Tuesday, 25 August 2015

Weather Report



Squally winds are building up
Foreboding clouds distressing
Drenching trenching water falls
Bad weather needs are pressing

Windscreen wipers rubbered up
Two naked scrapers streaking
The road ahead is vision dead
A sense of hazard havoc wreaking

People hunched up seeking shelter
A hundred million landing stages
Too late the writer’s book is done
No happy ending in these pages

Saturday, 22 August 2015

Original Sin


A deep sleep at night is an eyelid in flight
Such is the terror to infringe copyright
Darkness allows a pushed pen to surmise
As dawning at sunup may well plague your eyes

A search high and low for original flow
For the new and unusual phrase apropos
But a fear of the smear of not being first
Left staring despairing at words interspersed

Attempts at expressions seem less convoluted
As hid when presented with essence diluted
When creating your novel be aware of Sod’s Law
By dispersing reversing things not heard before

Saturday, 15 August 2015

Conclusion Confusion



Spinning coins and turning cards
Rolling dice on tough decisions
When one way or another
Calls for choices on positions

One may consider sometimes though
When balls are bouncing off the wall
That putting off your final word
Is where uncertainty must fall

When benchmarks are invisible
When rules of thumb are hitching rides
Use a hunch to find the best of bunch
And leave all other things besides

Monday, 10 August 2015

Piccatchio



Naked visions veiled in silhouettes
Engage a narrative of scenes
Splendid picture postcards
Lives held still on plate terrines

A memory spread on light veneer
A one time gathering invention
When lighting caught a camera eye
Fine displays in two dimension

Based on Don't Go To India Peter Sarstedt
Peter Sarstedt Link

Thursday, 6 August 2015

Muddles in Huddles



When out taking lunch in a group or a bunch
It’s worth making plans in advance
For the group is a troupe singing similar tunes
Whilst a bunch is a haphazard dance

A bunch is a crowd full of laughter out loud
Not a group in a loop with agendas
Nudges and winks, nod to petty cash drinks
As a bunch tends to smirk at pretenders

A group is a song sheet precisely compiled
Conducted in choir like precision
Unlike the bunch who buy their own lunch
Which the group looks upon with derision

The group is a mood in a transient crowd
Expediently loyal to the money
Bunches are scenes where reality means
That in-spite of it all keep it funny

Where a joke is a joke not a dig or a poke
Pleasant bunch is good place to be
Unlike a group who will jump though a hoop
Apple-polishing gloss “Look at me!”