Month: April 2021

I’ve got new target,
I wrote them out and got scared,
there’s so musch to do.

That is ambition,
it will change your world for good,
or kill you trying.

The music is gone,
lost in a tomb of dead phone,
that needs waking up.

I hope for the best,
a change, a win, just something,
that takes me away.

It is time for bed,
turn out the lights and retire,
to a dreamy land.

Keeping my targets,
I set myself yesterday,
to finish something.

The day was lovely,
so I took a long slow walk,
and snapped a few birds.

Work is looming large,
like a Monday cargo ship,
on course to hit me.

I paddle quickly,
through restless dreams and tension,
that haunt my waking.

The night ebbed away,
and there on the morning shore,
woke relunctantly.

I’ve got company,
she is small and talkative,
always makes me laugh.

taking my teacup,
whether full or empty,
it will dissappear.

The week is so long,
the days intense and tiring,
with endless meetings.

I do need a break,
I think this job’s a mistake,
but it pays the bills.

The dragons awake,
there is somehting stirring now,
who knows what is next.

Their treasure is safe,
and far too much to take all,
a little at best.

I am now empty,
the words drain the last of me,
and I fall asleep.

A bow and arrow,
rests quietly in the corner,
and harming noone.

A mini-crossbow,
hangs on a mirror framing,
without being strung.

A pistol poses,
just because it can you know,
because it’s not real.

The toys we gather,
as we are getting older,
the toys of our youth.

A camera’s poised,
ready to take a great shot,
the one you do want.

The mobile is near,
the ultimate toy for now,
and we just play games.

The paint set’s waiting,
to blend and mix and create,
a picture or two.

The guitar hangs on,
fully tuned for some music,
any kind that you like.

A ukelele,
rests, leaning on a wall shelf,
with four strings in tune.

The model cars stand,
gathering dust and beeping,
with their flashing lights.

The toys that I have,
it amazes me, it does,
and entertains me.

I’m feeling lucky,
as I turn the page and look,
and well, there it is.

I did go walking,
the sun was warm like springtime,
and the bird did sing.

It is a strange thing,
one moment working and then,
out in the woodlands.

My poems are crap,
they flow like bile from my wounds,
a needed release.

Seventeen of them,
syllables that is, no more,
So test them and see.

The rhythm is key,
the patterns are beaten out,
in each of the words.

I expect good news,
to pay the bill and the debts,
and leaving something.

We are all dreamers,
caught in a world of nonsense,
promises unkept.

I’m not a cynic,
nor a realistjust me,
with my happy thoughts.

Good things come, they say,
to those that wait, and wait more.
I’m getting mine soon.

The snow on the ground,
made the fields white and quite cold,
still I love the sight.

I am now hopeful,
of change that will change it all,
and cause me to fly.

Fly high in the sky,
over clouds, and rain that’s falling,
somewhere that needs it.

The dragons do sleep,
their rampage was a wake up,
but bed called them home.

A bed of treasure,
more than you can ever count,
yes, in a lifetime,

The coffee is cold,
sitting quietly by my side,
somewhat neglected.

The tune is the same,
the three chords and simple tune,
verse, chorus and a bridge.

A bridge is useful,
you can always use a bridge,
just find it’s purpose.

I am a dreamer,
but I sleep in a silence,
waking up early.

Nighttime calls its time,
and we fall under its spell,
that is tiredness,

The music plays on,
the music themes of my life,
ragtime, blues and jazz.

I am feeling jazz,
the kind that swings and moves it,
and makes me join in.

The snow came again,
coating the lawn in whiteness,
and making a sight.

Ice skating outside,
taking the trash to the bins,
but got back safely.

Looking for the moon,
it has been gone a few days,
I like that new moon.

Work in the morning,
I really wish there wasn’t,
and do what I want.

We will meet again,
some sunny day this summer,
and greet each other.

The clouds are out now,
but the sun is shining through,
promising good things.

The dragons do sleep,
comfortable on their gold,
and other treasures.

What woke them up then,
a careless wsih or sly charm,
or noise all about.

The sea covers them,
and deep in the ocean they rest,
in deep sea caverns.

A star looks on them,
from Orion, in his belt,
a rarely seen star.

The Norse know it well,
and when seen it bids them well,
and so they would go.

The boats assemble,
along the shores and ready,
for this Dragon feast.

We will meet again,
is their song through the spring nights,
sung to fiery foes.