Happiness.

Happiness is not on the face of a clown,

They always have a permanent frown.

Happiness is something you just have inside.

But in people I know, it knows how to hide.

So, give us a smile, no, give us a grin,

Showing you’re happy, is not yet a sin,

Big hearty laughs, so your wobbly bits wobble.

Laughing out loud so it makes the mind boggle.

Like sand in your toes and the wind in your hair.

Joy to the world like you’ve laughter to share.

Pleasure, delight, big thrills, and elation.

Let’s spread it like marmite across our great nation.

So, love it or loathe it, let’s spread it around.

Let happiness, joy, and laughter abound.

Photo by Mary Taylor on Pexels.com

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Eugi’s Weekly Prompt – Happiness – June 24, 2021 – Eugi’s Causerie (amanpan.com)

A Celebration of the Confusion of Adolescence.

22nd June 2021

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Let’s celebrate the celibate, those who have not cherished,

Or lived, or lain in sinful pose, or loved before they perished?

Remember those who cannot love, because great pain it causes,

Who hesitate at every touch with long and stiffened pauses.

Forget not those who live to love and love to live enraptured,

Whose very breath, and every thought, through each desire is captured.

Who’s bodies quiver at every touch, perspire at every thought.

Even though they think it’s wrong and shameful if they’re caught.

Let us not dwell too long on this, of lust and things impure.

Instead, consider purity, and how we shall endure.

The former things of which we spoke, put them behind us now,

For growing up is difficult, but we’ll get through somehow.

As adolescence dawns, hair in armpits, face and places,

We fancy boys, we fancy girls, and our voices change to basses.

But we’ll get through, we always do, without every asking mother.

Just take it all in hand you see, just like every other.

©Joseph R Mason 2021

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Wolf Moon

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Did you see the wolf moon rise?

Dazzling watchers of the winter skies.

Did you feel your blood turn chill?

As a full moon rose over snow-capped hill.

Did you hear the howling in the night?

A blood curdling scream to give a fright.

Did you hear that panting like a pack of dogs?

Or wolves, or demons, or perhaps, hedgehogs.

Your imagination just runs wild.

As the fears return you had as a child.

“Get a grip,” you say out loud.

As the wolf moon dips behind a cloud.

No such thing as werewolves, that rip you limb from bowel.

I always get this feeling as I howl, howl, howwwwwllllll!

© Joseph R. Mason 2021

29th January 2021

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Eugi’s Weekly Prompt – Wolf Moon – January 28, 2021 ‹ Eugi’s Causerie ‹ Reader — WordPress.com

Everlasting Twaddle

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Everlasting twaddle,

Everlasting twat.

Everlasting wobble,

Everlasting this and that.

Everlasting gobstopper?

Surely that’s a piece of clay.

Everlasting tedium?

Now that’s a groundhog day.

Twaddle, twat, wobble, that,

A list of words you think.

Perhaps they are an anagram?

Or another crossword link.

Think on it and

Think on it

Think all day and night.

When the sun does rise, it’ll dawn on you,

And give your brain a fright.

And so the poem, repeats itself.

It just goes on and on.

I knew the bloke what wrote it.

I know he’s too far gone.

Please don’t read it to the end,

Or it will send you round the bend.

Everlasting twaddle,

Everlasting twat.

Everlasting wobble,

Everlasting this and that.

Everlasting gobstopper?

Surely that’s a piece of clay.

Everlasting tedium?

Now that’s a groundhog day.

Twaddle, twat, wobble, that,

A list of words you think.

Perhaps they are an anagram?

Or another crossword link.

Think on it and

Think on it

Think all day and night.

When the sun does rise, it’ll dawn on you,

And give your brain a fright.

And so the poem, repeats itself.

It just goes on and on.

I knew the bloke what wrote it.

I know he’s too far gone.

Everlasting twaddle,

Everlasting twat.

Everlasting wobble,

Everlasting this and that.

Everlasting gobstopper?

Surely that’s a piece of clay.

Everlasting tedium?

Now that’s a groundhog day.

Twaddle, twat, wobble, that,

A list of words you think.

Perhaps they are an anagram?

Or another crossword link.

Think on it and

Think on it

Think all day and night.

When the sun does rise, it’ll dawn on you,

And give your brain a fright.

And so the poem, repeats itself.

It just goes on and on.

I knew the bloke what wrote it.

I know he’s too far gone.

Everlasting twaddle,

Everlasting twat.

Everlasting wobble,

Everlasting this and that.

Everlasting gobstopper?

Surely that’s a piece of clay.

Everlasting tedium?

Now that’s a groundhog day.

Twaddle, twat, wobble, that,

A list of words you think.

