It could have been a glorious day, 

the weather man said it could be.

A mild and sunny September day, 

was so what I hoped I would see.

It could have been an Indian summer, 

it’s what the papers bragged about.

But I’m picking up my big umbrella, 

when I ever need to venture out.

It could have rained this morning, 

but it waited until I opened the door.

It should have been a glorious day, 

I can’t take this rain anymore.

But come later in the evening, 

the sun popped his head from the sky.

It brought me a little light relief, 

with a glorious and gentle goodbye.

The swans swam out to bask in it, 

leaving the family on the bank.

I suppose for that special moment, 

it’s the universe I’m needing to thank.



Daily Prompt – glorious 

The Sting

I just know that I’ve been bitten,

but it’s weird it doesn’t sting.

It does not come from an insect,

but it has got under my skin.

I’ve been bitten by inspiration,

now itching to move ahead.

I’m able to look more clearly

on things I used to dread.

I’m inspired to move forward,

blurred vision is clearing up.

I see myself fulfilled at last,

I sup from the happiness cup.

The bite was right and timely,

as it woke me from my sleep.

From a nest of the imagined,

that, I do not want to keep.






I’ve a penchant for a wine or two,

they call I wine o’clock.

But when the bottles opened,

I find it so hard to stop.

A penchant for a Spanish sausage,

but I don’t eat meat.

Can you really have a penchant,

for something you can’t eat.

I’ve a penchant for a fine car,

but mine is five years old.

A penchant to repeat again,

old stories that I’ve told.

I’ve a penchant for so many things,

I’m not sure they really count.

So let’s stick to my daily wine,

but forgetting the amount.




I wouldn’t say that I disobey,

but I don’t do what I’m told.

I do what feels right to me,

in some things I’m very bold.

I stand up for what I believe,

and yes, I do speak my mind.

Then there’s things I let go,

as I always try to be kind.

I’m not a little wooly sheep,

nor will I ever fit into a box.

I’ll turn up when I want to,

I’m not a lover of clocks.

I wouldn’t say that I disobey,

I don’t always do the expected.

The life I have is mine to live,

though I will stand corrected.



Always Home



Peering through the window now,

I think of our yesterdays.

I can see the kitchen table laid,

it was under there I played.

I can see you pottering all alone,

a smile upon your face.

Knowing that I’d soon be home,

to this very special place.

I can smell the distant memories,

cake and homemade jam.

Looking to my childhood home,

from where my life began.

If I travel the whole wide world,

or to other planets further.

You’ll always stand as home to me,

 you’ll always be my mother.