Rhymes or Reason

Friday today, and I thought I'd write summat diff'rent for a change.

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It's Friday night and strictly for a change
I thought I'd write an ode that doesn't rhyme
so though it won't be easy writing words that just don't scan
I'll see if I can put down something new

Phew! That was close, you know that I was tempted
I nearly rhymed that last line in the stanza
I struggled with my conscience for a while
then said to myself 'sod it, let 'em wait!'

so now I'll see what else that I can think of
that won't be quite so hard to fit in here
it's getting late and now I'm getting tired
but come tomorrow I'll be rested, honest!

then I'll get back to rhyming words once more
I'll put them in rows all lined up quite neatly
just like I meant to do it all along
you'd think that it was just a little brain storm

the last four lines always seem to be the hardest
the ending's never easy to plan you see
for the rhymes just keep on coming even through the longest night
till they jump out from my mind on to the keyboard

Goodnight!

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See you tomorrow!

 

Aww Good Night my lovely. xxxxx

 

Today's Saturday, today's Saturday, and Saturday is ... Is everybody 'appy, you bet yer life we are!

Anyway, here's today's little ditty, enjoy!

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Saturday the ninth, could this be the gate
to escape from reality and into the strange
world of a fantasy where everything's great
and the good, bad and ugly are home on the range?

the world in a hand basket trips out to hell
while the church wardens wring their gnarled hands in the cold
and the old man of Hoy has a story to tell
of the times before he grew so tall and so old

this is the world as is now for the people
a mish mash of tales and fluff Peter Rabbit
could use as his tuft to tell all the sheeple
to wander the hills seeking something to grab at

a lifetime of stories, corked up in a bottle
that's thrown like a lifeline way out in the waves
to carry the message so safe in its capsule
to far distant shores and unknown enclaves

where strangers will read them and spark in their minds
a new world of wonder to keep them amused
like peeling an orange that's loose in its rind
the fruit has a taste at once strong yet diffused

so take out a segment and look at the colour
then into your mouth pop the sweet tangy fruit
the textures and taste on your tongue as you devour
the flesh seem so naughty and yet feel so right

these tales are the grist to the mill of our lives
as we grow and mature from innocence swept
into adult worlds we must all struggle and strive
feeling never the expert and always inept

just children we sail out to sea in our boat
with an owl and a pussycat there as our crew
these memories sparkle the tides as we float
and drift out from ancient rhymes into the new

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Naughty and nautical seemed to flow together well in this verse. See you tomorrow, if I can get back to dry land that is!!

 

Today's Sunday the 10th, and here's todays missive.

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January tenth, it's a week and a half
since the new year, it hardly seems real
that the calendar's turned again on our behalf
just as though it were pinned to a wheel

for the seasons roll round in a circle
they come and they go every year
they mark our lives out as they shuffle about
and remind us with laughter and tears

that our lives are forever governed
by forces outside our control
they trap and then catch us to pummel and match us
to fit in the right pigeonhole

sometimes we're pulled out and admired
by those who'd our virtues extol
sometimes we are led as though drawn by a thread
to get close to a looming black hole

there to join with the other ones who
have come to stand pale and aghast
I'm sure that one day I might even see you
though that fateful day may be our last

still the seasons continue to march on
driving all those whose lives are lived there
maintaining the peace as our thoughts are released
and the world rotates cleansing the air

for the atmosphere is a vacuum
it sweeps up those thoughts we discard
and gathers them in where the air becomes thin
to a cloud for to save and safeguard

so don't be sad if you've forgotten
all the good times you had in the past
at the end you're allowed to ascend through that cloud
and you'll regain them all at the last

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See you Monday!

 

Well, today's little offering is all about the Romans and children and sport. How did I manage that you may wonder? It all comes down to the fact that there are eleven people in a football team, and in a cricket team, and January is named after the Roman god Janus. As to where the children come into it, well they form the sports teams of eleven per side, and when small they played on the stones of what was once a Roman villa in what later became the kingdom of Wessex. All this came out of my mind this morning as I sat here and looked out of the window, and daydreamed of being able to go out of the house once more some time in the future. Assuming I'll still be here in that future, because it's getting very depressing being told to stay at home all the time. It's almost like house arrest for a crime I haven't committed.

Anyway, have a read of the poem while we're all still allowed to communicate via the internet, because even that could be taken away from us the way things are going!

