll bet you're glad I'm done?
May everyone enjoy A Very Happy, Prosperous and Peaceful  New Year .

Rhymer. December 29th, 2018

We often meet in a small corner cafe.
A brief exchange, then we’re on our way!
Powerless to check my raging appetite,
I hasten to take you out into the night!
Loath to let you go, I will hold you near.
Need speak no words, for my intent is clear!
Though to be too impetuous is wrong,
My demands cannot be stayed for long!
Quite unable to stop my eager lips
From brushing yours! I take fearful sips
And savour the sweet bouquet they foretold.
Instantly, my pleasure is fourfold!
Though further draughts set my lips afire,
To appease my wants is all I desire.
Once satisfied, I’ve no further need of thee!
I discard the plastic cup that held my tea!

Rhymer December 23rd, 2018.

My breath billowed in the winter air,
to hang suspended, and shimmer where,
it drifted as a glittering cloud of frost;
then it was gone!  It’s presence lost!

Stamping my feet, for the air is cold,
and I, no more a lad, am growing old,
thought of the days, when we’d feast
on roasted chestnuts, a dozen at least.

Returning home, to warm up inside,
after a pleasant, jingling sleigh ride,
I would marvel at the winter scene,
and how conifers contrasted green,

with the hard whiteness of the snow,
and how winter sun did sharply show
trees in silhouette. Ice that would adorn
the eaves and paddock fence at morn,

was ever a grand sight to behold. A sign
winter was here to stay awhile. Benign
at first, but clouds racing across the sky
foretold snow would, in the short by and by,

fall to gladden the heart of this country boy.
One who accepted Winter’s gifts with joy.
No matter what the  weather might be?
In truth, it was ever a fun time for me!

Rhymer.  December 23rd, 2018.

I am the Right Honourable Will Wright.
A Wheelwright, possessing the right to write!!

Alright said the wheelright, Will Wright,
I will exercise my right to write
on a rite, that’s the basic right,
of all to write their Will as they will.
Will this be all right with you?
If so I’ll exercise my right to write
my Will as is right for all.  Right?
Right-**, said wheelwright Will Wright!

Will was a writer embarked on a rite
to write his Will. As writer Will Wright
said, it’s the right of all to write a Will.
I’ll exercise my right, to write,
and by using my right,  I will write
as Will Wright to Write my Will.
A rite that is the right of all, and a rite
long established, as our basic right,

whereby all, not only Will Wright,
the wheelright, has the right to exercise
his right to write a Will.  Right?!
All right? Sure nuff, I’ll write!

Rhymer.  December 22nd, 2018.
(A little light hearted linguistic nonsense)

I am a wiser, rhyming poet,
because of this, I know that
for rhymes of any description,
I need follow no prescription
for my procedure is not complex.
I then choose a topic, and give thought
to the chosen theme  I’ll undertake.
Then decide as to which format I’ll use?
So sit back, watch and take your ease,
and no interruptions whatsoever, please!
As my poetic Muse becomes excited
oft times I become eagerly delighted
when words flow of their own accord.
With no need to consult a dictionary,
I make ready to write my rhyme, then I’m away,
as another new poem gets underway!

As another new poem gets underway,
I’ make ready to write my rhyme, then I’m away!
with no need to consult a dictionary,
when words flow of their own accord,
oft times I become eagerly delighted
as my poetic Muse becomes excited:
and no interruptions whatsoever please!
So sit back, watch and take your ease,
then decide as to which format I’ll use
to the chosen theme I’ll undertake,
I then choose a topic, and give thought
for my procedure, is not complex.
I need follow no prescription,
for rhymes of any description,
Because of this, I know that,
I am a wiser, rhyming poet!

Rhymer.  December 2nd,, 2018.

When two together, are found to be entwined,
Surely twao together, are far too much to find,
But should two together, be made to unwind,
Would parting the two be thought too unkind?

If two together as one, are separated or untwined,
they’d be no longer two together, inter-twined:
nor could they be two, seen as one, ill confined,
Though the two together, may not be well defined.

If two together are seen as one, in close knit bind,
and would act in unison, so would we really mind?
But when the two united are thought too much to find,
we should insist the two together, must unwind!

Rhymer.  November 13th, 2018.

