Tag Archives: #day

Wednesday – like ‘Happy!’

I woke up this morning…

(da dada da da!)

and it was… (fanfare)


It wasn’t one of the other weak

week days (Monday, Tuesday)

or one of the stronger ones (Thursday, Friday);

nor was it the delicious (to my mind)

weekend ones (you know which ones those are)

which seem to pass by at double speed,

when all I ask is to chill and relax,

tootle upon my (altogether non-existent) alto sax (the Baker St. solo)

and melt some soy wax (for the business’s need).

Anyway, ‘Wednesday’ is here,

so alliteration means

it’s a wonderful weekly Wednesday –


April The Twenty-Ninth

April The Twenty-Ninth

April The Twenty-Ninth

arrived with a plomb.

I was a lert;

others were, variously,

a droit, a fraid, or a miable.

Disregarding all that,

April The Twenty-Ninth was,

variously, wet, dry, stormy, calm,

an irritant, a balm,

hot, cold, young, old

and liable to amuse, confuse

and leave us all wondering how and why

a day like this could call itself anything other

than a day of ease…

or bother.

Thursday’s Gone Haiku

Thursday’s Gone Haiku

It’s Friday Morning;

it’s no good mourning Thursday,

just get over it.



How the day will dawn

is something that I know

not. I shall have to wait and see

what the future brings for me.

The Day, Today.

The Day, Today.

The radio is talking

to itself;

the outside world seems to be on ‘mute’;

I pass from one realm to another.

A bird calls, is answered, responds accordingly.

Clouds scud across the sky, lazily following their heart’s desires.

The wind has gone AWOL;

but, will be back when its batteries are recharged.

The sun shines down weakly upon those seeking warmth – but, they remain chilled, only their minds are warmed.

I pass amongst the inhabitants of the Earth

and watch as they process their lives

in many valid ways.

”Hey! Hey! Hey! Where’s my Saturday Rhyme?”

Where is my Saturday rhyme?

It’s been stolen, that’s a…

criminal act;

but, I must use tic-tac-toe

and be subtle;

flying off the handle

never got things done.

An Acrostic Sunday

An Acrostic Sunday

Sunday starts with an ‘S’ and ends with a ‘Why?’
Until it’s over, the day is full of content.
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be; so there.
Don’t think that this is going to make sense, scents, or cents.
Actually, I have only the highest regard for Sundays
Yesterday wasn’t Sunday: Today is! 

When am I (and where?)?

Is is Wednesday?

Is it Thursday?

Is it still Tuesday?
Well, it all depends

Upon where in the world you are

Or I am.
You might be on the previous day

Or the next

Or the same

But, teetering upon the brink of changing the date upon the calendar.

As might I.

If you are in my time zone

You might not be in my rhyme zone

To steal a moment

You could be in a crime zone

Or a lemon and lime zone

If that’s how Cockneys might describe it.
All I am saying is

That wherever you are

And whenever you are

Please spare a second to think of those that are currently languishing in the past

And also those that are ploughing their furrows in the future.

Just a moment though;

You wouldn’t want to waste your rhyme

Contemplating just any old miment in time.

I Usually Write A Poem For The Day – But, not today.


I wanted to write you a poem today
But, I’ve been working much too hard lately
To earn money to pay the bills
And words – like thrills – don’t always come easily
And rhymes are in short supply
So, I am sorry to say
That today is not a poetry day.

Tomorrow, maybe, I shall write you words that melt hearts, move mountains… flow like coins into various Trevi fountains
or just cause the vague possibility of a tear to consider falling from your eye.

Until then… I, shall continue loving you

And thinking of you

Just because I can

And, sorry about the lack of a poem

There is only so much a poet-writing man can do.

At the end of a busy, busy day

This 'is' the image G:)

This ‘is’ the image G:)

When the lids of my eyes
Struggle to stay aloft
When my enthusiasm has diminished
To the ‘least likely to do a thing’ stage
When I’m feeling my actual age
When the day has a way to go
And my body thinks it’s finished
When instead of speech I produce sighs
And when I was going to say something important
And just coughed
I knew my daze
Was numbered
1 sheep
2 sheep