Oh, and by the way, I know there's more than eleven in a rugby team, but I invoked poetic licence to make it all scan.

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January Eleven, sounds like a sports team
who knows, there just might be one hiding away
from a village called January it'd most likely seem
near a Roman villa down old Wessex way

I can just see it now the small village hall
next to the Norman church with graves all around
and the post office outside the old Roman wall
that marked out the villa's ancient grounds

and inside the wall the grass is kept neat
mowed every week to keep it quite short
so the paying visitors won't get wet feet
as they stroll around where once rich Romans held court

but before the authorities rescued the site
I'll bet children of all ages played in the rubble
the villagers' playground and theirs as of right
where the kids could all play yet stay out of trouble

away from the road where the big lorries ran
and during the war the Americans came
to play their own war games, as only they can
with their tanks and artillery spouting bright flame

when peacetime resumed and the parish was poor
that's when the NT came and offered a chance
to rebuild what had once been a palace before
they promised the whole area would be enhanced

so years of hard labour thusly ensued
to turn piles of rubble all covered with weeds
once more to a pleasant place rightly imbued
with historical overtones, a palace indeed

with fame came more people to live near the site
and the village soon filled with new children to play
on the old Roman stones as their playground of right
even though the NT tried to make them all pay

and those children grew up into sporty young teens
who needed to practice their newly honed skills
of football and cricket and running in teams
so new pitches were laid in the rolling green hills

and now we may have a January Eleven
of boys and of girls for both soccer and rugby
with members left over for January Sevens
well in my creative mind they all could be

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See you tomorrow! (hopefully?)

 

OOh Thank-you xxxx

 

Well that is a relief.

You asked me to post the first thing that came into my head and I just had an image of you running around shooting a few unwanted admirers.

 

hahahaha xxxx

 

It's the twelfth today, a Tuesday, and it's raining outside. Not wanting to make the day even more dismal than it already is, I tried to imagine the rain as a falling of new life onto the waiting ground, that's eager to swallow it all up, and use it to build new inspiration for an otherwise parched landscape.

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Today is the twelfth and not quite a fortnight
another two days to make it two weeks
so what shall I write about now you may wonder
as thoughts from my curious mind slowly weep

they cry like the new rain that falls on the desert
that's yearning for learning and aching to feel
they fall like the raindrops that quench the great thirst
of the new life that stirs as the rain waters heal

the barren and cold wastes of meaningless thought
that wander and roam through the world of the night
waiting and watching for some sacred sign of
a new dawn of reason that arrives with the light

but the germs of the new must take their time to grow
while the soil of creation awaits the rich food
as the water seeps onward through cracks it will flow
showered down from the heavens the meadows to flood
the fields of the grass lands, the grazing for those
who would wander through them, their thoughts to renew
that inspire us to think and imagine the world
with a new light, a muse our tight bounds to undo

and let all our creation spill out on the highway
let the traffic of life fill the ribbon of slate
that flows through the world like a blazing hot torch
that will save us from ignorance, show us our fate

for the power of stories is there for us all
the written and acted out script of our lives
we see in the mirror our private existence
as onward we ever must struggle and strive

worry not if creation has stopped for a short time
the new mental offspring are soon on their way
new thoughts and new ideas burst up through the soil
to reach for the sunlight that bathes us each day

and at last we can rest from the toil as we lay
eating and drinking our fill from the well
that springs up new tales to tell every day
as though from the glorious heavens they fell

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See you tomorrow!

 

YOU will xxxx

 

It's Wednesday Jan 13th today, and I've spent the day getting my rather specialised machining tools together ready for tomorrow, when I drive down to Poole, to work on a boat engine. Why do I do this you may ask? Well, I happen to have the special tools needed to do the machining on the engine that's necessary to refurbish it properly. I'm one of the few people left who know how to use the tooling, and who're prepared to go out to do the necessary work on the engine at the customer's premises. When it all gets a bit too much I'll see about selling the machine tools on and hopefully teach the buyer how to use them as well. That way the skills won't be lost and people will be able to continue using the ageing engines fitted to old cars, motorbikes and boats.

Anyway, here's today's ditty.

