Postman Matt

This isn't our Matt the local Postie
But it has the stamp of him

Our Postie with his bundle pack

Through our letterbox he brings

Super thrills like unpaid bills

Plus many much more welcome things

He is a friendly chatty chap

With our parcels and our letters

Regular as Big Ben Chimes

He is unrivalled without betters

Now at this festive time of year

We give thought to those who bring

Back and forth through rain and shine

Summer autumn winter spring

Crackling fires Plum Duff desires

Midwinter nabs our daylight clock

Decorations festive parlour games
We’ve even stuffed our Postie’s sock

When The Smile Left Home

What would you do
if you had nothing to say

Would return
be out of your way

Can you imagine a night
that smothered the light
stealing your final next day

When the dust of tomorrow
has settled on tears
and the loss is written in dreams

We'll remember the song
filled with heartfelt schemes
So soon and then you were gone

RIP Dave Sinclair Hull Musician 'Cardo'

The Case of Colin Casey

Colin Casey crafter drafter

Imagines illustrative scales

Interlacing placed componentry

Where symmetry prevails

Well within the tolerant lines

Between angles and two points

Devices taps and cable trays

Diverter valves expanding joints

Colin’s low down on schematics

With his laidback drawn out mind

Crucial functions of each junction box

Presenting many parts entwined

A long hand lad transforming auto cad

He has the devil’s eye for detail

Concentrating on the need to know

Where engineers go off the rail

Colin’s eye maintains perspective

Tracking tracing each revision

Disregarding buts and corner cuts

Where rearrangements cause division

His À la carte of standard parts

Combining rules and regulations

Keeps the project ship on even keel
Avoiding drawn out destinations

A Sock In The Drawer

Picture Link (angry sock)



What is it with these pairs of socks

Who seek to take a different course

When starting out a perfect pair

Somehow part without remorse?

I often change them twice a day

Maintained freshly cleaned for wear

Without 'bye your leave' they sneak away

to give me dressing room despair

I thought I had the problem solved

in corresponding coloured weft

Two dozen pairs identical

Last night I counted nineteen left

I'd be grateful for your good ideas

on how to manage stockinged feet

and so preventing laundry truancy

keep all my pairs of socks complete

All Dried Out in Rehab

That's it I said let wagons roll

no whiskey wine or beer

I'm on a Charity Dryathlon

from first of January next year 

I know that it will do me good

my vitals need a rest

Too much supping with my supper

I feel a tightening in my vest

Overplayed my self indulgence

lacking reins on my restraint

my organs play a crazy tune

my old grey matter pleads constraint

Living life excessively
A pleasure  trove of showing out
Party going overthrowing
As we build up to go with out

www.cancerresearchuk.org/Dryathlon

Merry Weather

Nights are getting longer

Daylight passing quicker
autumn wind is blowing cold
as bus queues groan and bicker

Mornings now devoid of good
Heavy clouds are raining sad

Apart from ghouls at Halloween

We're on the lighter side of bad

Costly comfort bills are rising
the well worn overcoat is on
our optimistic family car
Sounds more like a dying swan

Our garden built on summer dreams

looking saggy dank lackluster
is showing signs of self-composting
Pre-empting winter's knuckle-duster

GOOD GRUB

Human populations

continue to grow
By the year twenty fifty 

Nine billion or so

Good news for restaurants 

Purveyors of food
Who accommodate appetite

 to sate hunger and mood

Our cattle and fisheries 

will find it hard to sustain
Causing portions and prices

to make eating a pain

Our diets need broadening

current sources unsound

Worry not for supplies 

many answers abound


Menus change fast

Restaurants Pubs or at home

For the finest ingredients

There is no need to roam
Ants beetle larvae

Crickets with rice
Granada cicada

Spicy cockroach with lice

Tarantula mealworm

Dry roasted red ants
Not prone to turbulence

Less strain on your pants

Many more attending

A Weight Watchers Club

Checking protein and calories

Of their favourite Grub

Mandarin Wind

In a whirl of fruitful insights

The Orange has revealed

Beneath the skin a second sight

So keep your vision peeled

Sits quietly in the orangery

Considering the heat

How far it is to Villa grove

If only it had feet

Solar powered well endowed

Abundant when it's balmy

In a marmalade of golden glade

They are the Seville Orange army

A pleasant life of sips and pips

A pithy drain to sluice

My Orange dream is swimming

In a pool of orange juice

A Pint Sized Village

Small Brewery big products

Searching for a quench experience

Where sturdy barrels rugged kegs

Will enlighten tired taste buds

Of sitting sipping rested legs

At the New Inn close to Pickering

Where every tap can pour a draw

A positive pull in a beer glass full

Will have you pleading “just one more”

