(I Could Not Knot a Knot.)

My tale is one of tortuous frustration,
when two ropes caused me aggravation,
and my every effort resulted in a situation
that left me in a state of angry indignation!

Oh, what a knotty problem I had got,
when I found I could not knot a needed knot!
Though needing help on how to knot a knot,
no one I knew, knew how to knot my needed knot!

I had two short ropes - which I’d a need to knot,
and which I’d knot together with a special knot,
but it never worked, for the knot did not knot,
and my knot came undone!  I felt such a clot!

Firstly, I took the ropes, which I twisted tight
together, but still the end result, was not right,
for when I tugged, the knot, not only fell apart,
but showed no sign of a knot!  Making a fresh start,

I took one rope, and placed it firmly under
the other.  This was so easy, I did wonder
if my actions should have been reversed,
for it too fell apart!  Oh, how I cursed!

Seems tying knots is not for faint hearts,
for any knot, that’s not knotted, soon parts
when it’s put to the test!  That I’m not a knot
expert, you can tell.  Truly, my forte is not

that of being very good at tying knots,
for I do not understand what knots
need, to keep them from falling apart!
Tying a knot right, right from the start,

is important, and that’s why my knot
was  not reliable, but why I did not
understand.  Yes, I’ve tied many knots.
but they’re knots known as Granny Knots.

Other knots are what folks call a Slip Knot.
Then there’s the Turk’s Head - a special knot,
as is the Cat’s Paw, Clove Hitch,and Bowline.
Truth to tell, - none of these resembles mine!

Then there’s a Timber Hitch, which is a knot
that truly puzzles me, and not an easy knot to knot!
There’s many other knots, that need the greatest skill,
such as the Hangman’s Knot - a knot that’s made to ****!

Whilst the sheepshank?  That’s a tricky one to see!
So many knots, but they’re not knots for me.
Methinks of all the knots, the one true knot for me,
is the “Lover’s Knot”, which I have tied successfully!

Rhymer. April 24th, 2018

After seeing a Flea flee,
along with a fast fleeing Fly,
I wondered what Fleas and Flies do
if in fleeing, they flew into a flue?

Now should a fleeing Flea flee,
with a Fly that flies with flu,
does flying with a fleeing Fly,
free the fleeing Fly of the flu?

When seeing a Fly fly into a flue,
followed by a Flea with the flu
does it mean that the Fly that flew
by flying into the flue, was fleeing
from the flu or the Flea with the flu?

When a Flea and Fly are flying
is the Flea fleeing with, or flying from a Fly?  
or was the Fly that flew, fleeing from a Flea?

Or:

When a fleeing fly with the flu, flies into a flue
and a flea with the flu, is fleeing along with the fly
with the flu, into the flue, is the flea flying with
the fly with the flu, into the flue, or is it happenstance?

You tell me! A little bit of fun!

Rhymer.  February 28th. 2018.

As I viewed the view I could see you, a ewe and a yew.
Then I saw the ewe, under a yew, was looking at you!
But that ewe under the yew looking at you, was a view
which begged the question as to why, the ewe under the yew,
was looking at you, and what was its view of you?
Did you see that ewe under the yew, looking at you,
or did you only see the yew and not the ewe looking at you?,
or was it only the ewe looking at you, and not the yew?
I ask this of you, for I cannot ask the ewe standing under the yew,
nor can I ask the yew, under which stood the ewe,
who was stood looking at you.  So what’s your view?  
Do you, take the view that the ewe, under the yew
had nothing to do, and was simply under the yew
so it could look at you?  Although I’m sure the yew
had nothing to do with you, neither did the ewe,
that was looking at you, from under that yew!
Maybe the yew, under which the ewe stood looking at you,
was a convenient yew for the ewe, to get a good view of you?
That’s my view, as to why the ewe stood under the yew to look at you?
If you know, please tell me do, so I can forget my view
of the question as to why the ewe under the yew, was looking at you!
Then I can bid you, the yew and the ewe, a fond Adieu!

Rhymer.  April 21st, 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.