I was somewhat surprised this morning,
when out for a morning jog,
I met an old fellow, well known,
who greeted both me and my dog.
His was a face most familiar,
but to see him - took me aback,
for being late leaving this morning,
twas myself I met coming back!

We acknowledged one another with pleasure,
but found it hard to believe our eyes;
on hearing words uttered in greeting,
even my dog seemed surprised!
At first we discussed the cold weather,
and indulged in more idle talk;
then with a cheery Goodbye, on leaving,
he continued on with his walk!

It was a moment of rare pleasure,
to meet one so pleasantly polite:
So perhaps tomorrow I’ll rise early,
to see if we’ll repeat this delight?
For it is rarely one meets another,
with a temperament such as their own,
but perhaps it’s best I forget it?
For tomorrow he might not be alone!

Rhymer. November 5th, 2018.

I write poetry, least that’s my aim;
enjoy the challenge, think it a game.
Although some follow rigid rules
personally I think that’s for fools,
and break them as and when it suits.
This is one of the literary pursuits
which I enjoy, for it suits me well,
as fans of mine will often tell.
Others of a different persausion find,
I’m possessed of a deviant mind.
This when a phrase or a single word
I’ve used - seemingly absurd -
is perceived within my poetic lines,
you should take note of subtle signs.
For you’ll find my intent oft changes direction.
So read my words with circumspection;
knowing all may not be as it first appears,
as perceived rationale ostensibly disappears,
leaving the reader to wonder “What?”
Further reading suggests what they’ve got
are random meanderings of a Polyglot,
or a deviant wordsmith, like as not!
But it’s my way as an allusive Poet,
possessed of acumen, and subtle wit,
who uses cryptic methods to lead
and delude, those who blindly read
each word as though twas cast in stone!
It’s essential every word used, I hone
keenly to achieve my desired effect!
Being critical of all the words I select,
is vital that each one fulfills my aim.
Being pernickety, is to me, a game
that fulfills a purpose. By this exercise
I achieve satisfaction, and can fantasize
about reactions I might possibly receive!
Ergo!  My purpose, is simply to deceive!

Rhymer. August 9th, 2018..

Long cherished, with me you share a very special space,
And I doubt there's another that will ever take your place.
Prepared to ****** me with your curvaceous charms,
You gently enfold me in your soft, inviting arms.

Daily, patiently, you await my every pleasure!
To offer me such moments I shall always treasure.
For when I return home tired, after a hectic day,
You ease my spirit, and quickly drive my cares away!

You are my over riding passion, mistress of my desire!
And to partake of your charms, I shall never tire.
Of your soft, sensuous charms I get never enough.
You deal with my insatiable demands! You’re tough!

I'm euphoric, as our daily, loving tryst we keep,
Exhausted, I relax, to abandon myself to sleep,
Still sharing your comforts, as occasion demands!
Perchance to dream? Love alone understands!

In close intimacy, we share times of TV viewing.
Perhaps read a paper, or poetic piece I’m reviewing.
Your wanton invitation, is something no man ever declines,
Pure perfection! As befits my armchair that reclines!


Rhymer August 8th, 2018

I am a fledgling poet.
I strive for perfection:
I refuse to accept rejection.
I speak in structured rhyme:
I listen to life’s rhythmic time
I hope for great things to say,
I struggle against dismay!
I am a fledgling poet.

I am determined in my aim!
I love Nature’s beauteous days,
I watch her changing ways:
I learn from observing closely.
I daydream - sometimes morosely:
I laugh because life is at times, amusing:
I cry bitterly against humanity’s abusing.
I am determined in my aim!.

I am passionate about rhymed poetry.
I admire the Seasonal day,
I respect an innocent at play.
I expect to enjoy life and living:
I accept the limits to life’s giving.
I reject all pessimistic views:
I deserve no more than honest dues.
I am passionate about rhymed poetry.

I am a fledgling poet.
I desire to achieve my ends:
I dance with my good friends:
I sing when life is good;
I want to be understood.
I need no accolades or fame,
I pray only that you know my name.

I am determined in my aim;
I am passionate about rhymed poetry;
I am a fledgling poet.

Rhymer. July 23rd, 2018

or
You Must be "Late" for A Bargain!

