No Snow

Morning, falling rain.
Winter, without snow’s pain
But let me be quite plain,
My dismay, I can’t restrain.

I prefer dawn’s glow
A blanket, white, to show.
So now, you all should know
How to set my heart aglow.


Advance not in haste
Nor stall through distaste.
A regular try
Will help you get by.

Be not in a rush
To break through the hush.
Develop your voice
With colorful choice.

Seek out the glow;
Let your work flow.
Edits should wait
Until after the spate.


Pronunciation /ˈvɛntɪl/
1 A valve in a wind instrument.
2 A shutter for regulating the airflow in an organ.

Late 19th century from German, from Italian ventile, from medieval Latin ventile ‘sluice’, from Latin ventus ‘wind’.


Tony thought it mean
And did not think it keen
To find his Sax’s ventil
Was blocked up by a lentil.

Century Rider

His daily commute,
A regular route,
Astride his bike,
A ride to like.

Then weekends came
With more of the same
Riding a “century”,
An adventurer, he.

It came to an end
On a road with no bend
His joy is now hushed,
By a car he was crushed.

But where is the moral,
The memorial laurel?
At bad drivers, I’m pissed.
Patrick, you will be missed!


Before the light of dawn
I roll, and stretch and yawn.
I’m up and have a shower
Even at this early hour.

Sleep is over for the night
Pre-dawn’s outlook is bright.
A bit of breakfast gets me going
As morning’s light starts showing.

I do not know what will come next,
Though, so far there’s been this text.
Something new just might be keen
Or, perhaps, again, the day’s routine.


Pronunciation /ˈkriːkɪŋ/
1 Making a harsh, high-pitched sound when being moved or when pressure or weight is applied.
2 Showing weakness or frailty under strain.
mass noun
Harsh, high-pitched noise made when something is being moved or when pressure or weight is applied to it.


My creaking knees
Do not me please
Louder than a door’s hinge
After last night’s binge.

But aches beyond the head
Cannot keep me in my bed
For I must get to work instead,
Though the prospect gives me dread.

Post or Not

What must I share
So that others will care,
Feeling that my offering
Is worth all their bothering?

Each day that’s the quandry
After doing my laundry
And eating some breakfast,
Leaving these posts to be last.

Well, in actual fact
The day ahead is intact.
But how much of these ponderings
Are worth writing for you yonder things?

If then you do see them.
Do they cause only mayhem?
Are they better high up on a shelf,
Or otherwise kept to myself?