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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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

Rhymer.  May 27th, 2018.

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

(Without 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.

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!

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

Rhymer. May 23rd, 2018.

I 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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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

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.

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)