The advert we saw, advised:  "Don't be Late"
It's a bargain that is simply so great,
You must not allow your chances to slip by!
For this is surely your best time to buy?

They'd no description of the goods on tender,
And even less on the advertising vendor,
No specified time.  No hour; day, nor date.
Just a time in the future.  So it did state!

But promising a "Lifetime Guarantee"
It sounded good to my wife and to me.
Though,  just between me, the gatepost and you
It seemed just a little too good to be true!

When given no more than a "sell-by" date,
How would we know if our "offer" was "Late?"
But, swayed by the huge savings suggestion,
We thought to inspect the "bargain" in question.

However, on arrival we found we'd to wait!
The deal offered which was for those that came "late!"
Was surplus goods, and "hard-to-move" stock!
I admit this came as a bit of a shock,

But I'm confident that most folks would feel,
That to possess these goods was not a great deal?
Being not something one buys for oneself,
Nor an artifact, which is prized for itself!

It was a thing for which few show desire.
Though the craftsmanship?  That we could admire!
But to arrive "Late"?  Unable to barter,
Even frugal folks know that's a "non-starter!"
  
SO :

Deciding that, when we're found to be "Late" ?
And "Savings" are now your concern. Cremate!
Then once there's been time enough for us to burn.
We'd ask you'd store our few ashes, in an urn!

Rhymer.  July 16th, 2018

One leg of mine is short, the other long.
And one is weak, while the other is strong!
When I asked my Doctor for an explanation?
He told me, "it's merely a matter of compensation!"

Should it happen that both your legs were short, or weak,
You, having nothing to compare with, would not seek
Reasons to look for some form of compensation,
And you'd approach the future without trepidation!.

Accepting his reasons for my situation thus,
I left his office and dashed off to catch the bus,
But as it left me behind, I knew how to relate
To a time when situations arise.  I'll compensate!

For instance, this morning, arriving late for work,
The boss was mad, but I explained with a wry smirk,
He should feel happy, for I'll not be twice late.
for when I leave work. I'll go early, to compensate!

When I want to borrow ten dollars from you,
You say you've only five!  I say that will do!
Now, as you owe me five,  I owe you five too!
The one compensates the other!  Isn't that true?

When you can,  try compensation.  Give it a test!
With the right conditions, make it work for the best
Try to ensure through life you're remunerated.
And if there's inequality?  Get compensated!

Rhymer.  July 14th, 2018.

A Rhyming Acrostic.

Thirteen on a Friday is a day some hate,
Rendering believers to an anxious state.
I’m not going outside, for it’s an evil day,
Say those who sincerely think this way.
Know something untoward will take place,
And I do not intend to show my face,
In case a catastrophic event does occur!
Devotees of superstitions always prefer
Exercising caution on this auspicious day.
Keeping out of sight, is their chosen way
At times when Friday and Thirteen coincide,
People with abnormal fears frequently decide,
Having such strong beliefs, they cannot explain,
Often finds them subject to humourous disdain!
But remaining silently at home, and out of sight,
Is a triskaidekaphobic’s given right!

Rhymer.  Friday July 13th, 2018.
Make sure you take your Garlic with you today!

Just now I had a thought flit through my brain
At least I thought I had, but now it’s gone again.
Of course, I should have spoken up and not delayed
Cos now it can’t be found.  Seems it strayed.
Next time I get another thought like that
I’ll keep it in mind until I’ve grabbed my hat
Under which I’ll keep it safe, until needed,
For a good thought should always be heeded.
We should never waste a worthy thought,
But use it immediately, when it’s first thought,
Or all essential reasoning comes to naught!
When we were young, that’s what teachers taught.
As we grow older, age should not change
The way we keep our thoughts nor rearrange
The manner in which we’d use a worthy thought.
Thus to safeguard our thought, when moments are fraught
With other matters which might allow it to go astray?
We must seize the moment, and use it straight away.
But hush! It’s evident my thought has returned again;
and seeks immediate acknowledgement from my brain.
So let me quickly speak of what I’d a thought to say,
Before it is lost once more or goes astray!
So without further ado this is what I’d a thought to say:
Oh ****!  Would you believe?  It’s already gone away!

Rhymer July 12th, 2018..

