As complex as simple is.
I can’t believe it,
Just one day back at my job.
And I’m exhausted.
Don’t over promise,
And don’t under deliver,
Do the best you can.
Chasing the blue lines,
Of the ruled notebook I use,
Words filling those lines.
Funny how it falls, the old mug as hits the ground, twists strangly then breaks.
Music does help me, relaxes me and cools me off, lost in random songs.
The house is so hot,
The heating wants to kill me,
Drowned in my own sweat.
My head is bursting,
An headachce from down under,
From the depths of hell.
Sunday slowy goes, into Sunday evening now, then night to morning.
Monday will come quick, it always does the little prick, it likes to tease me.
Lotto failed to come, a lucky-dip the email said, maybe Wednesday now.
A rainy Sunday,
I get another coffee,
And the newspaper.
The work week’s loaming,
And I know there’s much to do,
One day at a time.
The rain drips outside,
And trickles down the window,
And strangely soothing.
The blocks, block me in, and restrain my written words, to standard size blocks.
The pen’s mightier, than the sword or the blogs blocks, here’s to breaking out!
Saturday morning,
And the rain has settled in ,
And likes it too much.
Some things go as planned,
Strange, I know, but it is true,
So, do make some plans.
Expect something good,
Expect the unexpected,
Serendipity.
Secret sausage shop, and that is what I like to see, something real tasty.
Unpacking shopping, wipe it down and sanitise, then eat some of it.
The rain in England,
Is like a good and old friend,
Not always welcome.
Went out for breakfast,
Met a friend for a fry-up,
And that was tasty.
No parcels have come, but a few brown letters did, they don’t inspire me.
The week has gone fast, and I knew it wouldn’t last, it’s just passing time.
The moon is waning, getting smaller daily now, part of it cycle.
There’s a pattern here,
But it isn’t regular,
More like erratic.
The sky is orange,
And little clouds wait for planes,
But there are no more.
Taxes are mounting, the business is laid out flat, in its wondering.
The night comes quicker, the sun departs and nights here, darker and colder.
Looking to get out,
But the rain put pay to that,
So I’ll just stay home.
The plate is empty,
The sandwich has disappeared,
Just some crumps are left.
The rain fell last night, silently covered the ground, and that’s what I dreamt.
Vibrations thrilling, the ripples in the water, in concentric rings.
Bumhole Bump’s a twit,
Saying, ‘Stand back and stand-by’.
Only means one thing!
I hate politics,
Fox news, and Bumhole Bump,
Brings us better news.
I stand on the edge, and look down into the blue, ever darkening.
Sensations depart, and my heart falls to the ground. Hearing its beating.
Lunchtime here for me,
A Cornish pasty will do.
Then it’s back to work.
A slower week here,
If slow means it will soon go,
Let’s go with the flow.
Sitting in the dark, list’ning to the wind outside, get into my head.
Temptations flying, around in my wind filled head, ’til cobwebs are gone.
Sunday morning chores,
As the family still snores,
And I’ll bang some doors.
The book is back on,
But so much to work through now,
More material though.
Cleaning up my place,
Giving order and a clean face,
Better now for sure.
The rain down the pane,
Trickles meanderingly,
In it silent streams.
The clouds fill the sky,
And without definition,
And no sight of sun.
