Thursday, February 28, 2013



Brenda Bryant is indisposed.
RINKLY RIMES, therefore, is closed.
Thanks for all the many times
You kept me going with my rhymes.
She may return, or she may not;
Glance, sometimes, at this Blogging spot.

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

November Song

I wonder how many people are left to recall this hauntingly melancholy song.
I've changed the words to suit my own mood.


The time was very short from May to November
And it's coming soon, the chill of December.
And sunny days decrease and the years fly by,
And we're all aware that we have to die.
It has gone far too soon,
This life of mine,
Remember September?
'So far, so good' we say, and yet we know
We've had our turn; it's time to go.

The lovely summer rose must bite the dust;
It curls and fades for it knows it must.
It sees the buds below, demanding room;
 It knows it dies for they have to bloom.
And the days dwindle down
To a precious few.
November. December.
And though it fades and dies and disappears
It still keeps smiling through its tears.

Monday, February 11, 2013


Rinkly rimes is temporarily suspended due to Brenda recently suffering a stroke.  She is on the mend and will back rhyming soon.
Dictated by Brenda to her daughter

Wednesday, February 6, 2013



We all know someone tetchy,

Someone who's touchy too,

Someone very easily riled

Who bridles out of the blue.

This man is clearly sulking,

Someone's spoken out of turn.

He could have turned the other cheek 

But such people never learn.

'Tch-tch' is his favourite sound

When he shows his irritation.

Others  have to watch their words

When making conversation.

If this man decides to stay in bed

That's better for everyone.

Living with a tetchy person

Isn't too much fun. 



Some would see a flaw and some a funny chance.

Some would stop and look, some give it not one glance.

But a certain someone saw this as a little artistic joke....

Instead of a flaw he saw it as the outline of some smoke!

He added a little factory and, lo, it was complete!

Now people stop and chuckle as they're walking down the street

To see a little  cartoon where once they saw a wall,

And to see a little  picture where nothing was at all.

' Don't look for the flaws as you go through life', my mother used to say,

Meaning that to notice them simply doesn't pay.

But I think we should notice them and see them as the start

Of a little bit of nonsense that's almost a work of art.

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Hint of Truth/The Blues


It's just a throwaway line, that's meant to make us laugh

And yet a hint of truth is there as well.

Pretending we don't care is often the way to go

If someone makes our life a living hell.

A bully only enjoys his 'craft' if he can get 'results'

A happy smile can turn his wrath away.

Pretending not to care is a weapon of defense

So we can learn to cope another day.


I wonder why they say 'the blues'

As though that colour is bad news!

I find blues of every shade,

Even when, in time, they fade,

Restful, soft and really charming.

To say  they're sad is quite alarming

And yet the lyrics of blues songs

Always refer to unrighted wrongs,

Broken hearts and Love gone awry,

Words designed to make  us cry.

It's very odd! Nobody thinks

Of saying 'Listen to her sing the pinks.'

Monday, February 4, 2013

Take the Colour/Life Savers

                                      Brenda Bryant

Take the colour from the picture and see the shapes appear.

Suddenly the patterns are made visible and clear.

When colour rules the visual,  the lines fade out of sight,

But we can enjoy their beauty when they're seen in black and white.
Newcastle Life-Savers


Every summer they are out there dressed in red and yellow,
Every one a splendid and adventurous girl or fellow.
When the waves are enormous or there's a nasty rip,
The Life Savers dive in there and they give death the slip.
On their very special craft they bounce through mighty waves.
A Life-Saver never asks for thanks from the people that he saves.

Sunday, February 3, 2013

Overdoing It!/Genetic Sandwich


I was never one for alcohol

Until I met Maureen;

She was the most delicious girl

That I had ever seen.

I had to get to know her;

I had to ask her out.

But I was a little weedy chap

And I was filled with doubt.

To muster up some courage

I drank a little drink

Of beer and wine and whiskey

And gin, which, of course, was pink.

I declared my overwhelming love

But then I struck a hitch!

The alcohol took over

And I ended in the ditch.
My Mother


I'm not a Number Cruncher; numbers don't appeal.

Though some are Number Munchers and enjoy them for a meal!

It's strains my little grey cells just to count above a ten!

And when I do I sigh and say' I won't go there again!'

Which is odd, because my mother loved numbers all her life;

She'd have much preferred accounting to being a stay-home wife.

Never 'allowed' to go out to work, she was tied to the kitchen sink,

Which was a waste of an agile brain that was crying-out to think!

For 'one brief shining moment' during the Second World War

 She told me she was happier than she'd ever been before;

She worked at an aircraft factory, doing accounts, of course,

As men were in the army or some other fighting force.

As soon as the War was over she was popped back in her box!

Women were made for bed and board and, maybe, pretty frocks.

But, unbeknown to her, her genes were lurking out of sight

Inside me, her daughter, so that made things all right.

I couldn't add or multiply; well, maybe just a bit,

But at algebra and geometry I certainly was no hit.

But now I have a daughter who finds work with numbers 'magic',

And, therefore, this sad little story isn't entirely tragic.

Saturday, February 2, 2013

Teenage Blues/A Room Full of Candles


Put me in a freak show

Let that be an end to it!

Alongside the bearded lady

I think I'd be a hit.

I don't think I'll go out tonight

I'll stay at home and mope.

I am damned by this pimple.

I haven't any hope.

Everyone else is pretty,

From the head down to the toes.

Life just isn't worth living

When there's a pimple on your nose. 


My study is a room full of candles,

Candles that keep on burning.

(In truth it's a little spare bedroom

To which I keep returning.)

I climb up the stairs to my study

Where the candles are always waiting,

Standing stiffly to attention,

Eagerly anticipating.

Some are burned down to the wick,

Ideas that are long out-dated.

Some remain unlit

And, oh, how long they've waited!

Some are burning brightly

They are nourishing my soul;

I watch for the tiny flicker

As a flame relinquishes its role.

Some are ancient candles;

I scarcely recognise the flame;

Others are candles that will never be lit;

My indolence is to blame.

I have warmed my heart at these candles,

Which are lit by the urge to write;

Their flames have sputtered and flickered

Well into the night.

To others it's our spare bedroom,

A dull little room for sure,

But for me it's a room full of candles,

And I couldn't love it more.

Friday, February 1, 2013

Happy Birthday/The Map

(To be sung to the same tune as 'Twenty-one Today!')

Eighty-two today! Eighty-two today!

I've lost the key of the door

Never been eighty-two before.

Now's the time I can do as I like

But better not delay!

Who knows what's just round the corner?

Eighty-two today!

(A cinquain)


Ancient. Mysterious,

Intriguing, fascinating, compelling.

The edge of knowledge.