Instead of walking briskly, I often shuffle:
Watching TV I’ll cough, sniffle and snuffle:
This riles my wife and creates a kerfuffle,
Then flipping channels - her feathers I ruffle!
Such are the things that please me now!

Will nap in the chair, till dinner is late:
Or eat peas from my knife: to aggravate.
After jay walking, the motorist I berate!
Will say what I think; tell others straight
What’s on my mind, which makes some irate!
But they’re the things that please me now!

I lecture my children - it’s something they hate:
Bore them with old tales I repeatedly relate,
It drives them to tears, so they often state,
Or makes them angry! I love to infuriate!
It’s more of what pleases me now!

Slurp my coffee and saucer my tea ;
Dunk my biscuits when in company;
Will openly burp and quite often loudly,
and make others blush by acting badly,
Just doing a few things that please me now!

When my wife calls: I’m not to be found,
Should she call louder? I hear nary a sound!
Offer unwanted opinions that shock and astound,
Argue for hours, stubbornly standing my ground,
Sure these are things what please me now!

But when day is done: I head off to bed,
Though never admitting to things done or said,
As tomorrow might be too late - I could be dead,
Will mumble I’m sorry for the dance she’s been led,
That’s the time for what best pleases me now!

Rhymer July 12th, 2018.

When poetry describes the historical,
One refrains from becoming hysterical.
However by use of the judicial rhetorical
A Poet makes full use of the allegorical!

So when writing poetry I remain stoical,
That though some may think me radical,
Employing words they considered lyrical,
I try never to appear, irrational or critical.

To write about the mystical and cryptical,
Using strict rhythm?  Can be diabolical!
As for themes regarded purely mythical,
I shy from words too pictorial or technical.

My approach to topics humourously comical,
Is to compose lines thoughtfully satirical.
In turn this allows me to remain sceptical,
Whilst appearing not too fanatical or cynical!

So, if with words I am reckoned economical?
I hope my rational thoughts are not illogical,
But in using descriptive words, is it ethical
To ensure Poems not be too whimsical?

Now, without appearing to be pontifical,
Though I'm always careful to be veridical,
I'm allowed at times, to wax philosophical,
As I attempt to depict matters paradoxical.

Doubtless some will find my words inimical:
Fanatically methodical and chronological?
But in attempting the facetious or ironical,
I'll avoid the pitfalls of being too graphical.

Should poetry be left to the technological?
One might find it becomes too puritanical.
And suggest the Poet was unduly practical!
Such is the way of the biased hypocritical!

If my poetic lines appear to be egotistical?
Then readers must understand, that's logical.
But please I beg of you, never be heretical,
When lines concern the canonical or political.

Will a Poet's thoughts be considered farcical,
If a reader is left bemused and quizzical?
Or should he stick to the unequivocally canonical?
Personally, I'm happy if my poems are grammatical!

So I'll conclude thinking poetry may be symbolical,
And my many rhymes, in quantities numerical,
May not satisfy the purist nor the global ecumenical,
But they deal with topics that are never hypothetical!


Rhymer.  July 10th, 2018.

(Your turn Jim!)

I write poetry, least that’s my aim;
enjoy the challenge: think it a game.
Although some follow rigid rules
I tend to think that’s for fools,
and break them as and when it suits.
This is one of the literary pursuits
which I enjoy, for it suits me well,
as fans of mine will often tell.
Others of a different persausion find,
I’m possessed of a deviant mind.
When a phrase or a single word
I’ve used, is seemingly absurd -
perceived within my poetic lines,
you should take note of subtle signs,
for you’ll find my intent oft changes direction.
It's best you read my words with circumspection;
knowing all may not be as it first appears,
when perceived rationale ostensibly disappears.
When this leaves the reader wondering “What?”
Further reading suggests that what they’ve got
are random meanderings of a Polyglot,
or a deviant wordsmith, like as not!
But it’s my way as a perverse Poet,
possessing some acumen, and subtle wit,
who uses allusive methods to lead
and delude, those who blindly read
each word as though twas cast in stone!
Be aware, every word used, I hone
keenly to achieve my desired effect!
Being critical of all the words I select,
is vital that each one fulfills my aim.
Being pernickety, is to me, a game
that fulfills a purpose. By this exercise
I achieve satisfaction, and can fantasize
about reactions I might possibly receive!
Ergo!!  My purpose, is simply to deceive!

