Validating Perforated Rhythm

And on the other side of then

there was tomorrow,

Continuance of heartbeat

counts the days,

Redemption regulated

by soft sorrow,

Perforated rhthym

holding sway,

Tomorrow teems

with promise of the future

While yesterday regrets

missed chances most,

Caught between the two,

one pounding torture,

To grasp or count

life lost’s rising cost.

Different sort of happiness,

tinged sorrow,

Tempered in the fire

of present tense,

All our yesterdays, gone,

all our tomorrows, validated

 if present moment makes some sense.

Been A While

It can take a while

to create a brand new normal,

A while that could be days

or months

or maybe even years,

Could be that it might be,

could take,

might take,


A while it takes,


seems forever,

eternal whiles

to normalise new ways.


There are people I remember who have gone,

Memory retains,

They’re alive inside my heartbeat,

They remain.

There are voices I still hear, though they’re silent,

Ears still hear,

Words, once spoken, unforgotten,

Keep their presence near.

There was lostness and confusion in their parting

When they left,

More than sadness, sorrow,

Never seen again, bereft,

But hope remains, reunion,

Though the parting of the ways,

In loving words and thoughts they live,

Retained, connection stays.

Ours, By Grace

As pennies to the pounds, bronzed and humble,

Subtle seconds ticking off the hours,

A minute’s magic may just make a lifetime

In smallest moments grasped, while here, they’re ours.

Tiny tickettes, talking as they tumble,

Piling up the chances, hand of grace,

Vaults of time, though miniscule, still potent

Tiny portents challenging each race.


Slice Of Sunday

I love Sundays. They’re so – what’s the word – languorous. I still wake early but there’s a whole other tempo to the waking and the day ahead. Instead of rushing about and prepping for work with minutes chasing each other around on the clock I get to come to slowly and the minutes themselves seem to slow down with me.

It’s after nine now and no one is up apart from hubs who’s heading off to a race meet – don’t know where he gets his energy. He’ll run rings round some cross-country or road event while I drink coffee in bed and catch up on blogs. The kids will surface eventually – all sleepy-eyed and tousled. Maybe they’ll jump in beside me for a snuggle before heading downstairs to watch some TV and munch cereal. They’re at the age now where I don’t need to be the one pouring Corn Flakes. It’s a simple thing but so pleasant not to have to be on duty.

I don’t even know why I’m telling you this stuff. I don’t even do it on FB! But, you’re all kind of our there at different points in your own day, maybe getting busy for some event or relaxing too. You might even still be sleeping. In which case, I’m talking to myself! But that’s ok. At some point you’ll rouse too and begin your day in whatever way you do on a Sunday.

I hope it’s a pleasant one. One where you have company if you want or need it, or a quiet, peaceful one like mine.

Anything I have to do can be pushed back for a few hours and that is why I love Sundays. Pressure off. Time to muse and peruse.

The minute hand will return to normal speed eventually, later today. But, right now, it’s sipping coffee with me and we’re pals.

Have a great day.

Spill The Beans, ya bugger! Whoever you are.

I have a little problem,

I really got to share,

No, it’s not my weight or work,

I’m good on those and mair.

It’s something else entirely,

You’ll get it once you read,

It’s coping with the volume

Of posts within my feed.

It’s hectic, man, I’m telling you,

I like so many posts,

I comment and I scroll some more,

And read past words, of course,

Like sooking up the flavour

Of a drink that I’ve just found

But time’s a hellish bugger

And it’s hard to get around

To all the mail that drops on floor,

Through virtual letterbox,

I’m trying, gawd, I’m trying,

But I’m telling you, it sucks!

You write too much (yeah, I do too!)

So what’s the answer, please,

Someone must have worked this out,

So go on, spill it, tease

Me with the findings and

I’ll forever be your friend,

How do you cope with volume

Of the mail that never ends?

Is there an app that I can use

That gathers in one place,

The folk I love, can’t do without,

Though never seen their face?

Someone must have sorted this,

All this talent here,

Some creative bugger

More practical than I, I fear.

I know that you are out there!

One of you must’ve found!

Tell me, quick, or I’m deleting!

Or maybe going to ground,

Hiding out till WP apps

Support my needs in ways,

I can answer mail and browse

But still get on with days.

Who are you and where are you?

The answer to my prayer!

Stop hiding out and tell me

How to cope with flair.

If you’ve found the secret

And you want to patent it,

I’ll back you to the hilt, I will,

Just share a teeny bit.

I’m done today, the mail’s still there,

Though through it I have gone,

Maybe if I stopped with talk so much,

It’d be sorted and well done.

Email me or make a post

Or comment down below,

For feck sake, please just share it!

And now I have to go.

I’ve done sod all else today!

Perfect Timing


Midnight past, it’s dark at last,

We’ll call it perfect timing.

Right on cue, love’s calling you,

Hailed at perfect timing.

Rich red wine, music fine

Rhythm’d, perfect timing.

Bring yourself, bring little else,

Bring only perfect timing.

Bestow some heat, keep the beat

Tuned to perfect timing.

A harmony of you with me

Caught in perfect timing.

Claim the hour within our pow’r.

Let’s call it perfect timing.

(Image courtesy of Wikimedia:commons)