My clothes are in tatters;
my shoes down at heel,
I’ve no wealth that matters,
to eat, I oft steal!
Beset by illusions:
as to what I desire,
I suffer delusions,
from drugs I acquire!

I pan handle all day,
from folks passing by.
“I’ve nothing to eat,”
is my plaintive cry!
Some drop a few cents,
into my battered tin cup,
which buys little more,
than a coffee to sup!

My bed is a grating,
that’s warming and dry,
where I often get cursed,
from thugs walking by!
When the day is over,
and night settles in,
I scavenge the ‘skips’
in hopes there’s food within!

Should someone stop,
in their passing by,
I tell them my story,
in hopes I can pry
a ****** or two:
or a Five now and then.
Whilst on rare occasions,
I’ll garner a Ten!

Winter nights are sheer hell,
when it’s bitter cold:
such times I oft wonder
if I’ll ever grow old?
That’s when I hope folks
from the Sally Ann -
those saints in disguise,
will pass by if they can,

to provide me some food,
and shelter as well.
They display a compassion
that I know full well.
For those down on their luck:
and in dire need of care,
the Sally Ann folks,
are the first to be there.

You’re nothing but ****,
so many folks will say,
but there once was a time,
a long ago day,
when I was both healthy,
and fit, and living well.
Until my life fell apart,
and soon days were a hell!

Being quite unknowing
that a legal prescription
would proceed to grow
into a serious addiction!
Though relieving my pain,
I found out too late
the cause was due to
Fentanyl, an ******!

Being badly hooked
on ****** drugs,
and needing more,
found a dealer - through thugs,
who offered supplies
for my addictive vice
with no questions asked,
at an outrageous price!

Then matters grew worse
from that fateful day.
Though begun unknowing,
twas the price I’d pay,
which proved to be
a pernicious dependency!
Which because of its hold
changed my destiny!

Wanting nothing of me,
my friends and close kin,
pass without saying Hi,
nor knowing how I am within
they cross  the road,
to avoid our meeting!
Deaf to my every cry
of familial greeting!

I ask  them for nothing,
neither water nor bread!
Ere I’d ask them for help,
I prefer to be dead!
They took what they liked,
when my life went awry,
and often stated
is their hope I will die!

Being strong and doughty,
with a yen to survive,
I may be cold and hungry,
but I’m still much alive.
You may think me a wastrel,
the poorest of poor,
but the tide has turned:
and my addiction’s no more!

It’s thanks for help given,
I’m back on my feet:
having kicked the habit:
my recovery’s complete.
I’m back with the living,
and life is again great,
and I’ve no further need,
for the deadly ******!

To kin folk, I’ve said naught,
as to how life has changed
but I doubt they care
until words are exchanged!
For now I remain silent
until I deem the time right,
and when I’m ready to tell,
imagine my delight,

when with incredulous looks,
it’s not of my demise
they will be hearing
but of my return! A surprise
in truth!  What a pleasure
I’ll get to tell all,
I’m back home to live,
and it’s no social call!

The house is in my name,
so I’ve an Owner’s right,
to come and go at will,
be it day or night.
I’m free to invite,
whomsoever I choose,
I’ll rise when I wish,
or lie in and snooze!

As for my family wishes?
I’ll pay them no heed.
Their made their thoughts clear
when they denied my need!
Yes, the road I’d taken,
was the short cut to Hell!
But they offered nothing
to help me get well!

This curse of mankind,
can be conquered and cured.
Prompt actions save lives,
and you can be assured
every addict who craves,
be they man or maid,
is a Soul in need,
that is seeking your aid!

A passing glance, shows naught!
It’s the spirit inside,
that having beaten addiction,
sees us walking with pride!
Once this curse is vanquished,
and drugs are eschewed
you’ll receive sincere thanks,
for the life that’s renewed!

So judge not the homeless,
without knowing reasons why?
More so when someone loved,
is desperate to die!
When help is requested,
don’t turn your cheek,
but stop and ask questions,
as to what they seek?