Rhymer.  July 10th, 2018.

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.  July 2nd, 2018.

Whomsoever you might be?

If I wrote a letter to a stranger:
whose name I do not know,
will they answer with a pseudonym:
under a brash bon mot?
If I seal it in an envelope
and mail it off in haste,
will it ever be delivered,
or my writing prove a waste?
Now should that stranger answer,
with deception thought my game,
will their reply be in keeping?
or think it such a shame,
that the details of my letter -
the one they never got -
should be scrapped as junk mail,
because their name I had forgot?
Of course, they may not answer,
which to me would be unfair,
for having taken time to write one,
and mail it off to where
they once resided - perhaps still do?
If they deign not to answer?:
Does that seem right to you?
If I addressed it wrongly,
would it come back to me?
Or if I expedite it,
in a fit of urgency!
If it was not delivered,
what would the mailman think?
Would he ‘return to sender’,
or refer me to a Shrink?
But writing to a stranger,
and keeping them amused,
leaves me in a quandary,
and a little bit confused!
So perhaps I'll scrap my letter,
until a later day,
and write it when I get to know,
exactly where they stay?
But now another problem rises,
one that must be fixed:
with the details I now know,
their ambiguity is nixed!
So my letter to a stranger,
will have to wait I fear,
for news I want to impart,
is nothing they would hear.

So I’ll wait until I’m sure,
that why, who, where and whence,
the news I would impart,
will possess a modicum of sense?

Rhymer.  July 1st, 2018.

My thoughts sometimes wander to places I’ve been:
in my imagination, to places never seen.
With no restrictions, and no baggage to pack,
in an instant of time, I can go and come back!

I will close my eyes then clearly visualize
any scenic beauty: there’s no need of eyes.
Leaving the real world, be it ***** or grim,
I can gaze on wonders, whatever my whim!

I’ll sometimes greet old Friends to say Hi:
so great to see them again; glad they dropped  by.
The moment, though delusory, remains enthralling:
perforce it is short; with other demands calling.

I can join boyhood heroes of adventure tales:
sail the oceans seven, under billowing sails.
Fly through the heavens, in a hot air balloon:
returning to earth with a bump: all too soon!

I can fight anacondas, with my bare hands:
join expeditions to far off foreign lands:
Chat with tribal leaders, to right all wrongs;
or enjoy a camp fire to sing rondolet songs.

I’ll invent devices to benefit all mankind:
add new medicines: they’ll be easy to find.
Concepts are endless for inspired creation.
Imagination wholly sufficient for total expiation.

Our wandering thoughts, emanating from dreams,
allow us great freedom to manufacture schemes
whereby exotic worlds and situations are close to hand:
for in an instant of time, we depart to another land.

So wander at will to wheresoever you’d go:
Travel quickly as light beams, or travel slow!
You’re free to go whither, and where so ere  you choose,
with no cause to worry, for you’ve nothing to lose!

Rhymer  June 30th, 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.  June 27th, 2018.

I dreamt I sat with learned men,
who spoke on things diverse:
The effect on life by visual Arts,
and music, dance and verse.
Although at first argument was heard,
they came to one conclusion,
That mankind’s life without the arts,
would be a pale illusion.

Speaking first of Nature’s many gifts,
that observant men behold,
Those captured by an artist’s brush,
in vibrant colours - bold;
Often encourages timorous men,
should ambition slip away?
To pursue careers once set aside,
and set them on their way.

Debate moved next on how the Poet writes,
with his use of words and style:
They praised his use of subtle ploy,
by which he’ll oft beguile
A reader to attempt a noble deed,
or challenge a fearsome foe,
Or sometimes provoke others to laugh,
when sad or feeling low.

Next Composer skills were analysed,
as were their melodies:
They spoke of the pleasures music gave,
how it brought back memories.
But of music some found most pleasing,
Jazz was the best they thought,
With its free form of interpretation,
Life’s every mood is caught.

Though sentiments on dance were varied,
they did express the view,
That without masterful portrayal,
it means naught to me and you.
But should the spirit of the music,
be captured accurately,
The audience becomes enraptured,
with the artistry they see.

