Shades of grey cascades on rainy days
Petrichor reigns after each pitter patter
Radiance of earthy fragrance does flatter
Teardrops down panes.. splitter splatter
Fades to whiffs chiding riffs spit scatter
Forever about weather they do natter
Seems the one thing that does matter
Flowers cowers at showers which batter
Tiffs as petal in fine fettle does shatter
Down trodden by a sodden mad hatter
Raised bed fed on shed drops clatter
Spoils for alluvial soils a pluvial platter
Some veg in tatters others seem fatter
Folks chitter chatter.. prefer the latter
Cumulus nimbus nimbly flitter & flutter
Sunrays grasp after a last gasp stutter
Sliding gliding riding wooden shutter
Rasp of uncouth din off a roof of tin
Staccato rinse & repeat beat does utter
Burgling drains & gurgling in the gutter
Huddles of puddles cuddle and splutter
Parched Earth’s skin softens like butter
Mother Nature's own homegrown nutter
Folks groan have to clear up soaked clutter
Mumble prone to moan but not a tut tutter
Mustn't grumble need the tumble they mutter
Since I am over sixty,
Me, people try to console!
They give all advice to soothe my soul!
I tell them that I am in fine fettle,
They fail to understand my mettle!
I tell them not to be sympathetic!
Who listens? Each one is apathetic!
Satsuma Tumour
Sense of Humour?
That Groomer Rumour
Cometh the Hour
Cometh the TAN!
People Power Glower should Flower
Grassy brassy knolls
But proles at the polls
Sold their Souls
To joust like Faust
Ignore Marcel Proust
Cower before the Ivory Tower
Odd bod elite’s law
Tweets of Sod and God
No Enlightening
Repeats the prism
Or algorithm beats
Every criticism schism
“Ism”..a frightening..lightning rod
Pot..black..kettle knack
Debauched cheats pedal to the metal
Out of whack flak attack
Unsettle our mettle
Plot to settle that score
Scorched and torched serfs
Any petal in fine fettle
& the earth's core
What‘s better than a biscuit?
Hard to debunk
Treasure trunk funk
Should you let
It get wetter
Would you dare risk it?
The trick a quick dunk
Or could flunk..flick..kerplunk..
Mushy chunk sunk..messy junk
Slushy slunk..in the tea you drunk
So at your leisure
Pleasure one’s self
Don’t regret your stealth
Forget your health
Wealth beset on the shelf
So feeling restive?
Yearn for a digestive?
Appealing…suggestive
No shock..dark choc
What else will cut the mustard
With a brew…for a few bob
Recurring theme..does seem
Will always dream
About a custard cream
Almost sob…as I Lob
A hob-nob in me gob
Ta pour more cha
In fine fettle
Be a slob
Turn on the kettle
Bickies in the jar
On the sofa settle
Sins within tins
Spurn concern
Ignore the racket
As
Hats do doff
Knew from the off
On a roll
The sole goal
Quaff another cuppa
Down your cake hole
Scoff the whole packet!
The shock that I felt was enormous,
as the tab on the cat food I pulled,
a fountain of biscuits shot out of the top-
the box, it was actually full !
I stood, disbelieving, bewildered,
this never had happened before,
I finally came to my senses again
and swept all the bits off the floor.
'Contents are liable to settle',
I've seen it on loads of foodstuffs,
in some cereals, where half of it is fresh air
and what's left is just not quite enough.
And bags of crisps, don't get me started,
whatever the flavour or range,
seven flakes, powdered crumbs
which just coat both your thumbs
and then leave your tongue feeling short-changed.
Forgive me, for always believing
(and I think most folks do, by and large)
that the air we breathe in now and always has been
since the dawn of mankind, free of charge.
So why do the makers of products
include something already free?
Just give us lots more of the thing I paid for
and leave all the breathing to me.
And when my time one day is over
and no longer am in fine fettle,
the box I'm carried off in,
on the lid of the coffin
write ' contents are liable to settle'.
L-et the dust settle,
I-nstead of making it gray;
E-vade the rugged wind,
Z-ealously take trouble
A-way.
G-ive time till things get calmer,
O-bliterate the devil's way;
D-istress will return to normality,
A-ugust twenty-ninth Tuesday.
L-et the conflict disappear,
L-et you be in fine fettle;
E-agerly let the haze fade, let the dust settle.
More things can happen or could have happened,
From a cold metal,
Sharpened in fine fettle,
Making skin nettled,
Damaging the mettles,
To keep minds unsettled,
Provoking to ask, if this is or if this was real or mental?
Blade on arms,
Skin might be harmed;
Skin was gashed,
Blade grinding and gnashed,
Red colors coming in a flash...
Blade on gut,
Feeling a sudden jut,
Provoked as a rut,
But, this was a guff...
Blade on neck,
Thinking about a sudden sweep,
Discord trying to overcome conviction and peace,
Even though, the blade failed again,
Failing to provoke the red gushes and streams...
Blade on heart,
Might be the last battle so far,
Trying to not give in, being so hard,
Though in the past, there could have been to many cuts,
And more deadly slashes,
Creating red splashes and plashes,
As I slowly might have fought, winning or losing,
Against the sleeping and life flashing feeling,
As I bleeded out..
I am a little archangel,
please let me in your garden dwell,
when there,I will spread out so well;
Later,you won't let me settle
but I'll keep you in fine fettle,
I'm the dreaded yellow-nettle.
or Lamium galeobdolon
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