A murmeration of ruminations

Swoop and loop

In this autumnal mind

Reflective musings

A mesmerizing treat

Marionettes to

The puppet master inside

He who has kept me on the

Straight and narrow

Kept me on Righteous Avenue


Crestfallen yearnings of

Flesh and love persist that

The parliament of the frontal lobe

Approves of even now when

The leaves turn

Emerald to red


This wretched lust

My finest addiction, both

Blights and gives bliss to

My very fabric

Never could get my fill

Never want to

Never will


With the brutal

Passing of time comes

An unkindness of abstraction

About the temporal lobe

Ever onward and upward

It marches to the song of

Least resistance

A crack in the dam can

Flood the valley of expectancy

Seen it many times

Takes no prisoners


I pinch myself

Is it Wagner I hear?

Plucked from the library

A soothing gift from the

The oft times compassionate

Parietal Lobe


I close my eyes

Irrelevant for the time being

And give a well-earned rest to the

Overworked and underpaid

Occipital lobe


An orchestration without

Notation has been this life of

Unshackled thinking that is

Better that than the

Predictive tedium of stereotype

Notwithstanding summertimes

Melancholic picnics


The cerebral cortex pushes its vile

Wrinkles to the surface

A signalling; a warning that

When autumn ends

I shall rot and decompose

Such is the symmetry of

Rhythmic decay


A murmeration of thoughts

Swoop and loop

In this autumn mind



      1. Wonderful news!
        My ex-husband was a French musician and poet.. we lived for and from the music, the lyrics and the guitar for many years. I can understand that 🙂

    1. Thank you. We were looking at starlings swooping and loop – I had forgotten the collective noun when Shirley reminded me it was ‘murmeration’. I’ll never get used to thinking!

  1. Living in the Caribbean I sometimes miss the seasons (Here we only have sizzling hot and slightly less sizzling hot)…this work perfectly describes the effects of seasonal changes, even on a clinical level. It’s not often one reads of brain lobes and becomes sentimental. Well done!

    1. Cheers again – sizzling hot and slightly less sizzling hot – if I tell Shirl this she’ll hate you! Not really yet it is her birthday today and it’s cloudy with a touch of English drizzle.

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