The storm breaks the sky, and splits the Earth in white light.
A blind tempest: merciless, enraged, relentless, taunting. It spares no grace.
Earth is blemished now; she chokes
on floods that break in lashes and strike panes, hammer homes.
Plagued, hunted by shadow,
the faint recall and touch of brighter days elude her.
She beholds the hurt, measures her strength. Time beckons.
Solace spills over a forgotten horizon; gleams like silver light on still water.
And the Earth grows in new territory: tenacious, radiant, composed.
Redemption takes the form of a new day, and she moves with it; wounded, stronger, set.
Jan 15
Jan 15, 2026 at 7:54 AM UTC
Prowling through tall blades of grass,
Stalking with eyes of golden brass.
Piercing the earth with razor claws,
Drooling from hungry jaws.
Hissing quietly under its breath,
Trailing shadows of prey and death.
Scaring flocks of watchful birds,
Pricking ears at noises heard…
Sliding doors then open wide,
Singing voice calls from inside,
Cracking of a tin of fish,
Racing paws to an easy dish.
Jan 15
Jan 15, 2026 at 7:51 AM UTC
Love is enduring, pure, drifting
like subtle feathers in flight,
guided by gentle wind and weather,
fallen from flocks that fly together.
Love is intricate, radiant, woven
like silk in the gleam of golden light,
threaded in the fabric of affection,
veiled in patterns of protection.
Love is vibrant, vivid, splashing
like colour over canvas,
brushed with prints of memory and time,
blended with warmth and silver lining.
Love is dynamic, compelling, twisting
like a dance across embers,
spun over barriers and hurdles,
whirling in rhythmic circles.
Love is deep, unconditional, irreversible
like time, love is relative,
rooted and bound like planted hearts
growing together, soon to embark
On the next chapter of life, the next endeavour,
Forever in love, always together.
Jan 15
Jan 15, 2026 at 7:51 AM UTC
Whizz, fizz, crackle
Burst.
A frenzied dance
unveils the night.
Frenetic and energetic
Sparkles, darkles
and we are plunged into a hungry blackness again. Stillness
while we wait for its next move.
Hiss, screech, whirl
Bang.
A kaleidoscope on centre stage,
tempts the spectators.
Vibrant swirls drip into
wheels of gold, spinning and spiralling
before vanishing again
into the dark.
Curtains close.
Jan 15
Jan 15, 2026 at 7:49 AM UTC
The tide ebbs out
like a silver montage of the past. It flickers
in a hazed light.
In the dank marshes, the seabed sputters
around decayed stilts; it preys on age and
congests hidden crevices with rot
and rust
It all withers away in the end.
Her worn stilts quiver; a precarious skeleton,
though what rests upon her frail shoulders?
A once jostling promenade now subdued
to a neglected passage
of empty thought.
Dazzling arcade lights now dim as old synapses.
A musical Ferris Wheel frozen mid-turn like a cycle of elusive thoughts.
Derelict and delicate, she rocks with the tide.
Degraded by age’s callous burden, she is alone
in solitary darkness,
haunted by the echoes that ring on the promenade.
Crumbling and wizened. Fractured and splintered,
she grows impatient, impassive, apathetic,
when battling turbulent storms. She rages on alone
until her identity, mocked by shadow,
unveils if only for a while.
Forgotten lights flicker on the horizon until fragments drift with the passing tide
into the safe embrace of the waiting shore.
Jan 15
Jan 15, 2026 at 7:49 AM UTC
Crunching under my feet,
I see conkers nestled in the grass,
Old oaks have shed their acorns
for the nucivorous to store.
Squelching under my feet,
I see mud, clotted and gloopy
Puddles have overflowed
for the birds to bathe.
Crackling under my feet,
I see twigs and branches buried,
Crimson leaves have fallen
for me to love and play.
Jan 15
Jan 15, 2026 at 7:48 AM UTC
Silk of spiders ensnares the walnut wood
of the old hallway, wrapping and weaving its way
over once ornate mirrors,
now thick with dust and fragmented shards
that glitter like jewels across creaking
floorboards which tremble
under the weight of air,
still and sinister, as though
no one or someone is there.
