Beacons

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The beacon, overlooking the Trent Valley with views to the Leicestershire Wolds by Alan Murray-Rust is licensed under CC-BY-SA 2.0

Beacons

If one fire burns atop the hill,
It means that ships are seen afar –
It means that those who wish us ill
Have maybe raised a windward spar.
A single fire ten miles away,
But faster than a horse can say.

If two lights flare upon the crest,
It means their ships are bearing-down –
So send the message from the West
To warn the King in London Town.
As two-by-two, along the chain,
Not stopped by fog or wind or rain.

If three pyres blaze-out from the heights,
It means their armies have made land –
So muster troops and ships and knights,
And march to where the flames were fanned.
Three bright brothers in the dark
To shout for help to save the spark.

Day 22 – Hero – #inktober #inktoberpoem #inktoberpoetry

Hero Shrews

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Etruscan shrew Die Su00e4ugthiere Abbildungen by bhl is licensed under CC-CC0 1.0

Hero Shrews

These days, there are too many shrews,
And most aren’t even shrews at all –
They’re tree-shrews, or they’re otter shrews,
Or distant strangers who confuse,
And some are even elephants, but small.

But only OG shrews are true shrews –
None of these opossums out to steal
That early-mammal look that many lose,
But which, with dedication, a few choose
To keep pursuing, like the shrews for real.

These days, there are too many shrews,
And only one of them are fit for Kate –
They’re far more noble, paying dues
For meek imposters in their shoes,
Who we are all-too-ready to conflate.

Day 21 – Hero – #inktober #inktoberpoem #inktoberpoetry

A Look Back at Front Rooms

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Photo by Maria Kray on Pexels.com

A Look Back at Front Rooms

The many lives of the living room,
Where days and years are passed in chat,
In the sun of the afternoon.
Once, when this was a drawing room,
And the wing-back chairs were stiffly sat,
Then the withdrawn would commune.
Or maybe it was a parlour,
Kept strictly locked and saved ‘for best’,
Or playing simple games,
Or pianoforte Mahler,
Or later on, the TV, while we’d rest,
And watch the dancing flames.
The more relaxed, the more we’d scrounge
The furniture – a cosier eclectic,
Upon which our tabbies purr.
So these days it’s the lounge,
And despite its name, it’s ev’ry bit as hectic
As it’s many forebears were.

Day 20 – Lounge – #inktober #inktoberpoem #inktoberpoetry

Gear-Slip

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Photo by SHVETS production on Pexels.com

Gear-Slip

My mental spark has blown a fuse,
My neural net is down –
My binary just cannot choose,
My thoughts have all left town,
I just can’t cotton-on my loom –
Now…why did I come in this room…?

My lights are on, at half-a-watt,
But no-one’s in my head –
My memory is quite forgot,
My reckoning is dead.
My vanity is all in vain –
Now…what was I about again…?

My staying power’s called it quits,
My flow is far too dense –
My balanced humours lost their wits,
My common makes no sense
My confidence is all a con –
Now…where’s have all my marbles gone…?

Day 19 – Confused – #inktober #inktoberpoem #inktoberpoetry

Timid Roos

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Photo by Frans van Heerden on Pexels.com

Timid Roos

Tinamous are walking birds,
And less a flock and more a herd –
For they are nested in the clade
Of ratites, who are flightless-made.
They stalk the woods and grassy prairie
Like the unflown cassowary,
And we find great kinship here
With emu cousins, and the rhea.
And yet, the timorous still fly –
Although in truth they rarely try,
And much prefer to run away
That take to clumsy flight, they say.
So do they ever look around
At ratites, stranded on the ground,
To see how each evolved this trait
Quite independently of late ?,
And wonder if their future lies
In never taking to the skies…?
Or do they fear a coming trend
Where they grow fat and can’t ascend ?
It’s evolution pulls the strings
And robs the kiwi of its wings,
But also builds the ostrich tall –
Will tinamous yet hear the call ?

Day 18 – Flightless – #inktober #inktoberpoem #inktoberpoetry

Geegaw

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Testing Golf Drivers by William Heath-Robinson

Geegaws

A dingus is an oddity,
A thingamy commodity,
A doodad is a doohickey
With gubbins from a Buick, see ?
Now, whats-ma-jigs and thing-ma-bobs
Are diff’rent tools for diff’rent jobs,
While gadgets are a gizmo-gimmick
That the widget-jiggers mimic.
All are just appliances
To gussy-up contrivances,
And driving users to distractions –
Putting traps into contraptions.

Day 17 – Contraption – #inktober #inktoberpoem #inktoberpoetry

Basketball Bandits

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Photo by Santiago Sauceda Gonzu00e1lez on Pexels.com

Basketball Bandits

Beware the hoodlums of the hoops,
The hard-men of the hardwood court –
The nasty north-of-six-foot troops,
The skinny, spindly, spivs of sport.
Beware the squad of Mr Big,
Their suits are pints, their arms are quarts –
But best not call these tallboys ‘twigs’,
Cos brass-nux make it hard to snort.
Beware the squeaky-footed joints,
Where shooters and their crews cavort –
They’ll use your head to score three-points,
And dunk your carcass in the port.
Beware the grizzly Gangly Gang,
Whose reach is long, whose limbs distort –
The Longshanks Lads they couldn’t hang
(Because the gallows are too short).

Day 16 – Gangly – #inktober #inktoberpoem #inktoberpoetry

Hooray

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Photo by MART PRODUCTION on Pexels.com

Hooray

When did ev’rything become political ?
When did ev’rything become so us-and-them ?
Become so hyper-critical,
Become so giddy to condemn ?
We used to have debates, I swear,
We used to have civility,
Where other views we do not share
Don’t threaten our fragility.
But now the choice of car-or-bike,
The music that we listen to,
The architecture we may like –
Are shibboleths to tell who’s who.
So do we love or hate our nation ?
Any criticism found
Must be as blind as admiration –
Never mind the middle-ground.
Until all subtly is gone,
And we are left with shame and pride –
There’s so much bad faith going-on,
And tritely cheering-on ‘our side’.
Ah, maybe it was always crap,
Just jockeying for place at court –
But life should not become a trap
With core-beliefs reduced to sport.

Day 15 – Hooray – #inktober #inktoberpoem #inktoberpoetry

Troll Farm

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Photo by Kabu00e9 Rossi on Pexels.com

Troll Farm

Billie is a bad guy,
And Billie’s not our friend,
She’s a mean girl, dead-eye,
As she’s gloating to pretend.
She doesn’t need approval,
And she doesn’t need to care,
And she wants our swift removal
If we for-a-second stare.
An independence fable ?
Or a power trip ?  It’s just a hunch.
But we can’t join her table,
As she eats us for her lunch.
But can I really shake her ?
And is it all an act ?
I’d best back off, bellyacher,
Cos I don’t know her like that…

Day 14 – Lady – #inktober #inktoberpoem #inktoberpoetry

Patience

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Patience

The trick to a house of cards
Is to plan-out ev’ry row –
The kings and tens have far more ink,
So keep those high-ones low.
And rise on up to aces,
As we keep our breathing slow  –
And pray the god of sudden draughts
Has somewhere else to go…

To think, we could have cut and dealt,
To share a hand of gin –
Instead, we’re busy propping-up
On edges far too thin.
If we can place this joker
Then we’re surely gonna win –
Just pray the god of friction
Has some stubble on his chin…

Day 13 – Flimsy – #inktober #inktoberpoem #inktoberpoetry