As the discussion was continued,
varied views were given,
On sculptors, carvers, weavers,
and how each one is driven.
When inspired by Muse and passion,
which they determine to appease,
Few will deny their vocation,
so the moment they will seize.

Although my dream was ending quickly,
still their discourse I could hear,
And conclusions they had reached,
were remembered loud and clear,
That when with talents we are blessed,
it would be a sinful waste,
If neglect allows them to moulder,
for gifts are then debased.

Rhymer  June 25th, 2018.

It is my manner when breaking bread
to think of poetry whilst I’m being fed.
Such times as when I’m eating venison,
I’ll choose the company of Tennyson.
Afterwards with my crackers and Stilton
I’ll probably read the poetry of Milton.

If it should be noted a meal seems a trifle tardy?
The cause can be squarely blamed on Hardy!
But the poems of William Barnes are preferred,
as my first choice, when the soup is stirred.
As for roast of beef, dripping in gravy drowning,
I fall back upon the writings of Browning,

and let either Robert or Elizabeth hold sway.
Later they give way to the dark poems of Gray.
Whilst the flavour of buttered, ginger parkin,
is accentuated by the simple poems of Larkin.
For tedious hours watching, as the spit turns,
I’ll resort to reading poems by Robert Burns.

But then again if someone should have Dunmore
to make my meal Fuller?  I’ve time for Moore.
For such as me, that when read, it is thought best
to be joined at dinner by the honoured Guest,
then I’ll choose the rare words of the Poet Blake,
as we enjoy roast beef, pork or a tender steak!

When one is enjoying a flagon of Draught beer,
I select and read the poems of Will Shakespeare.
But should the occasion call for a stronger brew?
One must perforce resort to one Thomas Carew.
Yes, my choice often depends on what one eats.
So whether I read Dryden, Hamilton or Keats,

the perfect match required for poetry and food,
may be augmented by the works of Thomas Hood.
Next with dessert: blanc mange or raspberry jelly,
I’ll delight in the words of Percy Bysshe Shelley.
Whilst a slice of rich plum pudding or apple ****
demands I read Wordsworth or Scott at the start.

But I’ll often leave my choice of food and poetry
until a moment when, in contemplative reverie
I’ve decided what will enhance and complement
my daily meal.  Though Poetry is thought a condiment.
I sometimes think plain food tastes by far the best
when one adds poems of renowned Sackville West.

At times when I indulge in convivial tippling,
it’s a pleasure enjoyed with Rudyard Kipling.
With careful selection, I have one avowed intent,
to ensure my every meal is a pleasant event.
So as an aid to digestion and a sop to my Soul,
Prior is to the soup, as Dryden is to the casserole.

For me a mix of food and poetry, fills a vital need.
But no matter which Poet I decide next to Read,
when the meal is eaten, I can relax and sit still,
a Poet that springs to mind, is always Hill.
But the poetry thought best, for it brings no Payne,
is to read Hardy’s Dorset poetry, yet once again!

Rhymer. June,24th, 2018.

Though I’m no thief - officially,
I did steal - and that was recently,
seizing a golden opportunity
as a moment of greed overtook me!
Oh woe is me!

I have no excuse for what I did,
my conscience was asleep or hid:
with no reason except - heaven forbid,
sensing the moment ripe.  I did!
Oh woe is me!

I make no excuses for my transgression:
or say it was nothing but obsession,
but please, exercise a degree of discretion,
when reading this public confession.
Oh woe is me!

When judging me, espouse no platitude,
rectitude, or ‘holier than thou’ attitude,
but by granting me a degree of latitude,
you’ll receive my everlasting gratitude.
Oh woe is me!

Though without prior intent to steal,
having the chance to think, and feel
the opportunity was there, my zeal
overcame my conscience’s appeal.
Oh woe is me!

You may well ask for a reason why
I allowed myself to steal?  I’ll not lie!
It was a moment which, in the by and by,
was perfectly opportune, and why I cry:
Oh woe is me!

Admittedly, the timing was prime.
Even so it was an unpardonable crime,
with effects affecting me, for a long time,
so I feel neither secure nor sublime!
Oh woe is me!
I no longer think it a minor infraction,
so a confession is my chosen action.
Taken to absolve myself, there’s no retraction
of this statement: no matter what the reaction!
Oh woe is me!