It’s not for your pity
the homeless plead,
but for a compassionate,
recognition of their need!
After a prescription written.
Many become hooked
when pain killer effects,
are overlooked!

Rhymer. April 21st, 2018.

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!

A Challenge was issued to write a poem,
based on the theme "The Rhythm of Life."
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 praised, 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.  March 16th, 2018.

I am a Senior, of advanced years.
I strive to live each day,
I refuse to buckle under - it’s not my way.
I speak up to any injustice when seen
I listen to all, be they young, old or teen.
I hope for tomorrow, a better place,
I struggle to accept, we’re a superior race.
I am a Senior, of advanced years.

I am a Senior, set in my ways,
I love to live fully, it was always my way,
I watch the young, indulging in play.
I learn from others, accept advice without qualm.
I daydream of a world, peaceful and calm,
I laugh at my daydreams, it’s a time to play.
I cry for the peace: always one step away,
I am a Senior, set in my ways.

I am a Senior, stubborn and firm,
I admire the person, who can admit they’re wrong
I respect the one, who sings a positive song.
I expect few of you reading, know me at all,
I accept life has been wonderful. Today? It’s a ball.
I reject naysayers, and their negativity;
I deserve to be heard, with courteous civility.
I am a Senior, stubborn and firm.

I am a Senior of an advanced years.
I desire to see peace - so far out of sight:
I dance with my wife, in dreams every night.
I sing at all times, my words mean naught,
I want to be considered, as having deep thought.
I need to be assured, of my groundless fears!
I pray to be spared, of handicapped years.

I am a Senior set in my ways,
I am a Senior, stubborn and firm.
I am a Senior of advanced years

Rhymer. April 19th, 2018.

A Judge, once noted for his lack of compassion
Found when sentencing crooks, he’d a passion!
When sitting on the Bench, he was permitted -
Appropriate to misdemeanour committed-
To administer punishment to fit the crime!

With his court full of petty crooks that first day -
Thieves, robbers, swindlers! All found to their dismay,
He would show no mercy!  He could not be swayed!
Once declared, their sentence was never stayed!
Though he would allow them to make their plea!

On his first morning, after he opened court,
He would give judgement on each case brought,
Then once proved beyond a shadow of doubt,
He’d carefully mete apt punishment out,
To each prisoner that came into the dock!

First to come ‘up’, was a ‘known’ lawbreaker!
Though a skilled and ‘rising’  craftsman baker
He’d been caught ‘loafing’ with counterfeit ‘dough’!
Evidence was brought. Police ‘kneaded’ to show
The Court, he never did a thing half ‘baked!’

His legs shackled, - which was no surprise,
Was quickly found Guilty, then told to ‘rise’
So this first crook, a very unhappy wretch
Was sent to ‘Leavenworth’ for a long stretch!
Given five years incarceration, for his crime!

A carpenter was the next to be jailed.
Evidence shown was quite ‘plane’!  When ‘nailed’
By the local Cops, they ‘saw’ he had ‘awl’
The loot he’d ‘chiselled’ from a shopping mall.
The Jury  ‘panel saw’ he’d not got it ‘square’!

So it ‘augered’ ill for the carpenter’s fears
When the Judge ‘ruled’,  ‘free board’ for six years!
This cracked the ‘veneer’ he’d worn though the trial.
For prison ‘drill’ would soon wipe away his smile!
Once ‘clamped’ in irons, with others he ‘filed’ away!

The Butcher was next to find himself in a jamb
He’d sold ‘scrag ends’ for ‘prime’ and mutton for lamb!
When the bare ‘bones’ of his case, were fleshed out,
That he was in the ‘soup’, there was no doubt!
While the police asked that he be sent for the ‘chop’!

The Judge declared the punishment he’d ‘meat’ out
Would break the Butcher’s ‘links’ with crime, and had no doubt.
He’d never ‘carve’ his way out of the ‘joint’!
Without ‘mincing’ words, he ‘skewered’ each point
Explaining his ‘beef’.  He was in a proper ‘stew’!

