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

Rhymer . February 2nd, 2018.

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..

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.

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.

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.

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

Rhymer. May 22nd, 2018

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.

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

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!
But never wonder to where they went:
what their destination and intent?
Know more will follow as before,
as I spend hours doing no 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 extreme pleasure.
With special moments, I treasure,
captured in my hours of solitude,
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 - willingly!
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?
And as thinking upsets my poise,
I’ll quietly stay sitting a bit,
and listen to what birds say
in their knowing country way!
Yes, I’m glad to be a country lad,
for rustic ways ain’t bad,
and I regard haste as a crime,
so I take each day in slow time.
There is much more I could say,
but feel I’ve said enough today!

Rhymer.  May 4th, 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.

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

Rhymer February 25th, 2018.

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..

She is the one above all that I adore,
who with love, and so much more,
supports me in my every intent,
seemingly satisfied and content
to spend her days in my company.
The one and only Lass for me,
always there whenever needed!

Like the first flower of promised Spring
her smiling presence is my everything,
for her loving attitude strengthens me.
Guiding and supporting me selflessly,
she’s the ray of sunshine on a rainy day:
or the brightest star, in the Milky Way,
that lifts me up whenever needed!

As we hold hands, our fingers entwine,
facing life’s trials, I know all is fine,
but when she’s away, life is a bore,
and I become a morose, word poor,
moody poet, devoid of inspiration!
My muse in absentia: on vacation!
Her comforting presence, ever needed!

I am unable to explain the reason
why She turns the Winter season
into Spring on entering my room:
lifting my spirits from the gloom
of depression, as my day brightens
and my poetic depression lightens!
Such is Her power: ever needed!

Rhymer.  March 5th, 2018.

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.

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

Fat ones, thin ones, some either way extreme:
Over weight or under - some slender, in the beam:
Optimist, pessimist, the ridiculously sublime,
Babies, Seniors, others arriving at their prime.
Happy ones, sad ones, dullards thought morose,
Flighty, persistent - sticking to the course!
Tall ones, short ones, others barely seen,
Added to the mix, fit some place in between.
Wise ones, dumb ones, others more intense,
Whilst some will exercise, a little common-sense.
Rambunctious, the quiet - timid as a mouse,
Spinsters, bachelors - they’re without a spouse.
The ugly, the attractive; noisy ones that bawl,
Lithesome, awkward, Nature makes them all!
Spiritualists, agnostics, and heretics join the mix,
Be they pious, or sinful, or mystics full of tricks.
Savage or cultured, coloured, yellow, black or white,
Together in a milling crowd, a kaleidoscopic sight!
Matching the vicious, we find the caring and humane:
The artistic and artisans, compare with those mundane.
Swimmers, jumpers, skiers in their special groove,
Seemingly impassioned, on prowess they’ve to prove!
To walkers and joggers, add the riders on a bike,
A diacritic mixture: there’s seldom two alike!
It’s with this infinite diversity, nature shows her skill,
For what ever class is sought?  One will fit the bill!
But moderation in all things has ever been the best:
For inordinate extremes, stand out from the rest.
Yes Humans are a mixture, of every shape and size,
Descriptions of such as I’ve given, elicit no surprise.
Accepted as the norm, no matter where one goes,
Are universal appendages, which nature will impose.

Rhymer. April 18th, 2018.
Okay Jim, where do you fit into this mix?  Or perhaps I missed your description?  Lol!
Lord help you folks!  I'm on a roll today!

A man of words, with whom I can relate,
that plays guitar, so I’ve learned of late,
and writes poetry with a humourous trait!
His amusing comments - seldom  sedate,
are no stranger to others on the Internet.
He is a poet raconteur, I’ve never met,
whose comments are short and pithy, yet
never once have they offended other poets.
In truth the opposite is more likely true.
A staunch member of the Hello Poetry crew.
He writes on matters, which in my considered view
often evokes from this member, a chuckle or two!
Such is his way with words, that his observations,
enjoyed by others, are pertinent, without reservations.
Young, old or of an age in between, who knows?
He, with his input, keeps members on their toes.
That he has an eye, for poetry’s potential clearly shows.
This small poem is by way of tribute to a fellow Poet,
who has opinions and thoughts and intends to show it!
For my part - as my time is limited, and I seldom comment,
this is my way of expressing thanks for the compliment
he often pays me with his chosen words.  Ergo in appreciation
of his efforts, this paltry rhyme, must suffice. This dissertation
coming from my heart, was written as  a deserved  ovation!