Perhaps they are an anagram?

Or another crossword link.

Think on it and

Think on it

Think all day and night.

When the sun does rise, it’ll dawn on you,

And give your brain a fright.

And if you read it to the end,

Then you, like me, are round the bend,

And so the poem, repeats itself.

It just goes on and on.

I knew the bloke what wrote it.

I know he’s too far gone…………………………………………..

and on, and on, and on……………………………………………

©joseph r mason 2020

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All Hallows Eve.

© Shutterstock – True Touch Lifestyle

October ends with Halloween

A pointless celebration.

For ghosts and ghouls do not exist

‘cept in imagination.

All Hallows Eve, its proper name

The night before all saint’s day.

To celebrate the saints of old

And I would just like to say.

Halloween is just not us,

Imported from the States.

And of the many things that come our way,

It’s not one of the greats.

So you can keep your Halloween,

Your pumpkins, trick or treat.

Frightening the old and frail,

That live along our street.

We can’t abide your Halloween,

and we don’t want it here.

It’s not the ghosts who frighten me

It’s God the one I fear.

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Miss Tickle

As Monty Python used to say, and now for something completely different. This is not my normal style, most of the poems you will find on my page are quite serious, some spiritual, some dark, some, according to my friend Laurence, just weird. (I’m mentioning Laurence just to see if he actually reads this stuff like he claims.) But, as a children’s author, I put this little poem in just for fun.

©Mr. Men belongs to Renegade Animations, Cartoon Network, Sanrio and the Hargreaves. Drawing by Izaylin Arias.

Of all the Mr Men chaps, and all the lasses too.

The one my grand-kids love the best will be no surprise to you.

They all love Mr Funny, they all like Mr Bump

They laugh at Mr Messy, he reminds them all of Grump.

But the one they always want to read, and you may think them fickle

Is the one that makes them laugh the most

And that will be Miss Tickle.

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The Potters Wheel.

A Poem for National Poetry Day 2020 on October 1st.

The potter sits at his spinning wheel

hands slippery with water and clay.

Thumbs dig deep as his fingers feel

a bowl curling up on the way.

It pleases him to see its form,

with its wafer thin shape at the edge,

it’s everyday life, to him it’s the norm,

a finished and fine featheredge.

A slip of the hand, the work is a ruin

returned to a pottage of clay.

Fear not, he thinks, I know what I’m doing,

there’s plenty more time in the day.

The clay, is it just like a person?

Fragile and easily damaged?

Ruined by one stupid action,

left as a wreck if mismanaged.

But that’s not the end of the story,

like clay, we can all be reformed.

Remoulded, rejiggered more finely

I know, I’m reliably informed.

It says so quite plain in the bible

Jeremiah, in chapter eighteen

When broken and down we are liable

Be made best that we’ve ever been.

©joseph r mason 2020

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At the Potter’s House

18 This is the word that came to Jeremiah from the Lord: “Go down to the potter’s house, and there I will give you my message.” So I went down to the potter’s house, and I saw him working at the wheel.But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him.

Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV® Copyright ©1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.®

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Look to your own future…

Photo by Oleg Magni on Pexels.com

A crystal ball? An amazing tool,

it can be believed by any fool.

Makes up the future, the now and past,

and it can not tell you how long you’ll last.

It can only tell you that now you live,

that you’re here now, that you believe

that there may be a future too.

One day you’ll die, now that bit’s true.

Apart from that, the future’s yours,

You have to make your own encores.

Divining the future is just a lie,

the only truth is, one day you’ll die.

So don’t believe in tarot readings,

crystal balls and new beginnings,

Believe in you, what you’ll achieve,

Not fairy tales you don’t believe.

A crystal ball’s just a piece of glass

On a piece of wood and a ring of brass

It has no power to call its’ own.

No one’s future has it ever shown.

©joseph r mason 2020

In response to Eugenia’s weekly prompt:

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Autumnal tones and winter.

Photo by Ian Beckley on Pexels.com

Joseph’s coat of many colours,

looks pale beside the autumn leaves.

Summers days all clad in green,

so mundane ‘gainst late year eves.

Golden hues from beige to crimson,

crisp and fresh on dew soaked grounds.

Carried on late summer breezes,

blocking byways, forming mounds.

Autumn, fall, what e’er you call it,

its beauty shown at every turn.

It harkens winter’s frosts and snowfall,

when naked trees begin nocturn.

August followed by September,

and October then begins.

With icy hands and frosty bowers,

autumn fruits and huge pumpkins.

So each year comes and each year goes,

as we think back and remember.

That life is just a splendid time,

as autumn leaves September.

©joseph r mason 2020

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