As complex as simple is.
A rainy Sunday,
I get another coffee,
And the newspaper.
The work week’s loaming,
And I know there’s much to do,
One day at a time.
The rain drips outside,
And trickles down the window,
And strangely soothing.
The blocks, block me in, and restrain my written words, to standard size blocks.
The pen’s mightier, than the sword or the blogs blocks, here’s to breaking out!
Saturday morning,
And the rain has settled in ,
And likes it too much.
Some things go as planned,
Strange, I know, but it is true,
So, do make some plans.
Expect something good,
Expect the unexpected,
Serendipity.
Secret sausage shop, and that is what I like to see, something real tasty.
Unpacking shopping, wipe it down and sanitise, then eat some of it.
The rain in England,
Is like a good and old friend,
Not always welcome.
Went out for breakfast,
Met a friend for a fry-up,
And that was tasty.
No parcels have come, but a few brown letters did, they don’t inspire me.
The week has gone fast, and I knew it wouldn’t last, it’s just passing time.
The moon is waning, getting smaller daily now, part of it cycle.
There’s a pattern here,
But it isn’t regular,
More like erratic.
The sky is orange,
And little clouds wait for planes,
But there are no more.
Taxes are mounting, the business is laid out flat, in its wondering.
The night comes quicker, the sun departs and nights here, darker and colder.
Looking to get out,
But the rain put pay to that,
So I’ll just stay home.
The plate is empty,
The sandwich has disappeared,
Just some crumps are left.
The rain fell last night, silently covered the ground, and that’s what I dreamt.
Vibrations thrilling, the ripples in the water, in concentric rings.
Bumhole Bump’s a twit,
Saying, ‘Stand back and stand-by’.
Only means one thing!
I hate politics,
Fox news, and Bumhole Bump,
Brings us better news.
I stand on the edge, and look down into the blue, ever darkening.
Sensations depart, and my heart falls to the ground. Hearing its beating.
Lunchtime here for me,
A Cornish pasty will do.
Then it’s back to work.
A slower week here,
If slow means it will soon go,
Let’s go with the flow.
Sitting in the dark, list’ning to the wind outside, get into my head.
Temptations flying, around in my wind filled head, ’til cobwebs are gone.