I have a woman.
I’m proud to call her my wife.
Some give theirs’ nicknames, ‘her indoors’ and ‘the trouble and strife’
Now, I have my flaws and they are many and vast.
I think like a man, slowly and ‘at last’!
But my wife asks me to hang the washing out in the rain!
Her argument for using the balustrade and radiators to me seems pretty lame!
They dry out too quickly!
They dry out too fast!
So, while it’s overcast and drizzling the wind will still give them a blast!
Now, I have a chunter as I’m stood outside getting my bald head wet! She says that there’s sense in her logic though I can’t see it being approved by Spock from Star Trek!
If they get wet we can give them a spin! Then wait for some sunshine to hang them out again!
The weather app says it’s going to clear up - so that’s what you’ll do. Get out there in the drizzle and hang the washing out you fool.
Categories:
chunter, confusion, crazy, funny love,
Form: Free verse
millions of words all neatly filed
silently shouting please try me ,
open my covers escape to my worlds
i’m so small and neat you should buy me
here i could browse linger ‘til i drowse
under their awesome power.
but I wonder if at night
when they switch off the lights
and the town begins to slumber,
do all those words emerge,
mutter, murmur and chunter
practising their sounds
a cacophony that rounds,
bounds and re-bounds
from the walls and ceilings;
does the fiction vie
with those works that try
to instruct;
does the times
thunder at the sun
then in solidarity combine
against the shrill whine
of the weeklies and monthlies,
those frivolous glossies
to whom they are certainly superior
until just before the dawn,
when the world starts to yawn
they all silently glide, slither and slide
back to their proper pages
to wait with the patience of ages
to lure and ensnare me
millions of words all neatly filed
silently shouting please try me ,
open my covers escape to my worlds
i’m so small and neat you should buy me
here i could browse linger ‘til i drowse
under their awesome power.
Categories:
chunter, books, fantasy, imagination,
Form: Rhyme
The lust of Summer now smokes a cigarette,
replete, exhausted and spent.
Beach bums and young mums chunter and sigh,
wondering where the sun went.
As the first pinch of Autumn disturbs the dark rooks
and the seagulls follow the plough.
So too the equinox shortens the day
and the leaf starts to fall from the bough.
Nature's larder, heavy with fruit,
a precursor to Winter's foreboding.
Harvest is here, and thankful congregations,
with natures bounty are loading
the apse and the nave to thank God he gave
a return for their toil and endeavour.
Now mist shrouded fields, heavy with dew,
herald a change in the weather.
As nature shuts down in village and town
the curtained population
draw near to the fire or else they retire
to sire the next generation.
So the seasons expire and new ones are borne
each with their own special task.
But a Summer with sunshine and long, endless days
is surely not too much to ask?
Categories:
chunter, autumn, seasons,
Form: Rhyme