Wasps eating rhubarb leaves

As I looked upon my rhubarb leaves

There were tiny holes made by little thieves

I searched and found upon the stalk

A little insect having a walk

 

A wasp I saw black and yellow

What are you doing little fellow

you usually like the mint and fennel

which is much sweeter and gentle

 

But no, your chewing the stalk so pink

are you sucking the sugary drink

So you are my little thieves

wasps eating my rhubarb leaves

Time

Everything is rushing towards me

nothing wants to stand still

there’s mess in every room of the house

i just don’t know where to start

the clock is ticking quickly

the Calender flapping fast

 

time is running away from me

 

i take a breath and look around

i just need a starting point

pick up the muddle and throw it away

Empty the cupboard and fill up the hall

nowhere to move, nowhere to hide

make a decision there’s no much time

what is time where does it go?

the days are speeding along

 

Time is running away from me

 

The month has all but disappeared

the house is almost done

the minutes are moving quickly now

lifes journey continually changes

the waiting time has arrived

the past is the present, the present the future yet

 

time is running away from me

 

Childhood morning

Morning has started

I listen from my bed

Birds chirping loudly

The electricity wakes

The shipping forecast

Talks from the bathroom

The kettle whistles

The shower hums

Familiar voices drift upwards

The clock strikes,

with 7 cuckoo chirps

the washing machine whirs

its on a top speed

and in just a moment

A voice will shout

Are you up yet?

As if you could sleep

through the electricity din

Of the house waking up

Once again.

The cruellest month

 

There is no tease to February

Long nights, Short days,

Deep grey clouds, blanket the sky

Icy cold winds, bringing snow and hail

Sun is hidden, almost forgotten

Snowdrops fight to emerge

From the hard dark ground

Icy air hangs, still no movement

Warmth had long been forgotten.

February makes no apologies

It does not promise warmth or light

It does not promise bursting flowers

It does promise the hopes of spring

February may be the cruellest month

but its full of honesty.

Portrait

 

          

So Napowrimo has started once again. Im off to a bit of a slow start. Here is today’s poem, and hopefully there will be one every day until the end of April

 

One Perfect

Looking through a lens

The world condensed

His finger poised

Waiting for that moment

For one perfect picture

 

 

Trolley pulled in the midday sun

Selecting one club for a shot

Hovering above the ball

Waiting for the green to clear

For one perfect shot