Month: September 2022

I’m taking account,
of the poems I’m writing,
and daily accrue.

What do I achieve,
And what is the acid test,
to acknowledge it.

Use of acronyms,
do they act well with meaning,
or confuse people?

In the spiders web,
the evening’s sunlight is caught,
until the wind blows.

It’s like family,
to hear that the Queen has died,
and a real sad shock.

The flags are lowered,
across the land in honour,
as the news sinks in.

The rain is falling,
and I like the sound of it,
outside my window.

This wet London street,
poor Little Britain rained on,
but still looking good.

Mix ups and fixtures,
some of today’s oys and joys,
that keep me laughing.

Evening reflections,
and meals by the water side,
and time to relax.

The moon’s nearly full,
just a glass of milk each night,
soon it will be full.

I felt confident,
but it was never to be,
so, another try.

Looking though photos,
though some of acclaim, I think,
most are abysmal.

I left it too late,
delayed and hesitated,
and it slipped away.

I’m fanning the flames,
I thought they would burn quicker,
but ideas don’t.

I’ve made time today,
to ably be about work,
and get something done.

No is just not no,
but ‘Next Opportunity’;
where are you going?

It’s come to an end,
but then, ‘Effort Never Dies’;
try and try again.

Crazy but it’s true,
but my colour green was blue,
and I am okay.

I like cinemas,
the popcorn, drinks and mixed sweets,
then trample the seats.

Now hope must abide,
defeating abject feelings;
don’t abandon hope.

Ice cream and coffee,
a heavenly tasting mix,
but do mind your teeth.

I found a book worm,
busy reading and eating,
its way through a book.

September’s the month,
and simply is the best month,
and I’m loving it.

Finding new music,
but new old music that is,
it is so much fun.

Music streaming free,
and the colours of it run,
in rivers of sound.

Friday does it well,
by bringing a close to it,
that one busy week.

That Friday music,
with the feel good stuff playing,
with the lights turned off.

There’s sometimes dry spells,
that parch fertile writing planes,
that will bloom once more.

Mix ups and fixtures,
some of today’s oys and joys,
that keep me laughing.

I’m writing a book,
an animal drama called,
‘The drowsy llama’.

Some places don’t stick,
here is one of mine, but where,
I do no recall.