Month: January 2023

Tennis and shopping,
my Saturday ritual,
and before midday.

Pages wait patiently,
for the pen to come and write,
the date and some thoughts.

There sounds all around,
a door closing, or chatter,
and silence between.

The door was a jar,
and the room a cardboard box;
and the chairs were sweets

I do like coffee,
hot and steaming by my side,
and ready to drink.

I run for the bus,
and run for the tube and train,
and sit to write tweets.

I wish I had more,
times to say hello to you,
and ask how are you.

Clocks busy ticking,
all look like their are counting,
but they just go round.

The light is fading,
and another day is done;
good bye mister sun.

Down the muddy path,
and jumping over puddles,
in our wellie boots.

I am crowded in,
my armchair with little ones,
that think it is fun.

Waiting for a train,
and seeing people today,
that I’ve seen on Teams.

I’m making it up,
and then I’m writing it down,
but the words move round.

I work, write and sleep,
and sometimes I just lay in,
and write in my dreams.

My pencil is blunt,
but the lines are thick and dark,
as I make my mark.

Life can be stranger,
than any work of fiction,
but more beautiful.

The flowers blossom,
and the sky is blue, no clouds,
in my winter dreams.

My coffee grows cold,
and still tastes good, but you know,
it’s not at its best.