Month: October 2021

The clocks all went back,
and for a hour we lost them,
until they returned.

Nothing had changed there,
just some time and more coffee,
and then it was gone.

I should have changed then,
wrote that song that really sings,
or a book they read.

But I did nothing,
but sit and watch the rain fall,
and drink more coffee.

The ripple were felt,
ripples of delay they came,
prolonging the day.

It is over now,
and the days will continue,
like nothing happened.

But we know it did,
and that hour will be treasured,
as a change in time.

Saturday today,
under the weather a bit,
but is was raining.

I went out shopping,
and I bought so many things,
some I didn’t need.

I like when it rains,
to walk out and feel it fall,
and its wet coldness.

I built up my gym,
got a rowing machine now,
and will row away.

Music is my thing
and I like the sound of that,
‘my thing’, that sounds cool.

Humour is allowed,
jokes can be a load of laughs,
and comedy’s fine.

The night is cloudy,
and the moon hides and waits,
to peep out unseen,

The new crescent moon,
it a wonder to behold,
and harder to catch.

The full moon will brag,
in a clear and cloudless sky,
and stand out boldly.

It is feeling right,
getting things sorted just now,
and finding the flow.

It is like a tide,
that pulls and pushes on me.
trying to sway me.

More like a river,
that flows strong and very deep,
so I can’t stand up.

A steam it is not,
that flows gentle and not fast,
but is refreshing.

I am catching up,
I got behind with it all.
I was so busy.

There’s always things there,
that need doing or fixing,
or fixing to do.

I’m scratching an itch,
and getting into trouble,
but I can not stop.

The rest’s history,
or her story, or it’s theirs,
someone must own it.

A trick of the hand,
one moment it’s there, then gone,
just to reappear,

Travel is out now,
that is good and much better,
getting out places.

I am fortunate,
I count the things that I have,
and I’ve got a lot.

A pen and a book,
and my words to freely write,
and share as I like.

That’s a world to me,
a place for some to enjoy,
and share the words.

Would it matter much,
if I wrote a limerick,
or some other rhyme.

I’m falling asleep,
even as I write, I doze,
and dream every word.

The words type themselves,
they are good like that at times,
when I’m not with it.

I need exercise,
running, cycling, or swimming,
but I watch TV.

It is just a joke,
nur ein witz, I’ve heard it said,
but never got it.

The trouble with trains,
is they don’t like other routes,
if you get it wrong.

I’m counting my stones,
I collected on my break,
at seaside last week.

A bucket and spade,
digging holes, building castles,
and getting sunburnt.

I’m reading a book,
and turn the page, one by one,
reading every line.

The ending’s not clear,
I read the first page quickly,
and someone ha died.

It’s a mystery,
and it says that on the back,
it has great suspense.

I got to the end,
it was the butler, I knew,
with the candle stick.

I am way behind,
the site doesn’t write itself,
and I can forget.

The light is shining,
bright like a spot light might do,
and distracting me.

There’s no tune for this,
except a slow dragging blues,
with words that are slurred.

It is sounding rough,
the edges are are so loose,
and the word drag out.