What may be the effect of my sinful intent:
or what may be considered just punishment,
by those who sit in righteous judgement
upon my fall from grace?  Never meant!
Oh woe is me!

My sin? I stole some ‘Time’ to write this verse!
Should you consider it bad, or even worse,
I must live with the knowledge this was a curse
to steal, even for reasons deviously perverse!
Oh woe is me!

I had an urgent need to write this rhyme,
on which I have spent the stolen “time”!
Perhaps you thought it a more heinous crime?
If so?  Shame on you!  You’re no paradigm!
I declare: Oh woe is thee!

Rhymer.  June 16th, 2018.

Like grains of sand, that slip through the hand:
     Where’s the sense in counting?
Years pass quickly by, so soon we die,
     for sins we’ll be accounting!
Some meek - some bold, times hot - times cold,
     the life that’s ours, too fleeting.
To where winds blow?  No one will know:
     naught but momentary meeting.
We plan - we scheme, we act - we dream,
     all comes to end at death.
Friends met - then lost: we count the cost,
     they’ve drawn their final breath.
We live each day; our chosen way;
     count not the hours we’ve spent.
As some will say, to live each day,
     must be our sole intent.
From Nature’s earth, at dawn of birth,
     ours, but a passing presence.
So count not grains, for Life soon wanes:
     time always of the essence.

Rhymer June 15th, 2018

A reflection in the mirror, seen in reversible review,
gives me cause to wonder, if I’ve found someone new?
For the bleary eyed persona, a ghostly manifestation
seems but an ancient relic, in advancing dessication.

Wondering on the person, stood there before my eyes,
reluctantly I’ve concluded, once all details were apprised,
that the image there reflected; and so very plain to see,
is a bona fide rendering, of an older, careworn me.

The face therein reflected, shows skin weathered tough,
but for ample indication to those who think him gruff,
the laughter lines etched deeply, regarded as the best,
are an ever needed asset, when for life one has had a zest!

Hair that once was bushy black, has thinned, turned to grey;
whilst still bushy eyebrows, grow whiter by the day.
Blue eyes though paled, from an earlier deep azure hue,
still possess a twinkle, when they’re looking back at you.

Standing in contemplation, many thoughts run through my head,
as I recollect on places seen, as well as what I’ve done and said,
and on the people met, who helped to shape the man you see.
Often the willing help from others, made life enjoyable for me.

At the twilight of my years, there’s much that I would do,
but years are quickly passing, and to tackle something new
is not an option.  For there is much that needs my attention
if I’m to set my affairs in order, as is my avowed intention.

I hope to ensure that the poetry I wrote - a passion chose
for me, will be orderly, when my days come to their close.
Only when I face my destined fate, with a conscience clear,
will I rejoice in thoughts and memories of those I hold dear.

Though looking glass reflections, allow an introspect view,
and portray a passing likeness, that may be physically true,
life’s lessons learned, which may have left lines upon my skin
leave but few signs of the inner man, that still resides within.

Rhymer.  June 1st, 2018.

It is said, there's a Fate which shapes our ends
and it's a long, long road, which never bends!
But don't you think, we alone decide our fate?
Why is it so hard to stay on a path that's straight?

You'd think we could walk a path true and level,
to ignore all overtures from the Devil.
It should cause us no strain, and little distress,
to lead faultless lives, and admit to no excess.

But such is the frailty and nature of mankind,
alongside the narrow  path he'll always find
temptation which, bids him 'tarry.  Step aside!'
But once off that path, it's a fast, downhill slide!

To say we've no control over what we can do,
or where we might go, is certainly not true.
We decide, with acceptance or rejection,
to select the path we tread.  The direction

we travel through life, is of our own choosing.
When we stray from the path -  we end up losing!
If we're true to our Faith, keeping to the trail,
we'll find the way easy.  The Devil will fail!

Sure, it might well appear to be a long road,
for an upright life, means living by a tough code,
but if we’d shape the end we finally meet>
We have to put ourselves in the driver's seat!

While we must be prepared to stop and give aid,
and carry the load which, at our feet is laid,
we must strive to travel the narrow path of life,
and avoid temptation, with which this world is rife!

Rhymer.  May28th, 2018.

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.