Month: February 2021

Something funny eh?
Scally-wags in the cupboard,
behind the teacups.

Like beetles they roam,
free as the summer breezes,
all around the home.

The tea towel is wet,
without seeing just one dish,
but by toilet dips.

He breathes heavily,
tapping out a few last words,
before he’s sleeping.

The cigarette burns,
and hot ash falls on the floor,
burning the carpet.

Where did they all go,
those people in memories,
of my ill spent youth.

He scratched the coin,
Down across the window glass,
making it to scream.

I’m going for gold,
and that’s lots and lots of gold,
if only I could.

The light is so strange,
it seems to stare hard at me,
when I am woirking.

Jealous it must be,
of the light from the window,
clear and beautiful.

Someone took a dump,
Bumhole Bump has got the hump,
useless politics.

I keep finding things,
things I tought that I had lost,
turn up, just like that.

Today is Turd’s day,
traditionally for poo,
at lest once we trust.

I vote lottery,
to break the bank and bank it,
and treat everyone.

I would write my book,
finish them at least I know,
and self publish them.

there always something,
extra to do, everyday,
and that is for sure.

I yawn so widely,
my jaws lock with mouth open,
like a weird zombie.

I am fading fast,
on a photograph of me,
back to the future?

The challenge goes on,
and trying every fibre,
until one of them snaps.

The oak tree is bare,
its arms reach, out to the sky,
calling back the spring.

With green tender shoots,
and a warmest in the air,
that stirs new young leaves.

The arms of the chair,
cradle in a special way,
that speak of resting.

Now, I wonder where,
the inspiration halted,
and bland stuff started.

To moon’s been hiding,
behind thick clouds and careful,
not to be seen out.

The finger tap out,
the letters of heavy words,
that weigh the page down.

A ray of bright light,
streams across the page and shows,
the words are afraid.

Gathering in lines,
they huddle together cold,
and now unfeeling.

They refuse to move,
and one by one they are gone,
and new words are formed.

It is therapy,
a treatment for his work stress,
punishment in kind.

The chair is empty,
and turned away from the screen,
that it sees all day.

A glass fell and broke,
with a loud crash and was gone,
broken in pieces.

I did some shopping,
got biscuits, sweets and loo-roll,
essential items.

I could go to bed,
I could also take a bath,
I want none of it.

The sun doesn’t play,
there’s no golden sunsets now,
just greyness, then night.

I struggle with work,
twelve hours on line in meetings,
I just close my eyes.

Bought a frying pan,
just for me and what I want,
a pan that not scared.

I got some chisels,
and maybe will carve something,
if I find the time.

I am so silly,
thinking I could make it rich,
writing some poems.

The weather’s warmer,
but Houston is freezing cold,
and it has got snow.

I feel exhausted,
tired right down to me old boots,
if I had any.

It’s powerful stuff,
and often under rated,
this tiredness I feel.

I wake up refreshed,
even after five minutes,
and a short power nap.

Here I am again,
refreshed and firing on all,
cylinders I have.

Cranberry juice helps,
it also tastes very good,
just one glass a day.

I zimmed on the slam,
and got away wix som fing,
‘eld in me ‘opper.

I don’t know nothing,
I said, as their questionned me,
but maybe I did.

The story’s the same,
but it alter atlter soon,
that is wot I think.

Anyway the games up,
Haiku have been seaized and lost,
and they gave it up.

We struggling to write,
the words are quiffy and scrall,
and struggle to speak.

Time we got out now,
leave this place and find ourselves,
where we ought to be.

It is a journey,
through this current Covid time,
that we all must make.

The answers will come,
and life will carry on soon,
and travel to work.

Bumhole Bump got off,
for they are all too partisan,
to know what to do.

The weather’s better,
slightily I would say today.
One degree warmer.

I became inspired,
by something I heard today.
to do something good.

Go take a journey,
see the world and have some fun,
take some photos too.

Maybe that’s not it,
but it caught my inner soul,
with something to do.

V-Day tomorrow,
and have you forgotten it,
or you just don’t care.

I have bought a card,
I needed to do something,
to show that I care.

I’m still counting coins,
1p, 2p and 5p,
there’s a pile of them.

Guitars accuse me,
saying, ‘Where is the music?’
I sing them a song.

Music;s a passion,
that’s still buring within me,
they will strum again.

The sun shines brightly,
in a blue and winter sky,
warming with its light.

Shopping is all done,
though Mrs things it’s all wrong,
and she’ll go next time.

I’m now seeking peace,
and distraction from the noise,
that is rattling on.

I didn’t win it,
in fact I just won nothing,
vain and empty dreams.

To free me from work,
and the daily grind and stress,
that doesn’t get less.

The end of a week,
and it feels so very good,
to have made it through.

A week of turmoil,
and MSTeam meetings,
going back to back.

I’m feeling hopeful,
and maybe optimistic,
for that something good.

It isn’t my plan,
to build a house or speedboat,
in an idle dream.

It is the weekend,
and the time will serve me well,
every second ticked.

Saturday begins,
and the sun will rise on time,
to wake this writer.

And I’ll be that one,
that takes the dead pen in hand,
and cause it to write