Jan 15
Jan 15, 2026 at 7:47 AM UTC
A sleepy wasp whizzed and buzzed
over the garden fence.
He drifted over flower beds,
and thought with no common sense,
to land on a washing line full of clothes,
Why he did this, no wasp knows.
He nestled in the laundry,
snug as a bug.
But something rudely stirred him,
when he went flying with a tug
off the washing line and through the air
Missing the garden table and chair.
The wasp landed in a bucket,
piled high with pants and socks,
and was transported into a house,
where the moving bucket stopped.
The wasp finally had the chance to flee,
But when the moment came, did he?
No! The little stinger stayed put,
ready for his long winter sleep,
He was pushed into a cupboard,
and made no buzz or peep.
He snuggled into the depths of the drawer,
and drifted off to sleep, thinking no more.
A burst of light woke him up,
as the drawer began to open.
With a gruff tug and rough shake,
It was too early to be woken!
The irritated wasp was buzzing and begging,
to be left alone in this cosy pair of leggings.
The little wasp was horrified,
when a leg pushed through the clothes,
He was almost scratched and crushed
by five ginormous toes.
The furious wasp buzzed, enough is enough!
He knew what to do; he could be tough!
He crawled to the top of a very short leg,
(he didn’t have far to climb)
and he stung
and he stung
and he stung
and he stung
until finally he was fiercely flung
with the clothes at rapid speed,
across the room and finally freed.
Grandma spoke about her wasp stings,
and buzzed on about it for days,
Her stinger wounds eventually healed
but she hasn’t changed her ways;
She still hangs laundry on the line
Of course, she will check for wasps every time.
The mystery now lies with the wasp,
Where on earth did he go?
Is he out there searching for laundry,
or hiding under your nose?
He had whooshed and whizzed out of the clothes,
But where he landed next, no one knows.
Jan 15
Jan 15, 2026 at 7:44 AM UTC
Here lies ahead our road to freedom
Cracked deep beneath our blistered toes
Seeped full with red and black ink
that had once painted the shades of propaganda.
Our boots, soulless and worn like hearts of lead
leaked blood-stained fear and red-raw dread.
The path ahead of stone and ice stretched on
for decades... or was it days?
Time was the beat of marching men.
Through the thick yellow fog, we spluttered, cursed blind,
and choked on the calls of fallen heroes whose
cries grew distant with every staggered step.
Beneath the ghostly glare of shattered street lights, we trudged
on and on.
Until our ankles, raw and bruised
buckled beneath our weights;
Down onto the ice to sooth sore limbs
and stifle the scorn
that droned on the wind.
We will not surrender. This day
we are men with visions of glory that glow beyond golden gates
and wait for us in old age. But not today.
Today we make history;
So that one day when I sit my granddaughter on my knee
I can tell her why she, her grandpa and her country are free.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 1:00 PM UTC
We met on the pebbles of a southern British beach
as a night sky of stars unravelled.
Beneath silver moonlight and crimson harbour lights,
you enthused about your plans to travel.
Inspired by your spirit and dreams to roam far,
You captivated me from the start,
But hope washed away in a wave of disappointment,
As I imagined us two worlds apart.
Yet our paths intertwined like two chapters of a book,
and resumed our unfinished story.
Beyond the great horizon and vast stretches of sea,
we connected in virtual territory.
After seven months immersed in this online world,
Christmas carried you home,
And I longed for the day I would see you before me
to replace the small screen on my phone.
We met in verdant gardens of London's Green Park
as a British chill gripped us raw,
Heart-hammering. Words-failing. Mind-racing.
Speechless; my heart soared.
Yet your adorable smile warmed winter's chill,
and suddenly all worries melted away,
There was no tension or strain, but a breath-taking moment
knowing I'll forever cherish this day.
A Christmas of ice-skating and New Years in Dublin,
These moments we will always share.
When you venture back south for your second year of travel,
I will wish everyday that I am there.
All I ask as you jet beyond the equator,
is to keep me close at heart,
In four months time, our paths will meet again;
Distance shall not tear us apart.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 4:44 AM UTC