Month: March 2022

Some things that I like,
painting, sleep and marmite crisps,
but not together.

The mist and rain came,
with a serene glowing light,
and it simply was.

The bin went out today,
and came in late and empty,
and wet from the rain.

I’m sick of Covid,
in my face and teasing me,
time that he was gone.

So gently it falls,
warm and light, like kind graces,
these sun light kisses.

I’ve travelled the world,
and walked the streets of Ukraine,
and met great people.

I’m in a mess,
and it’s of my own making;
I’m tidying up.

My new mate Covid,
stayed over and just won’t leave,
he is still a pain.

Roget’s thesaurus,
a surviving dinosaur,
that sits on the shelf.

They’re attacking ‘fine’,
I’m baffled by this action;
leave the word alone.

Spring tickles the trees,
and tease the buds and blossoms,
bringing a fresh hope.

Sat here with Covid,
he’s a pain and tough to bear,
I hope he leaves soon.

Hello to the world,
we want to keep you healthy,
our green and blue place.

A candy crush king,
I sit waiting for my crown,
as I climb levels.

I climbed a mountain,
but I never reached the top,
does that really count?

The weather turned bad,
and pinned us down to the side,
for a little while.

I’m herding the words,
trying to corral them here,
to pen something new.

It is best to stop,
and take a good look about,
before proceeding.

Count all your blessings,
and one them all one by one,
and see that it’s good.

It catches us all,
you can’t out run cheeky winds,
that breeze about us.

Words fly off the page,
and taking the stories forms,
then play out the scenes.

Ronaldo scores three,
what an awesome achievement,
three excellent goals.

Covid still attacks,
watch your back and watch your friends,
and simply stay safe.

I need to get out,
and feel the breeze on my face,
and the sun’s sweet warmth.

I should do much more,
I feel it tugging at me,
back to things I love.

A Friday feeling,
but it is numbed down today,
with my weekend plans.

There sure is good luck,
when that preparation meets,
opportunity.

Though I like to write,
letters can jump off the page,
changing what I write.

The waiting is fine,
if there’s a worthwhile cause,
like getting a bus.

I hear the birds sing,
encouragement for the trees,
that lifts my spirit.

The big clock struck one,
another year has passed on,
but he is still here.

He’s counting the years,
more in memories than years,
and there are many.

The cat licked her paw,
nonchalantly but watchful,
and ready to pounce.

Reaching tenderly,
as not wanting to offend,
with her claws ready.

The winds swirled the snow,
as they all looked for shelter,
on the mountain side.

The sound of its wings,
can’t be heard as it’s so sift,
flying tree to tree.

This is what I’ve got,
I’ve got a funny feeling,
Spring is on its way.

The sunshine is warm,
I love its heat on my back,
and flowers blooming.

The dark trail awaits,
ever willing others there,
to try their magic.

The wind shakes the trees,
with a breezy chilly slap,
making leaves fall off.

The rim of the cup,
bears the traces of her lips,
so warm and tender.

He keeps on writing,
long after the ribbon broke,
still indenting words.

The sad awful truth,
of that store stale jam donut,
no one ever wants.

The count down begins,
and I cannot stop it now,
nor could I ever.

The thrill of romance,
the little talk, the cuddles,
and the in-betweens.

I am loving it,
and grammatically correct,
so what’s the problem?

I’m counting two three,
and doing a little waltz,
and three four, no more.

The thrill of romance,
the little talk, the cuddles,
and the in-betweens.

I went to London,
to Fleet Street for a meeting,
that went on too long.