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Thirteenth today, that's one and three
add them together and they make four
take the one away you're left with two
so tell me people what to do?

should I leave the numbers this time
and just accept them as they are
or try to play with them some more
and mess them up as with my mind?

it's hard to think of what to write
when head is pounding out the beat
of tired eyes and aching feet
perhaps I'll have an early night

and rest my body goodness knows
it needs the rest as do my thoughts
like lines of crosses mixed with noughts
help untie my crossed up toes

the cool ev'ning is moving on
to the night that's waiting for it
sinking to the shining floor it
slides into dark oblivion

and there to rest until the dawn
the morn will break upon the dark
then I might stroll around the park
the well groomed trees and perfect lawns

will welcome me with open arms
arms that have held many things
from lover's hair to diamond rings
and kept them all away from harm

so dream along now as we rest
relax into the old armchair
don't try to work now, don't you dare
put up your feet, you know it's best

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Don't work too hard now! Take it easy till tomorrow.

 

Hey I live near Poole!

 

Candy Gal, yes you live in Bournemouth. I drove past there at around 11pm last night as I headed home from Poole. I didn't get home till 1.30am and then had to unload the car of all the tooling I took with me to do the work at the boatyard. So I didn't get to bed till after 2am. As such I'm rather tired, with a headache, and I didn't get a chance to write my daily poem last night. So I'll just have to write two of them today to make up for the shortfall.

I have a story to tell about the last time me and the missus went to Bournemouth. We went along to the beach at Sandbanks and bumped into Harry Redknapp! He was busy filming for that series of programmes he did about Sandbanks that was shown last year (or was it the year before?), but he made the time to say hello and talk to us anyway. Lovely bloke!

I'll put up a poem for yesterday later on today, and another one for today after that. Bye for now!

 

Okay, so I managed to drum up a few lines that explain where Thursday went, for me that is. Your experience of the day was probably different from mine, but that's hardly surprising as I had a very busy day working on a big six cylinder diesel engine on a huge floating forty foot long fibreglass gin palace that has two of these massive six litre engines to power it around. I only worked on one of them, as only one engine was being refurbished. The other one was re-furbed about three years ago apparently, and so is fine. Anyway, I got up at 5.30am, had an early breakfast, loaded the car up with the rather special boring machine I own, then drove the 120 miles down from London to Poole, and a boatyard where the gin palace was out of the water and sitting on the concrete yard. There it took four of us to lift the heavy machine the ten feet or so from the ground up to the height of the rear deck, then into the cabin to lift the floor panels away so that I could work on the six cylinders of the engine.

With three separate cuts required to get each cylinder bored out enough to take the sleeves that were to be fitted, it took eighteen cuts overall to get the work done. Then we had to get the machine back out of the engine bay, out of the cabin (into the rain in the dark) then lower it down again to ground level so that I could put it back in the car, and then drive the 120 miles home.

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Thursday the fourteenth where have you gone
the rain and the fog that hemmed in the day
slowly gave way
to sporadic showers that wetted the ground
as I looked out for the road signs
not always found
pointing me west to a boatyard in Poole
where an engine awaited me there in its bay
the cylinders worn beyond easy repair
needed new liners, that's why I was there
to bore out the cylinders for fitting new sleeves

my machine's too heavy for one man alone
I needed some muscle to help with the lifting
the boat owner's son and the owner himself
both pitched in to get my machine through the door
then into the cabin and under the floor
to where the huge engines sat stripped of their bits
I machined out the cylinders three cuts for each
then honed out the surfaces till the sleeves fit
and with it all done then home from the coast
I didn't get home until Thursday was past

So Friday the fifteenth barged its way in
while I emptied the car and stowed all my tools
then off to my bed to catch up with my sleep
my weariness dragging me into my dreams
Nod is a land I've got to know well
as my head hits the pillow I'll bid you farewell

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The poem for today follows, so don't touch that dial!

 

I see him lots in Sandbanks. xxx
Next time after this damn Pandemic, we must all meet up. xxxx

 

Hello again, as promised, here's Friday's poem, a bit late I know, but better late than never, as they say.

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Friday the fifteenth, oh what a day
birthdays for some
'Happy Birthday Tom!'
and time marches on
and on and on

a frost is a coming I'm sure of the signs
perhaps we'll get snow, it's a sign of the times
the bitterness burns at our fingers and toes
remember to keep all of the windows closed

and doors must be shut to keep out the cold
I can feel myself ache as I slowly grow old
and the sun shivers silently out in the blue
as it watches us move about here on the ground
but its glance is fleeting as the world moves round
in a circle, now here's an idea a strange notion
for our planet is in perpetual motion

it's a state that the scientists say just can't be
yet it is for all and sundry to see
forever it spins and will always continue
you know that I'm right what I'm telling you is true

and when the sun dies and our world it is drained
even then it will turn round again and again
until finally swallowed by our dying star
be assured of this fact wherever you are

so although the time marches on to its beat
through winter's chill and summer's heat
the seasons will come and the seasons will go
and it's late now so I'll just say cheerio!

