He may not bring me flowers

Whilst trying to write,
This poem,
I thought of lots of things,
Of the flowers,
He never bought me,
And the trouble that he brings.
I tried to think,
Of all the times,
I loved him to the core,
But all that I accomplished,
Was thinking,
How I loved him more.
His awkward ways,
His far-off gaze,
Not knowing if he’s awake,
The mess he leaves,
Behind him,
The extra time he takes.
The battle of the sexes,
Over the toilet seat,
The argument of,
Who clears up,
For dinner,
What we’ll eat.
The never ending,
Washing,
The silent nights,
That we spend,
It may sound,
Rather boring,
But I hope,
It never ends.
It is story,
You often hear,
Of love in amongst,
The dishes,
But I don’t want to change,
A thing,
Not for a million wishes.
He is my,
Awkward husband,
The man that adore,
He may not bring,
Me flowers,
But I couldn’t,
Love him more.

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Keep moving

Count down the days,
Move forward one,
Look back to when,
It first begun.

Have a dream,
A future vision,
A route to follow,
Go on a mission.

One step forward,
Sometimes retreat,
Don’t give up,
Your steps repeat.

Count down the days,
Move forward one,
One day at a time,
From where it begun.

The English Summer

With Summer firmly fixed in place,
And the Winter in the past,
We set about complaining,
How long will this heat last.

We love the fresh grown strawberries,
The tennis on the telly,
No more blustery winds,
No need for purple wellies.

The kids at play,
The barmy nights,
The Barbeques,
The bugs that bite.

The ice creams,
And the paddling pool,
As England rule,
The World Football.

This is the English summer,
As we wait for summer storms,
For the showers and the thunder,
For rain in all its forms.

With winter in the past,
And Autumn kept at bay,
We set about complaining,
That is the English way.

It’s hot, it is too sticky,
It’s really not British,
I hear the women moan,
Is that really what they wish.

Take care for what you wait for,
Too soon will the autumn come,
Make the most of what you’ve got,
Go out enjoy the Sun.

Keep poetry alive

Me daffodil got broken,
It was tod on under foot,
Me floaty clouds were grey,
An’ looked like soggy soot.

Oh woe is me,
Me ‘eart’s a flutter,
I’m not no good,
At spreading butter.

It makes no sense,
I hear you cry,
Why does she write,
Oh, why oh, why.

Cause I can use,
Such pretty words,
Even if they,
Rhyme absurd.

Not Wordsworth, am I.
Nor Shakespeare neither,
I’m a wordsmith of,
A different demeanour.

I don’t do fancy,
I don’t do smart,
I do poems that,
Come from the heart.

Me daffodil has wilted,
Me clouds put me to shame,
But it would be so boring,
If all poetry read the same.

Write about the scenery,
The seedy bar room dive,
Please write about just anything,
Let’s keep poetry alive.

A time for Sunny days

So hot I can’t get over it,
Don’t know what’s wrong with me,
I’ve pimples on my forearms,
And sweaty inner knees.

I’ve got a snotty nose,
My hormones are haywire,
I think the Sun is laughing,
As it sets my World on fire.

It’s not that I’m complaining,
There’s a time for Sunny days,
But not when I am miserable,
And my mind is in a haze.

I want to dive into a pool,
Or just go back to my bed,
But I ache from top to bottom,
And I’ve got a spinning head.

So hot I can’t get over it,
It’s driving me insane,
But I bet when I’m on holiday,
All it will do is rain.

So make the most of what I’ve got,
Antihistamines and paracetamol,
A lot of cold drinks by my side,
And a fancy parasol.

And in the garden, I will lay,
I’ll try and sunbath in my bathing suit,
I’ll slather on my factor 35,
And put my phone on mute.

It’s hot today, too hot to think,
I’m going to go insane,
All we need is a clearing storm,
And a breeze to bring some rain.

Half awake

I’m faking being half awake,
I know I’m half asleep,
I can open up my eyes,
And through the eye lids peep.

I can have a conversation,
Talk to the other half,
But ask me to read Shakespeare,
Give over, you’re having a laugh.

There is coffee in the pot,
I’ve got toast in front of me,
I’ll not be doing somersaults,
At least till half past three.

This morning is a nightmare,
Why did I sleep so well?
It seems that when I’m comatosed,
I wake in a living hell.

Deep down within my slumber,
When nothing stirs my rest,
I wake to find I’m drowsy,
And really not my best.

The coffee’s kicking in,
I’m waking to the day,
The toast is almost gone,
Let’s get things under way.

I’m half awake, the other half,
Is pushing into touch,
I mustn’t go upstairs just yet,
For I miss my bed so much.

So here’s to a good morning,
From the half of me that is awake,
The other half is catching up,
With this beautiful daybreak.

Watch the story unfold

Around the World,
In eighty days,
From London,
And then back again.

There is a centre,
Of the Earth,
The Vernians,
Do claim.

The Lost World,
Of the dinosaurs,
No place I’d rather,
Never be.

The stories of,
Our childhood,
Our long lost
Fantasies.

Replaced with,
Star Trek,
The Wars,
Of Outer space.

The Aliens,
The Conflicts of,
Other races,
Of people out of place.

Romances roam,
Across our screens,
Interlaced with,
Comedy.

The parodies,
The awesome quirks,
The series,
That set us free.

As we watch,
Or read the lines,
Of the stories,
As they unfurl.

I’m reminded of,
The books I read,
When I was,
A little girl.

For I’ve been,
Around the World,
And deep within,
It’s core.

I’ve been up,
In outer space,
Where man,
Has never been before.

Imagination,
Is enjoyed,
By everyone,
Young or old.

Sit back, Relax,
Take time to read,
Watch the story,
As it unfolds.