This is where lives begin.
The wet Sundays lugging
trinkets. The dark nights
where plans are far away.
Streets where memory
will catch you off guard,
where stuff is not sorted
and you have to make do.
Direction is deduction not
strategy and we draw lines
backwards to connect best
efforts.Just getting through.
Tony Noon
Dec 22, 2025
Dec 22, 2025 at 4:58 AM UTC
The car chase left us cold
in the castle’s shadow so
I gave you my hooded top.
It was a gamble, how soon
we might expect the open
road so we headed south.
Migrating past former lives.
Old shops never seen lit and
the remains of hesitant giants.
The way home showed us what
had changed and what could not.
You smiled from under the hood.
Tony Noon
Oct 26, 2025
Oct 26, 2025 at 6:26 AM UTC
I am often here. Outside
the small cafe. When it
rains I like to watch light
dancing across cobbles
and over grass before it
slips into the waiting grey.
This is where it all gets out
of hand. The place where
things lose any pretence of
containment. A place where
anything goes and is unlikely
to return in three score years.
Outside the small cafe it rains.
The waiting grey is calling over
grass and cold cobbles.Calling
light down from vacated tables.
It’s promise of blue skies where
it leaves land behind is untested.
Tony Noon
Oct 17, 2025
Oct 17, 2025 at 3:12 PM UTC
So many false starts and blind
alleys have pointed us to lands
we promised to younger selves.
So many good intentions paved
our patios and pathways, not to
hell, but to a kind of anti-climax.
Meaning is not an unfound grail.
It resides in footprints and glows
in each creaking backward glance.
We are never where we want to be.
For now we are somewhere, maybe.
Relax. Catch breath and thank stars.
Tony Noon
Sep 9, 2025
Sep 9, 2025 at 2:50 AM UTC
Self contained, the late cars are
full of angst about recent pasts
and possibly ambiguous futures.
A swishing denial of the night,they
try to convince us in passing that
they have everything under control.
Tony Noon
Aug 3, 2025
Aug 3, 2025 at 8:40 PM UTC
Maybe it’s drama I’m thinking of,
where events rumble towards
some half anticipated dilemma,
before resolution emerges from
changed hearts illuminated by
an arithmetic of revealed notions.
Poetry has less space, mostly, to
tug emotions and take us through
clouds and controversy to an edge.
This poem ends where day begins,
with blue skies and the rising sun,
a familiarity which is always new.
Tony Noon
Jul 20, 2025
Jul 20, 2025 at 1:47 PM UTC
All this data swirling
running rings around
our fixed viewpoints
We cannot build a box
large enough to store
our misunderstanding
There will not be a day
when it all adds up not
one day it makes sense
Tony Noon
Jul 13, 2025
Jul 13, 2025 at 2:06 PM UTC
It isn’t Paris but it is.
As the light washes
over late afternoon
walls full of us and
other people’s lives.
As the music charms
our old bones we can
add context to our list
of rolodex happenings.
As the shadows hint at
mystery beneath every
shining moment we can
justifiably glint and smile.
It isn’t Paris…but it is.
Tony Noon
Jun 30, 2025
Jun 30, 2025 at 5:22 AM UTC
Whatever they were intended to be
they landed just right.Tumbling dice,
facets both sharp and ethereal, in a
shared moment of recognition which
brought out the best of the bad times.
We were both the smoke and the light
while it lasted, and we could forget our
same and sorry days of hard emotions,
when hope was diluted by best interests,
to let words flow effortlessly. Like water.
Tony Noon
Jun 27, 2025
Jun 27, 2025 at 7:49 PM UTC
I remember him telling me
how, as the waters fell back,
he marked the level to show
us what had been reclaimed.
Beneath this unremitting sun
it is hard for me to take it in.
Such an abundance of water.
Up there.Way above my head.
Tony Noon
May 12, 2025
May 12, 2025 at 7:45 PM UTC