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See you tomorrow!

 

Didn't know I could predict the weather did you? Well, when I woke up this morning it was snowing outside, so here's some nonsense about snow, and bad weather in general.

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Opened the curtains and what do I see
the world has turned white but how can that be
it was only last night that I said it might snow
now I'm being blinded by what's down below

but wait just a minute there don't be too hasty
it's raining outside so the snow'll soon melt
then it'll all turn to slush that can be quite nasty
I hope that the rain soon turns heavy and pelts

then the snow will all drain away out of my sight
and I won't have to contemplate wearing my boots
coz I really can't walk in them try as I might
I look like a bigfoot who's in a bad mood

all trudging and swearing and cursing quite loud
as I slide from the pavement out into the road
in a cartoon I'd walk along under a cloud
filled with lightning and thunder about to explode

with my shoulders all hunched up close to my head
as though they were earrings that flattened out sideways
but they're heavy to me and they feel just like lead
and if I get famous they might start a new craze

so soon all the people would hunch their way round
as they shop in the high street or go underground
to seek out the bargains that hide in the markets
all looking like coat hangers bought on a budget

but listen to me getting silly and soft
you know I don't mean it I'm having a laugh
till my ribs they all ache and I choke and I cough
so I think I'd best stop now and go run a bath

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See you!

 

LOVE THEM ALL SO MUCH. XXX

 

Hello, today's poem is a little longer than most of those I've done recently, but I hope you won't get bored reading it. Anyway, here it is.

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Sunday today and I had a lie in
it helps me remember which day it is
if I got up as normal I'd soon begin
to forget which day's which and get in a tizz

so I stayed on in bed till my back really hurt
then got up and took my special Sunday pill
then wait half an hour before quenching my thirst
so the chemicals can coat my old bones while I'm still

after that it was breakfast, but not until twelve
I don't eat in the mornings I rest my digestion
then to fill up my tum in the pantry I delve
for some ham and some coleslaw, a salad insurrection

the afternoon filled with internet queries
about aliens and moonshine and other such things
people will think I'm away with the fairies
perhaps they're not wrong while I'm clicking the links

but the interesting things are all there for the taking
and reading the articles keeps me awake
if I didn't do that I'd be in the chair dozing
and wasting the day, that would be a mistake

for time is the essence of what life's about
we're stuck here at home for the duration it seems
until the all clear sounds and we're allowed out
to get back to normal and chasing our dreams

our wants and desires that are just out of reach
we can see them in colour in glossy paged brochures
the beautiful bodies all bronzed on the beach
if only I looked like the gods in the pictures

sadly I don't, I'm really no oil painting
no Salvador Dali would want to paint me
he'd look and who knows, he might even be waiting
for me to release him and set his eyes free

to look for the beauty in other strange things
not sorry old men who would just sit and drool
in my mind's eye I see him as he deftly flings
paint onto his palette and sits on his stool

then strokes with his brush the quivering canvas
that sits on his easel looking white as a sheet
the virginal space that he seeks to encompass
with stories in colour to give us a treat

a vastness of detail that seeks out our eyes
and through them it knaws at our questioning brains
to make us all think of impossible skies
as long legged elephants race on the plains

of time as it watches us through it's soft dial
that slowly melts over the branch of a tree
or bends to creep down the side of a box
that denotes the precipitous edge of the sea

such art is too novel for us to take in
it frightens and worries us how it can be
that one man can think these things into existence
and capture the thoughts for us all to see

for art is an inate skill some geniuses have
Dali and Da Vinci are only just two
of those blessed with memory like a photograph
and the skill to repeat an image so true

Da Vinci could plan and paint true to his vision
Dali in modern days almost the same
to be able to dream the impossible with passion
is so unusual as to garner great fame

but now my poem has come to an end
so what shall I write to finish it off
I know, I'll simply cop out and send
my words to you wrapped in an old table cloth

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That's all folks!

 

Stop beating yourself up. Looks are not everything. xxx
Personality shines above all.