Invasion of the Great Tits

In gardens lush with green delight,
Where nut-laden feeders stand in sight,
Imagine if, with joyful tweets,
Great tits arrived in grand fleets.

They’d flutter near with vibrant wings,
A chorus of enchanting sings,
Around the feeder, a lively crowd,
Their melodies both clear and loud.

With plumage bright, a feathered show,
A symphony amid the boughs would grow,
Around the nuts, a fluttering dance,
As great tits joined in sweet romance.

Among the blooms and leaves so green,
If sparrows transformed, a sight unseen,
The garden’s tale would take new flight,
With great tits perched in soft twilight.

The Weather paradox

In the garden, ‘neath the azure sky,
A lament whispers, the earth is dry.
No raindrops fall, the thirst unmet,
Yet here I sit, my heart’s vignette.

The soil, a canvas, cracks unfold,
A story of longing, of tales untold.
The sun, a relentless, fiery glare,
Yet in its warmth, I find a chair.

No pitter-patter, no rhythmic song,
The absence of rain, a lament long.
But in the garden, a refuge found,
I dine al fresco on arid ground.

The flowers droop, the grass blades sigh,
A symphony of thirst, as clouds pass by.
Yet, on my lips, a grateful smile,
As sunshine graces my noon repile.

Oh, rain, where art thou in this plea?
Yet, the garden’s grace is company.
Lunchtime melodies, a bittersweet tune,
In the garden, ‘neath the sunlit dune.

So, I lament the rainless days,
Yet, in the garden, my spirit sways.
A paradox, this weathered dance,
In dry despair, a sunlit trance.

The Armistice

In the shadow of conflict’s fierce embrace,
A world once torn by hatred’s grim display,
The Armistice, a beacon of grace,
Illuminates hope, a brighter, peaceful day.

In trenches deep, where valour met despair,
Soldiers, weary, yearned for a reprieve,
The Armistice, a breath of hopeful air,
Whispered dreams of solace they’d achieve.

The guns fell silent, and the cannons ceased,
No more the thunder of destruction’s cry,
A fragile peace, in wearied hearts released,
Brought tears of joy, as nations dared to try.

From the ruins of war, a vision clear,
Emerging like a phoenix from the flame,
The Armistice, a pledge to persevere,
In unity, humanity reclaimed.

We honour those who gave their all to mend,
The wounded earth, with scars both deep and wide,
The Armistice, a promise to defend,
A world where love and empathy reside.

Let’s guard this fragile peace, so hard-won,
With open hearts and hands extended wide,
The Armistice, a vow to carry on,
In harmony, our love will be our guide.

In the wake of strife,
May peace be our rhyme.
With The Armistice,
We cherish peace in our time.

It’s All About The Money

In the world of football, it’s not always sunny,
For it’s not about the passion, it’s all about the money.
As we watch the beautiful game, with hope and despair,
The decisions made in its name, seem incredibly unfair.

The World Cup, a spectacle of talent and grace,
But it’s the host nations that we must embrace.
Yet, in this global dance, a truth we cannot deny,
Money drives the choices, while values seem to fly.

From desert sands to distant lands, decisions made,
Not for the love of the game, but for pockets to be paid.
As nations bid, and promises are whispered in the night,
It’s not the fans’ dreams that take flight, but greed’s delight.

For when the rich and powerful cast their influential spell,
They choose the hosts, not for the game, but for profits to swell.
The world watches as principles seem to grow thin,
In the game we adore, where money seeks to win.

So let us not forget, as we cheer and sing,
That football’s heart should not be controlled by the bling.
It’s not funny, it’s all about the money’s cold embrace,
While we dream of a beautiful game, in a more just and fair place.

Happy Halloween

In the autumn’s chill, on Halloween’s eve,
Children don costumes, make-believe they weave.
With lanterns glowing, faces full of glee,
They set out on an adventure, wild and free.

In neighbourhoods adorned with spiderwebs and bats,
They ask for trick-or-treat in witch’s hats.
From door to door, they roam with lantern light,
Collecting sweet treasures in the dark of night.

Giggles and laughter, their joy fills the air,
As little ghosts and goblins with a friendly scare.
In this magical moment, they run and play,
Celebrating Halloween in their own special way.

When the moon shines bright and the stars align,
Children’s spirits soar, their faces all a-shine.
On Halloween, they revel in the fun,
A night of pure enchantment for everyone.

