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


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, 
a 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 a good place to be
Unlike a group who 
will jump through a hoop
Apple-polishing gloss
“Look at me!”