When the pen takes control.

Faith in the good Lord

becomes a lamp for your path

the light and the way

There was once a dog I know

whose stomach always seemed to glow

asking his owner why he should radiate

answering me he said he ate

his watch and he’s waiting for him to go

Sitting thinking of these three chairs

I know you may be unaware

of the village where they are preserved

in memory of the cause they served

when townsfolk in religious zeal

who on Sundays before the altar kneel

then look for those who still relied

on portents by nature prophesied

the expected harvest, weather warm or cool

would be subject to, “The ducking stool.”

There was once a man who said

there’s quite a maelstrom in my head

I’m trying to do all the best things

I sort my bottles and my tins

into their separate bins I throw

but I’m not convinced that they go

to the proper place when they’re sorted

back to the factories where they started

We walked along the beach one day

when my companion said look there

like ivory upon the shingle lay

a sun bleached star, but such a star

as one would see when day is done

and nightfall cloaks the earth once more

to await again the rising sun,

but this star sits upon the shore

and there on the harsh sand lingers

till reclaimed by the tide’s long fingers

Unusually for this author we are looking back to the birthday on

21-9-1866 of H.G. Wells, pioneer of Science Fiction with his first novel, “The Time Machine,” later followed by, “The War of the Worlds,”