When Police ‘cottoned’ on to a ‘shoddy’ scam
They caught a tailor, ‘embroidering’ a monogram.
‘Patterned’ after that of a famous fashion designer.
Smuggled out in the ‘seam’ of a jacket ‘liner’
This ‘needled’ the Judge, who, with some ‘zip’

And some ‘bias’, ‘felt’ he should practice ‘needlecraft’,
“Stitching’ mailbags for the post office. Hard graft
For a man who had ‘satin’ comfort for a long time.
But ‘fitting’ punishment for a ‘reel’ bad crime!
He praised the  police for ‘buttoning’ up this case!

When Police ‘forked’ over newly ‘dug’ earth
Their ‘spadework’ ‘dug up’ ‘planted’ goods worth
A fortune .  ‘Raking’ through the ‘compost heap’.
‘Embedded’ by a gardener, were, buried deep,
‘Silver Bells’ and a gold chain! This ‘chain, linked’

‘Fences’ to crooks who stole goods on demand.
He’d ‘staked’ all on being put on remand.
But the Judge said I ‘dig’ your kind! ‘Turn over’
A new ‘leaf.  Mould’ and mend your ways.  Moreover
‘Perennial’ felons! Are ‘rooted’ in their ways!

So, ‘till’ you ‘turn over’ your loot and repent,
You’re ‘grounded’! It seems you’re an ‘annual’ event !
You tell me that with this crime, you’ve been ‘framed’,
But I’m sure you’ve not been unjustly blamed!
Five years in a ‘glasshouse’ to sleep in a ‘raised bed’ !

Next, a Furrier and his girl - a sly ‘minx,’
Who went too ‘fur’ when they ‘stole’ a ‘lynx’
A ‘foxy’ pair!  Of this, there was no doubt!
‘Trapped’ in a Police ‘cloak’ and dagger stakeout
They were loaded with ‘pelts’ when caught

Now the Judge, whose ‘ermine’ robes shook with rage
Said the only cure for this type of outrage,
Was to ‘stretch’ them on the ‘rack’, and ‘tan’ their ‘hides’.
This he ‘felt’ would be ‘fitting’ !  Though his insides
Told him he should send them away!  ‘Furbelow’!

A cobbler, without a ‘sole’!  A ‘ low heel’,
This ‘snob’ with an ‘Oxford Brogue’ had a zeal
For stealing! Not the ‘last’ incarcerated.
He was caught ‘legging’ it, while inebriated
His ‘cleats’ leaving ‘patent’ clues to see!

Wearing ‘rubbers’ he’d work in gloves and ‘spats’
Stealing mainly from apartments and ‘flats’
He was down on his ‘uppers’, quite destitute.
When caught with his heavy bag of loot.
A ‘slippery’ customer if ever there was one!

A ‘dandy’ with a ‘black belt’ in Karate!
Was sent by the Judge to a ‘necktie’ party.
He’d killed a haberdasher, without passion -
He complained it was ‘knot’ the current fashion!
But he could  ‘hang’ around until it returned!

Sentences varied but all were most apt.
Strong men turned deathly pale when his gavel rapped!
By sentences received, none were less enamoured,
Than a crooked auctioneer, who got ‘hammered’!
For ‘knocking down’ ‘lots’ ‘under bid’ to himself!

Crook followed crook in quick succession,
Making quite an impressive procession,
As each took his turn in the prisoner’s dock,
He’d turn and face the courtroom clock,
Under which the Judge sat, with solemn face!

The Judge went down in history that day,
With sentences most apt!  What more can we say?
His procedures quickly made the front page,
And soon appropriate penalties were all the rage!
Except for those of the criminal class!

This punishment proved to be a deterrent.
More so, if they were set to run concurrent!
As for waiting crooks, from Con Artist to thief,
When he adjourned court, they sighed with relief!
Hoping they’d get a more lenient Judge later!

Rhymer April 18th, 2018.
Sorry, it's tad long, but I got carried away!  Lol.

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!)

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

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.

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!

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.

It is surely a sign of ageing, when odd things occur,
When yesterday’s doings are lost in memory’s blur.
Like the tool that’s used, then placed somewhere secure.
Safe in a place, that I’ll remember, of this I’m sure.
Later I need it, so go to my place of safe keeping
But nowhere can it be found, despite my seeking.

