All systems go

..and then it was nowhowdid the weekend go so fast?A block and tackle tohelp me risean excavator to digthe sleep from my eyesand coffee to oil themoving parts,..and now it is thentime to go to work again…

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Dive

Someone has been messing aboutthere are too many soap suds andthe submarine’s gone missing, the duck looks on confusedas I do the turtle and sink, bathtime blues and you’d thinkat my ageI’dget over them, going under againlooking for the suband accidentallypulling the plug,next timeI’m showeringjust to showwho’s got the power inthis household…

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Sage and onion

This is some cartoon we’re inPopeye can’t open the tinthe Wabbit’s been cooked in a pieandDonald’s gone off to Peking( what are the chances? ) aduck’s gotta do. what luck I’m nota duck. This does not stop Monday being Mondayand whatever fun you think you mightwhen you get home from work tonightyou’ll be too tired…

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It’s a starting point

Mondaythe unstoppable force of the week goes onI’m going on too, my eyes came alive at a quarter to fiveandmy brain followed suit after coffee butit’s dark now and Summer somehow hasdisrobedAutumnal dresses in gold brocade topromenade down this avenue, it’s a fine ‘how do you do’when you don’t know wherethe time has gone or…

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Second fleet stowaway

First we criticiseonlylater do we idolisethen we’llimmortalise, men of stonefind their home( set in stone )where else! When they erect a statueof youI’m going to photobomb,nowthat’s a thoughtlet’s see how longit lasts…

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The junk pile

Slept like a logwoke up in the fireplace,yesI know that joke’s ancientbutno older than me. Mondayand a Bank Holidaytoo,I wonderbecause that’s what I dowhat shall I dotoday? Waking upwoke upwakewokesoak in the tubgo down the pubjeezI’m tired already, Christmas is cancelledCovid has wonSanta’s in quarantinescreamingfetch me my gun,ho ho hobut that’s another story…

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Count to seventeen and relax

There is nothing peculiarthat isn’t so similarto how we behave. Behaving badly,madly, oh truly,sweep me off my feetand you’re wondering,I can see it,but I can be a wonderwatch as I blunder my waythrough the day. She loves meShe loves me a lot,she loves me not isnot in my bunch of roses…

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Must stop doing this

Thought today was Sundayturns out that it’s Monday,just giving myself a slapto get back on track. Never forgot my name yetgetting on a bit but not there yetthinking there’s lots of time, yetknowing that cannot be true. soI ammaking the moments lastas if each minute could tie me fastto the idea of it’s me being…

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400 degrees

The day,Monday,and it’s already crowding metraffic noisethem chirping birdsand the radioso full of words, this vessel echoes emptilyand yetsupposedlyit’s full of me,I amSchrodinger’s man, in the in-betweenof waking and thedream…

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Found

Do not forget the outcastfor they’ll outlast us all. I’d still be in a rut,but for the intervention.and not by Jesus or hisacolytes, but by normal folkwho know howto make and take a jokeand tell you straightjust like the lady didin 308( a previous address ) In the beginningas in the endwe need to findourselvessometimes…

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Reel one

On these Summer daysyou can tilt me sidewaysorflip me with a tuning fork. the music plays and lightdances with clouds ‘dances with wolves’is a different kettleof fish…

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The depth of clouds

The problem isyou still think it’ssomewhere over the rainbowand that one day we’ll enterinto ‘Harper Valley’butit’s not realthey’rejust words in a song. the ‘last train toClarksville’leftyears ago…

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When it stops

Tucked in under the duvetanddidn’t realise it was Monday. The truth dawned as the dawn broke, and drowning in a flood of thoughtsI swam to the safety of a coffeeand apastry, I could still be dreaming…

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Beachcombers

Sometimes beside the seawhere the sand tickles your toesand our thoughts can run freewe become Kings of the castlesor buried by our children. from steep cobbled streetssails look like sheetsdrying on the line…

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Windblown

I should have knownthat Mondaywould be windblown. Never too old to learn old people burnthe midnight oilandyoung people thinkthat it’s cannabis…

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Flame out

When does‘the time of our lives start?’anddo we have to line up? this will all be whitewashedairbrushedhushed upkept schtumand no one will ever knowthat in the twenty first centuryour leaders could not organisea piss up in a brewery…

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The silences within

I choose to go therewhere the sunbeams dance andthe light cascades through your hair. in the streams,even if I dream of streamsthe diamonds shine in your eyes. In the Autumn of my timethere are no clocks herenone can chime, but I choose to go there…

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Weekly

I came to terms with Mondaysmany years ago,don’t like them but know we’vegot to have them,they’re a bit like headaches inthat we’re glad when they’ve gone. I feel the same way about Tuesdaysand Wednesdays,Thursdays are shitbut by FridayI get itfeel the buzzand buss that itchthe weekend flies by,the only hitchisMonday,…

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Unlocking the lockdown

not so quietlybut tentativelystepping out, keep your distance!abouttwo metres a life metered out inmeasurements. shallow breathslet’s leave the deathsto the undertakers. Some expect‘business as usual’someusually do…

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