never and always
unpredictable siblings
like love and weather
that ignore the wayward winds
ignore fate and its inklings
yet then still wish for the sun
tomorrow's champagne
toasts with half full flutes
but hearts too shaken
to hold our pleasure
So Instagram is a sham
Everyone seems smitten
With posts about a kitten
Or hosts who hate Britain
Or boasts so badly written
Toasts flam & are all bitten
Goddam is just like spam
Famalam use as a babysitter
Wham bam for any dimwitter
Won’t scram will be a big hitter
Instagram is just glam glitter
Oh please look at me vanity
Narcissist wheeze is insanity
Tease with another profanity
Disease crippling all humanity
Pedants on pews lives fritter
Algorithm queues like twitter
Bottom feeder ruse you critter
Needier travesty tapestry knitter
Greedier fuse lit & now shi*ter
Seedier impropriety just litter
Social media a society splitter
Notoriety trolls scrolls flitter
Anxiety but folks will still titter
Piety for botox you’ll be fitter
Ham it up cash cow AI lie spitter
Kowtow get no views so just bitter
Kapow a scam not some Ashram
Stop cropped photoshopped slop
They cram in a half baked pitta
Instagram is bust and just a sham
— Dedicated to the nights in Finsbury Park
In the dark of night,
Watching the houses clustered together outside,
Hearing the faint echoes of toasts ringing from somewhere—
I always thought I was alone.
The cold wind outside,
Threatening to extinguish the lamp in my room—
I always thought I was alone.
Watching the stars and the moon sharing their light,
I always thought I was alone.
Walking home by myself,
Seeing lovers holding hands as they pass—
I always thought I was alone.
But now, I am not.
Because you are here,
Reading these words of mine.
Here is to you, the ever blazing sun,
who warms me, and pleasantly toasts my skin,
cheering me, presiding over the fun
each lucky day this blue-green earth does spin...
and to you, the mirthful, capricious wind,
blowing lovely hair, and colorful skirts,
a token to this older man who grinned,
as children's shouts made him laugh til it hurts...
and you the sapphire sky and turquoise sea
stretching outward, upward, to the beyond,
my first example of infinity,
visiting me by nature's magic wand.
Today, you all find me, with your broad reach
living a life of heaven on the beach.
With voices raised in songs of ancient lore,
upon those hills our daffodils will sway.
With noble hearts their spirits will restore
as Wales with pride recalls St David’s Day.
The dragon’s tale is told in fields of green.
It speaks of leeks in Wales and toasts their name.
Its bravery and valour are both seen –
in town and country they will boast their fame.
Daffodils with noble hearts will sway.
Ah yes, they say, it is St David’s Day.
(Writing one for every 1 March, which is St David's Day; this, as my others are, was put on display for the month of March in Carmarthen Library in Wales, UK)
I’m fighting sleep like Muhammad Ali
Was up so late that it was early
Was listening to music new and old
New Years Eve filled with glitter gold
I was drunk on piano melodies soft
Guitar solos lift your heart high as loft
Song words like hors d oeuvres for my ears
Eating feeding my soul through the years
2025 has left the room by moon
2026 is like a red flower bloom
Opening my eyes with anticipation
A year of hopes and toasts celebration
Lyricism of wisteria ruses…peacocking muses gushing tomes
Classicism flocking..roams & woos homes not garden gnomes
Colourful creepers cruising..schmoozing with boisterously blushing bricks
Spring exudes mysticism..oozes oodles of bamboozling serendipity flushing
Cherished fingers rushing freely..delivers..unctuous ravishingly rambunctious
Relished slivers lavishly lingers..embellished..proudly protrudes
Inspires rhyming platitudes about gratitude...fires fresh
Attitudes across a range of altitudes & latitudes
Sprinkling wryly of vintner's drily sparkle...ends strange debacle...
Skint stints of wily skinflint winter’s splinters..with hints of now..Spring sprints
But also somehow.. if one squints..get an inkling of change..
Glints of summer's tints slyly twinkling
Blakean ghosts' boasts..frollicking in rollicking
Rolling hillock hosts..ripe shenanigans..perry toasts
Believing in hefty heaving heroes
Hallowed harbingers..halcyon hedgerows
Harbouring tranches of branches..ferry very merry berries
Majestic mosaic montage barge of balletic
Incandescent flowers..weaving wherries
Showering prophetic kaleidoscopic poetic dreams
Streams through towering mesmeric green tunnels
Full to the gunnels..reams of sheens teem..flowing funnels
Bestowing.. glowing transcendent beams gleam kinetic
Luminescent aesthetic barrage..overpowering iridescent fluorescent flowering
Every single one of Mother nature's tendrils tingle
Mingle..saluting seasonal succour..mooting rebooting from fruiting..pukka
How was it, have you got a slot
You ordered Lucozade, prawn toasts
And Garibaldi crisps, I thought
Your favourites, have you got those?
It was so hot today, I sat
Behind closed curtains, overwhelmed
With RVW full set
I passed the fens you know so well
I played the Norfolk Rhapsody
I watched the recent film of Cromer
And through that haunting melody
I saw the waters rolling over
And splashing softly at the pier
Where once you stood against the sky
I was beside, and from the rear
The seagulls cried for you and I.
After The Wedding
after the I do’s
after the photographs
after the guests have gone
after the rice is swept up
after the toasts
after the dances
after the wedding dress is stored
after the rental tux is returned
after the banquet hall is dark
after the hot honeymoon
Now the marriage begins
The glory of vanity
This Saturday started well
I did my exercise, two toasts and coffee
Going to a café for lunch, elegantly driving
There, this, for winter- mild day
As I entered a person rushed in front of me
Opened the door wide, I thanked him grandly
But I felt old, is this the way people see me
At home when not compared to someone youthful
I dance in the living room and feel
Glorious, but outside, my feet are reluctant to
Lift from the ground
I wish people would see me then and not the doddering old fool
Crowds joined with smiles and cheers
Champagne flowed with delight
Celebrating New Years
Counting down to midnight
Crystal flutes raised in toasts
Compliments to the host's
Choice of superb bubbly
breakfast
We have views of the ocean
that today looks as poets, say "sun-kissed"
ok, so it is winter sun
sitting inside looking out, it doesn't matter
our first meal of the day is modest
toasts, cheese, and sliced bananas
I have glanced at the morning papers
on the net, the London -Guardian covers
news, but I care less about some contributors
who are biased towards, Russia and repeats
the same lies about Putin
also against Trump
None of this matters today the view is
of the sea, is marvelous and the TV is off
Three boys thought they had seen the ghosts
resisting the urge to yell roasts
posing as known heroes
made ghosts to be zeros
Not knowing it was seven toasts
Syllable per line: 8 8 8 6 6 8
Love in the forenoon
It was a struggle, a poem insisted on giving birth
I refused and insisted on abortion, as I no longer write
poetry, when she stood in the doorway of my
study, asked what I thought of her hair she had
had colored the hair dark, but not shiny black
I said the nice things one says concerning hair
She was going into the kitchen to make toasts
I joined her, and at 80, she is still wonderful age has
not made her grumpy or lose pride in her looks
never mind the stillborn poem I have written
enough second-hand stuff to last a lifetime
now, the time is for a simple life, smiles, and tea.
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