When I went out walking just the other day,
My feet would insist on heading the wrong way.
On checking the footwear I had placed on my feet,
A pair of shoes, old, clean, but presentable and neat.
I saw, to my chagrin, - shows I’m not very bright,
My shoes had been placed, with my left on the right!

On meeting an old long missed Friend, the other day,
I stopped to speak, before heading out on my way.
Discussed at length this, that and any interesting matter;
How Life now served us, in the way most men natter.
But soon, when our talk I thought, had begun to bore,
Saw he was no friend, but someone never met before!

Before going for my walk, to the basement I went,
To get my shoes and a walking stick, my sole intent.
But as I began descending, my wife called out to me
To ask what I was doing?  Being concerned you see.
After I answered, returned and walked out of the door,
Having completely forgotten what I had gone there for!

When the telephone rang, I answered it as ever
With no smart remarks or retorts thought to be clever.
But when a young lady asked if I were home, or away?
Said I would check to see?  Well, what else could I say?
Who did she think it might be answering her call?
If it wasn’t myself? Then there was no one at all!

Recently it’s seen, some folks are greatly amused,
To see someone such as I, seemingly confused,
But it’s not only me, for it is so very plain to see.
There are many younger, nowhere as old as me,
Who often wonder what, where, why and how
They did today?  Without any evidence they’ll vow

They’d been busy all day doing jobs by the score
Only to find, everything seems as it was before!
Whilst some are worried, wondering what next?
Others grow angry, and can become quite vexed.
But I accept each day as it comes, of excuses I’ve none;
Knowing in this I’m not alone. Of many, I am but one!

Rhymer April 13th, 2018

Tranquility rules, the cool air is still:
spellbound, I look and drink my fill,
as morning awakening fills the air.
With my eyes opened wide, I stare
at pleasures offered and given free,
which bounteous Nature awards me!

The Meadowlark, soaring happily
sings her song of joy.  A rhapsody
to serenade her fledglings, snug below,
whilst the rising sun, with golden glow,
urges the stirring morning breeze,
to tease awake the dormant trees.

Two Mourning Doves, bill and coo,
planning their day and what they’ll do.
Cattle lowing in the meadow afar,
bid farewell to the last morning star.
A skein of geese honk high overhead,
as towards the north, they swiftly head.

Whilst a Red Cardinal proudly prances
in and out of the evergreen branches,
entertaining his mate, brooding eggs,
a lone Grey Heron on stilt-like legs,
seeks a snack in the riverside reeds,
unaware a frog hides in nearby weeds!

Sheep bleat as the shepherd’s dog,
presages their coming out of the fog.
The Carrion Crow, with raucous cry,
warns a *****, furtively passes by.
Ducks on the pond, splash and dive,
in grand celebration, of being alive.

The sun advises, the hour grows late,
as does a Curlew to its watching mate.
But I am most reluctant to depart,
and leave these scenes close to my heart.
So great is the reward, that surrounds,
when I behold the beauty that abounds!

Rhymer.  April 29th, 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.

An Exercise in Alliterative Acrostics.

Ernie, ebulliently enthused,
But battered and bruised,
Understandably uneasy and upset.
Leaves lustful Larry, a ***** lad,
Lasciviously longing to live
Innocuously. Ivan, integratesvolves integrating
Every expeditious and essential
Needed necessities, necessary to negate  
Terrible teasing Thomas, to terminate

All appropriate and aggravating
Noisy Norman notes!  No negotiations can negate
Diabolical devilish deeds.  Determination dictates

Exuding excessive energy, exterminates and excoriates
Nasty native nonentities.  No naive niceties
Tackle tricky testy tasks, for tender tendencies,
Having hyperbole hopes, are hypothetically helpless
Unless usurpers unveil unsung university union
Sympathisers, seeking salvation, as sympathising.
Evangelists, exemplary and enthusiastic experts
Doctors, and dentists doggedly determine details definitely decide,

Ebullience and Enthusiasm exist!