Rhymer.  April 20th, 2018.

Or
An Overnight Romance.

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

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

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

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

Rhymer.  February 19th, 2018.

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

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.

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.

(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.

A donkey is an animal
that seldom makes a fuss,
But his stoical demeanour,
is a trait that many cuss.
Patiently long standing
he watches life come and go,
For truly, he is a “smart ***”
though there’s few that ever know!

Being strong in leg and body,
he’s used as a working drudge,
But when his limit has been reached,
can be very hard to budge!
Then many think him obstinate,
and call him a stubborn mule,
But forbearance is his forté,
so he always keeps his cool!

Though gentle is his nature,
for it is his normal way,
He can be a fury roused
when danger comes his way.
He’s often a guardian angel
to a farmer’s flock of sheep,
For his presence warns marauders,
their distance they must keep.

But if with love and kindness,
to his needs you  attend,
He’ll be honest and loyal,
and remain your faithful friend.
If you spoil him with a tidbit,
like a carrot once a day,
He’ll be your stellar buddy,
in every expected way.

Though a donkey cannot speak,
his intent is clear to see,
For those who love his qualities,
folks like you and me.
He’s trustworthy and loving
to those who treat him well,
But to those who hurt or curse him,
he’ll make their life a Hell!

With pleasant disposition,
though always primed to fight,
A donkey in the farmyard,
is always a welcome sight;
He’ll defend his close companions,
he’s friends with everyone,
They know of all God’s creatures,
he was chosen Number One!

Rhymer. April 29th, 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 dream 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. April 24th, 2018.
.

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.

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

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

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

Rhymer.  February 2nd, 2018.

I’d love to write you a letter,
but your name has slipped my mind:
Though a message from me to you,
would be pleasant for you to find.
I’ve exciting news to tell you,
of happenings hereabout;
Though important details I’ve forgotten,
of its truth I’ve never a doubt.
Concerning the doings of neighbours,
or was it some other folks?
The way particulars escape me,
is one of Life’s little jokes!
Then when the missing details return?
I’ll be alone and the hour late!
The point behind telling this story,
is mine alone to relate.
Possessed of a very good memory,
I never forget a face,
And yours is amongst those respected
to hold a singular place.
I’m certain there was a moment,
when I knew your Christian name:
Now “It” I cannot remember,
And your address: does it remain the same?
I’d ask of the one you had married,
but their name escapes me too:
Maybe to address them wrongly,
might further embarrass you?
Were they the one whose frantic parents,
promised riches you’d gain,
If you’d marry and bed their offspring,
the one they called simple by name?
And what of your numerous children?
For surely you’ve had quite a few?
Though perhaps it was some other person
that I’m now confusing with you?
So rather than cause further embarrassment,
to someone I’m not sure I know,
I’ll read and re-check your last letter,
which arrived mere minutes ago.
Seems from this latest you’ve written,
which remains unopened, unread,
The contents adamantly states,
you seriously thought I was dead!
Though I fully agree with what’s written,
the news therein I knew,
And think it nothing but gossip!
Have you nothing better to do?
So I’ll write no more for the present,
you’ve said far more than I would:
Now should you write me another later?
I’m fully aware where you’re stood.
So If I write you again tomorrow,
I’ll try to remember your name!
But thanks for your letter anyway,
I’m truly happy it came.
And should you forget to whom you were writing?
I’ll inform you soon - by and by:
And if this letter seems a trifle confusing,
It’s not half as confused as I!

Rhymer May 4th, 2018.
A little bit of fun in case you thought to write me a letter!

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.

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

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

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

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

Rhymer February 4th, 2018

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

Rhymer. January 31swt, 2018.

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

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

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

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

Rhymer.  February 11th, 2018

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.

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.

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

Rhymer.  May 12th, 2018.

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rhymer.  January 31st, 2018

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