VAR Controversy

Football fans are becoming ever-more united in their growing hatred of VAR, I’m sure.

In the realm of football, where action unfolds,
VAR exists, or so I’ve been told.
But what does this ref, in the digital sphere,
Truly do when the game’s excitement is near?

Does he play Space Invaders, lost in the past,
While players and fans watch the game’s frantic blast?
Is he chasing high scores as we cry and cheer,
Or focused on justice, making calls crystal clear?

As the ball dances ‘cross the pitch, left and right,
Does he hunt aliens in pixels of light?
Or scans each replay with his all-seeing eye,
To ensure the game’s fairness, where no cheats lie?

In the world of VAR, the mystery remains,
A hidden figure in football’s high-stakes games.
Does he just play, or watch with precision and care?
Only he knows for sure, in that digital lair.

Changing Times

In summer’s warm embrace, we basked with glee,
The sunlit days, so carefree and bright,
But now, the winds of winter swiftly flee,
And darkness claims the early hours of night.

As leaves turn gold and crimson, falling slow,
The world transforms, in colours all ablaze,
Yet in our cosy homes, we soon must know,
The clocks in every room must change their phase.

But oh, the task of remembering them all,
From kitchen to the hallway, one by one,
As time slips by, we hear the chiming call,
To set the hands to greet the frosty sun.

In this transition, seasons bid farewell,
From summer’s warmth to winter’s cold embrace,
The ticking clocks, their tales they’ll surely tell,
Of time’s unceasing march, at its own pace.

Simpson’s Theorem of Mathematics

In the town of Springfield, a day quite absurd,
When Homer Simpson, in learning, was spurred.
He donned a white jacket, a tie, and a grin,
Becoming a maths teacher, a surprising new spin.

Homer, the donut-loving, beer-swilling buffoon,
To teach advanced maths, under the same moon.
In a classroom he stood, a whiteboard in hand,
With numbers and symbols, he’d take a bold stand.

His students, perplexed, quite puzzled and dazed,
With equations and theorems, their minds were ablaze.
But Homer, undeterred, with a chalk in his grip,
Sought to ignite passion in each little quip.

He scribbled on boards, drew circles and lines,
Explained calculus concepts in comical rhymes.
His methods were strange, yet oddly profound,
As maths and absurdity joyfully wound.

“Remember,” he’d say, “the square of the hype,
When donuts converge in a circular type.
Simpson’s Theorem, my friends, is the key,
To unlock the maths mysteries, you’ll see!”

Though unconventional, his methods were grand,
For Homer taught maths in his own special brand.
He made learning fun, his heart in the class,
In Springfield, a legend, he’d forever amass.

So, on that day, Homer’s wisdom did preach,
In the world of maths, he had something to teach.
A chapter quite odd in his wild Simpson’s lore,
When Homer the teacher, we can’t ignore.

Don’t Fear the Orb Spider!

In the garden’s gentle web, she spins her art,
A giant banded orb, both bold and smart,
With stripes of yellow, black, she weaves her grace,
Don’t fear this spider, know her rightful place.

She hangs with patience, watching from above,
Her purpose clear, to feast on insects, and to love,
Not people, never them, her gentle plan,
To keep our world in balance, nature’s hand.

So when you see her, don’t retreat in fright,
Her gentle nature shines in morning light,
Respect her space, for in her web she’ll dwell,
A guardian of our garden, we must tell.

Embrace this orb, resplendent in her grace,
A helpful friend, she finds her rightful place,
In nature’s tapestry, her role is clear,
To keep our world in balance, never fear.

Home Sweet Home

Upon the road, a journey grand,
With foreign lands and sights so new.
But now, I’m back on native sand,
A joy to be back home, it’s true.

The memories of distant shores,
Of cultures rich and people kind,
In my heart, forever stored,
Yet home’s embrace, so hard to find.

The open road, a thrilling ride,
Adventure called from far and wide.
But in familiar streets, I stride,
With happiness I can’t hide.

The taste of meals from foreign lands,
The laughter shared with newfound friends.
Yet, here at home, where love expands,
My heart with warmth and joy transcends.

The world is vast, and I’ll explore,
But in my heart, there’s something more.
It’s the love and peace that I adore,
Being back home, forevermore.

So, as I unpack and settle in,
I cherish the journey that has been,
But in the comfort of home, I win,
For in this joy, my heart will sing.