Rhymer.  March 10th, 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.

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.

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.

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

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.

It was as I listened to a lively tune
I considered how in life, all too soon -
Brought about by change in circumstance,
We're obliged to effect a slower dance!
As we age, heard is a softer, changing beat;
Rhythms exert lesser influence on our feet;
Though music played, still retains a tempo strong,
We've less passionate desire to dance along.
Though the music invites us to take part;
We fear more for aching bones and tired heart.
So jaunty skirls which once we'd entertain,
Are now replaced by a more sedate refrain.
Jigs and reels which would set our feet a-tapping
Are slow to move us, or start hands clapping.
As we recall memories of days now passed,
We are aware that Life's high spirits did not last!
As we watch the young frolicking at play,
We remember that we too, once knew the day
When we were possessed of a boundless energy,
Which is now found replaced by idle lethargy!
Could we turn back the racing clock? We'd aspire
To dance away the endless hours! We'd never tire
clasped in the loving arms of one held dear.
When we are so blessed? Let eternity appear!

Rhymer April 18th, 2018

Last night I was beguiled by dreams galore:
of sailing ships, pirates, explorers and more,
but the best for me, was of a country scene.
A quiet rustic retreat, where I was often seen,

accompanied by the music of a babbling stream,
cavorting with Nature.  Wandering in my dream
along a brook, where willows danced and swayed,
in choreographed terpsichore, as water music played.

The cadence of rattling reeds: a pulsing even beat,
were as castanets, that energised my restless feet!
There was magic in the music, heard by me this night.
Seduced by its bravura, I savoured the gentle delight,

of soft vagrant breezes, that added their unique refrain,
to the rhythmic tattoo. Enhanced by the beating rain,
perfection then prevailed, with the pleasing music heard.
Complete in all respects, it required no single word

to further foster my enjoyment, of its haunting melody.
As such it was pleasing, and a pleasant treat for me,
though twas a short lived dream; that was soon done!
Of many dreams encountered? This was a cherished one.

Long shall I remember, as a moment to hold dear,
for such entertaining dreams, are a rarity I fear.
Bringing a welcome smile, to replace a morning frown;
raising spirits high, when I’m worried or cast down!

May 3rd, 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

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.

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.

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!

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.)

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)

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.

The faint perception of a friend, you knew
is now an unknown face that puzzles you,
a once familiar moment - an early memory,
is but a fleeting remnant of what used to be!

A glimpsed mirage departs before fully seen:
teases, but denies recall of a long ago scene.
Frustrated and angered when a studied glance,
caused you to wonder if by some mischance,

it was no more than an idle, passing scene?
When further like happenings are seen
to aggravate and leave you angrily upset,
then more irritation is spawned and you get

agitated and unable to control your rage!
When others show no respect for your age,
and the future seems to be a barren waste:
hours drag, though days pass in undue haste!

When those you once knew well,  disappear,
and you no longer recall times held dear.
You live in darkness, and can no more
find the key to unlock memory’s door!

Desperately you seek for the revealing light,
that gives a rational reason for your plight,
but find there’s none you can discover!
Bemused in a maze, unable to recover

those times with which your life was filled,
seemingly lost forever, and your brain stilled
by the curse of dementia, retreats in sleep!
When you finally succumb,  your family weep

for your leaving to a place as yet unknown,
but freedom from the distress you’ve known,
sees you no longer bewildered in dementia state!
Embracing relief, you gladly go to meet your fate.

Rhymer.  April 16 th, 2018.
(Another friend just passed away from this diabolical condition.  Rhymer.

When life overwhelms, noise is loud,
instinctively I retreat, away from the crowd:
standing solitary, though crowds mill around,
I seek inner peace until serenity is found.

When walking through a forested glade,
in search of repose, in the muted shade
I’ll quietly meditate and saunter through,
to think on the years, I’ve spent with you.

With my Spirit buoyed, by songs of birds,
I’ve seldom a need for spoken words.
This quiet oasis, allows the world to pass by;
refreshes my Soul and answers the ‘why?’