If you hanker for a tipple treat

May I suggest the brewery tour

If you must do lunch then evening meal

You can stay the night for sure

And if you do then all is well

Guzzling glugs in Madness jugs

Or pirouette a Tony Hadley set

Plus another one of Sugs

Barley water hops and malt

A baseline special mix

Taking pains with cereal grains

To make a mushing crushing fix

How great this Yorkshire Brewery

Near a homely cattle shed

Cropton on a moor side edge

To drink your fill and be well fed

On a weekend break recently we visited The New Inn And Cropton Brewery it was really good value and the beer was terrific. If you fancy checking it out the address is Cropton
Pickering North Yorkshire  YO18 8HH

Who Are We With Tonight

In this amazing world of digital
where change is at apace
beyond the scope of most of us
communications multi-place

Meeting up in face to face
though really not quite there 
as interface takes precedence
no longer here but where

There was a time when contact
looked for meanings in the eye
where sharing time was focussed
on the ground not in the sky

Time will come when voices shrink
the proletariat confined
like the myth of Samson’s haircut
snuffled by the binary bind

When  a text is the next big moment

BURIAL SPACE

STORY LINK

Congestion in our cemeteries

it seems we’re running out of plots

To reserve a final resting place

is more akin to drawing lots
In Japan they have another way

for journeys heaven bound

Your loved ones turn to Star Dust

A cosmic resting place profound

Whisked away at lightning speed

A destination up on high

No need to visit gravestones

Just look up behold the sky

Send tribute signals Interstellar 

In good spirit and good grace

Or put money on a Vicar’s plate

For consecrating outer space

Annabooksia

She loves the taste of binding glue

A paper chaser into prose

Consuming bookcase platters

In pages burying her nose

She can’t resist a turn of phrase

To feed her hungry author eyes

Chomping data facts and figures

In her library disguise

She will sneak up to a paperback

Without qualms and will not squirm

Devouring knots in tied up plots

A wriggle fidgeting bookworm


To:  Anna on Twitter @agiblin95

Chattering Classes

Chuntering muttering

Gabbling off the cuff

Blathering beyond the pale

Overload of nattering stuff

Chattering and jabbering

Gibberish on tap

Random roads of rambling

Yapping on to fill each gap

Hot air room of prattling

Wittering chatty habit

Every waiting ear half listening

In a burrow load of rabbit 

Partly inspired from reading 'Neither Nowt nor Summat'by Ian McMillan and dedicated to Dennis Skinner one of Britain's greatest politicians who got things done. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dennis_Skinner 

Information Trepidation

Take your time fill out the form

With crucial information

Boxes starred must not be blank

To meet our stipulation

The data that you give to us

We treat as confidential

And only share with partners

Who we deem as preferential

Understand that all our probing

Though blatant and obtrusive

Give us purpose cause and reason
On decisions most conclusive

The Kludge

Amazed at all 

those efforts cobbled


although at times

so slightly wobbled


every piece 

from here and there


eventually quite debonair

Partial misfits hand in hand


secured in place 

with rubber band


masterminded 

whiz kid theme


a knack enabled

brilliant scheme

The best that could be

done back then


in seeking scores

ten out of ten


a plan to win not ever fudge


produced this way out

super kludge

Button It (Madly Yours)

To be at peace to be at one

Absorb your inner place

Engage and hold serenity

Let your spirit interlace

Let all your tensions scatter

Let obligations be elsewhere

Enjoy the prone to be alone

Allow yourself to be in there

In this time of mass intrusions

Jolting buzzing shrill ringtones

As messages have gathered moss

To throttle rolling stones

Fight your fear of turning off
Far away from overlapping

Circumvent the probe intent

The sound of one hand tapping

Eight new mental illnesses brought to you by the Internet

“We’ve all been conditioned to be alert for notifications from our phones,” said Dr. Rosen. “We’re like Pavlov’s dogs in a way. You see people pull out their phones and two minutes later do it again even though nothing has taken place. That’s driven by reflex action as well as by anxiety to make sure we haven’t missed out on anything. It’s all part of the FOMO [Fear Of Missing Out] reaction.”

Link to article by: Evan Dashevsky | @haldash Staff Writer, TechHive

The String - In Theory

Togetherness of cord and string 


binds everything we do


for tying tight and tethering


whether lacing boot or shoe

Guitar piano violin 


choral vocal chord we sing


packages more safely cased


when bundled up with string

Bottles jars objet d arts


more delicate when laced


towing trucks and motor cars


strongly platted and well placed

It may seem elementary


this rudimentary thing


in theory nanoscopically


everything is string


Pitter Patter

Pitter-Patter

Musical barometers

Forecasting heavy rain

Make a hail of drenching noises

In the hills around the plain

Thunder claps applauding

At the state of all around

As tunes get glued together

Leaving no discerning sound

Parceled up the clamorous
In confusing clatter dreams
What once was heard is now absurd
Resounding symphonies of screams

POET PARTY

When all that’s left are remnants
with nothing more to say

As moonlight fades and sun parades

The colder light of day

What then the way of writing things

As if somehow the phrases counted

Pertinence demanding relevance

Scream out on Billboards mounted

Poets sit in search of messages

In hope of something else to gain

As inner voices talking all at once

Send out rejections slips of pain