Watched waters of a slow moving stream
spur reverie, memory or a favourite dream.
Cool winds slowly diminish as evening falls,
to bring pleasant moments of Nature’s calls.

The crashing surf, and its air borne spume:
Lazy dust motes floating across a sunlit room:
A butterfly flitting from flower to flower,
More tender moments that pass the hour.

So whether at work or indulging in play,
I try to make the most of my every day.
Be the day dull or the sun brightly shine,
Such time is well spent, for peace is mine.

Rhymer. May 7th, 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.

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.

When a duelling dual, duel,
and Duello rules hold sway,
should the dual of duellers duelling,
wear doublets to duel that day?

With Duello rules in place,
when duelling triplets duel
are they thought a terzetto trio,
if they follow the Duello rule?

When a quarrelling quartet duel,
do quadrille  rules hold sway?
or should they duel as dual duals,
with dual Duello rules in play?

Duels are only for experts,
there’s a talented skill required..
As only the winner survives,
all losers are deemed expired!

As duelling, passions run fiercely    ,
and a duel oft ends in death,
no matter that Duello rules apply,
a loser always draws his  last breath!

Rhymer. March 1st, 2018.
(On a roll! - Have fun!)

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.

With hands holding a Willow wand,
I seek to detect water's source,
flowing deep within the ground!
Exerting its will upon my hand,
energy exuded by water;s force
discloses where it can be found.

This gift, with which I was born,
brings blessed relief to those in need
of water, for it brings great satisfaction
when seen flowing from source to bourne,
as a consequence of my diviners reed,
which I regard as reward enough for my action.

For some, dowsing exudes a mystery,
possessed of an obscure magical property!
When water sought, is thereby detected,
The Rhythm of Life proclaims a victory?
Records show that way back in history,
Black Magic was seriously suspected!

So why am I possessed of this ability?
A gift, some think an arcane anomaly
that locates water, through my hands!
Dowsing that baffles watching spectators,
defies the efforts of charlatan imitators,
who’d benefit, from a force, no one understands!

Should you too, possess this cryptic force,
you’ll know dowsing, for hours perforce,
is most rewarding when success is reached,
and it proves an exciting moment for me
when The Rhythm of Life - water - runs free,
and its source is discovered and breached!

Rhymer.  March 21st, 2018.  

It was pure happenstance I learned I was a Dowser or Water Diviner back in 1960.  Have used it many times since.  Our present water source, comes from wells I discovered and wells dug in 1998. Always an awesome experience.  Ciao Rhymer.

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;
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.  March 5th, 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?

Rhymer. March 1st, 2018.
(Must admit, I'm not so keen on winter now!)
In truth, it was ever a fun time for me!

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.

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.

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

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,
Which makes 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 March 5th, 2018
Just joking folks!

If I could see myself through your eyes,
Would I experience a pleasing surprise,
Or be sadly disappointed by what I'd see?
Would I wonder as to how Life might be
To find the man I married; full of vitality,
Replaced by another that today is elderly?

If I could see myself through your adoring eyes,
Would I still be your especial, rare found prize
Or boring dullard, as some might think of me?
Having experienced many years: an eternity,
My set ways and strong held beliefs, vented loud:
Are often heard above the less vocal crowd?

If I could hear myself, through your ears,
Would I remain tuned to my likes and fears?
Ready to listen and comfort, ever paying heed,
When support and consolation, are my need.
Adding subtle nuance to say "I Love You"
A hidden message, known only to us two.

If I could hold myself, as if cuddled in your arms,
Would embraces received, still retain the charms
You offer, or when loving compassion is required,
Respond with empathy as you do? When tired,
\I\/ould I join to face and conquer unexpected woes,
That threaten our loving ties? That, no one knows'

If I could see or relate to myself as you do to me,
Would I be seen more loving. Would you see,
A man with genial ways, showing more caring,
Accepting Life's restraints, and yet, more sharing?
To see me through your discerning eyes, cannot be
I will remain content, to be what you presently see!

Rhymer, March 10th, 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.