We walk along magenta paths,
Where twilight coolness gently bathes our steps,
The laden vines, in clusters, hang low,
Teasing with a promise, sweet, yet sharp to taste,
In another’s golden field,
Silken amber honey flows.

In memory’s reverie, we trace the lines
Of Thomas Chatterton, whose fate entwines
With fleeting years and early twilight’s end,
A poet's heart the shadows would transcend.

Born in Bristol’s lanes, beneath grey skies' embrace,
Thomas wandered, with a poet’s fragile grace.
Enamoured by old scripts in oak confined,
A spirit haunted by a fevered mind.

He fashioned verses in medieval guise,
A ploy that led to murmurs and surmise.
Rowley’s name adorned his vibrant scrolls,
Yet youth and hunger carved unwelcome tolls.

Yet life unkind, in shadows, cast him low,
Amidst the sorrow, where dreams lay fallow.
Magenta paths now lead us through his plight,
Beyond despair, in fleeting twilight.

Cool seeps into the waning light,
A melancholic beauty, soft, yet bright.
In London’s streets, where dreams turned sour,
Destitution’s grip, tightened every hour.

A tender boy who sought acclaim through quill,
Found solace in the silence, shadows still.
Beneath the boughs, where sorrows intertwine,
Chatterton sought solace, brief respite.

His words, ripe for picking, turned bitter, dry,
Amidst neglect, where hope was left to die.
August winds whispered as his spirit broke,
A bottle of arsenic, despair's harsh yoke.

The world looked on, not knowing what they’d lost,
A poet’s voice, now tethered to the cost.
In memory’s shadow, we find the truth,
Of a young poet’s bitter, fleeting youth.

In another’s field, beyond despair,
Where life's harsh trials start to repair.
Silken amber honey flows so pure,
A testament to dreams that must endure.

Walk with him through twilight’s bitter chill,
Where poets’ hopes, in silence, linger still.
Magenta paths reveal the truth of strife,
Homeless youth with dreams of a better life.

Through words and whispers in the evening's glow,
Let Chatterton’s lost voice gently show,
The way from destitution’s dark embrace,
To fields of hope, where dreams find grace.

For every year, each moment’s gentle beat,
Is a testament that life, though bittersweet,
Holds promise in the face of dire despair,
A gift to cherish, nurture, and repair.

Though Chatterton’s young life met early dusk,
His legacy remains, beyond the husk.
A poignant reminder, stark and true,
Of lives unlived, and dreams that break anew.

From destitution’s harsh and bitter trials,
We learn to walk with hope, through life’s aisles,
Magenta paths where silken honey flows,
In fields of grace, where every dream still grows.

In Tarbolton's hall, steps were taught,  
Burns learned with grace, his heart yearning.  
Gregg's skilled hands urged him to soar,  
The fiddle's song guiding each move.


The Bachelor's Club became a place of cheer,  
Burns and Gregg dedicated their time,  
Refining steps and thoughts together,  
In dance and music, their spirits intertwined.


From Alloway to Glasgow's stage,  
The baroque fiddle carried timeless tales.  
In New York's hall, its notes would soar,  
Bringing an ageless dance to life again.


Burns' love for dance and music blossomed,  
His world expanded with poetic views,  
Each tune and step invigorated his spirit,  
Enriching his soul with every verse he wrote.


Gregg's fiddle, a treasure from the past,  
Held stories of history waiting to be told.  
Played now in grand and bright venues,  
It continues the legacy of those early days.

Keep Writing, Whatever Comes

Just keep writing, day by day,
Let words fall out, however they may.
The ink will guide you, though unsure,
In every line, a voice grows pure.

2. Engage with Poems and Poets

In the world of verse, connect, be bold,
Talk with others, both young and old.
Their words will teach, their lives inspire,
Fuel the flame that burns your fire.

3. Embrace Rejection, It’s Part of the Game

Expect the no’s, the "not quite right,"
Rejection’s a shadow, not a blight.
We are not all the same cup of tea,
Nor is every poet meant for thee.

4. Grow in Your Craft

With every word, with every line,
Grow your skills, refine your mind.
Knowledge will deepen, wisdom will show,
As you practice, your art will grow.

5. Control Your Rewards

Don’t wait for praise, don’t seek the gold,
Satisfaction’s yours, in stories told.
The joy is found in what you create,
Not in others’ judgment, not in their rate.

6. Welcome Good Critique

When feedback’s good, embrace the chance,
To learn, to grow, to dance the dance.
But discard the noise that doesn’t speak,
The truth is found in voices meek.

7. Be Kind to Yourself and Others

In the struggle, in the fight,
Be kind to self, keep the heart light.
Give grace to others, as you’d ask,
For kindness, friend, is its own task.

8. Keep Your Eyes Open

Look within, and look outside,
In both the still and the rolling tide.
The world will speak if you just see,
The poetry in all that’s free.

9. Enjoy the Journey

The path is winding, slow at times,
But joy is found in rhythm, rhyme.
Even struggle’s scent will lead the way,
In verse, there’s beauty in the fray.

10. Trust in Your Process

So write your truth, and write it loud,
Your voice will rise above the crowd.
The world may not understand just yet,
But keep writing—you’re not done, not set.

I know it’s a bit lame, but here I stay,  

Hoping for a nod, a word, some say.  

Responses to my poems, thin but kind,  

They bring a warmth, a solace to my mind.



In every comment, human touch I find,  

A thread that weaves me closer to mankind.  

It's not much, yet it keeps my spirit bright,  

My daily dose of human touch each night.

There is somewhere you belong,
a realm where the echoes of your youth
dance with the whispers of time.
As a wee one, you wielded words,
the mystery of thoughts made tangible—
not just happenstance,
but purpose, power, a pulse
running through each phrase,
each heartbeat recorded,
etched in the canvas of your heart.

Lift your soulful gaze,
eyes ignited, ablaze,
travel back to that moment—
the bedimpled smile,
the laughter swirling like autumn leaves.
Face the sunrise that beckons,
the bold step forward,
tear-stained cheeks,
yet still, the joy remains.
For in each line lies a journey,
a truth that screams:
words unwritten leave us incomplete,
less than whole without you.

Into a new dark age we go,
Marching with voices loud and clear,
The terrain shifts, our minds untrained,
Pioneers of a vast unexplored,
Where challenges hide in the unseen,
And bright lights beckon, waiting for us.

The condition of our hearts has changed,
As we careen through shadows and light,
Year upon year, we seek to define
The darknesses that loom on our horizon,
Searching for meaning in the dark expanse,
To harness what we’ve yet to understand.

Yet, in this vastness, a spark ignites,
A whetted appetite for tomorrows,
We march into the unknown, drawn near
To whispers of hope, where the brave may tread.
Into itself, beyond vast darkness,
The lights beckon, urging us to explore.

Beneath wide sky where dreams are spun at noon,
The stars align to hum a gentle tune.

In twilight’s glow, the night will greet us soon,
While silver beams embrace the watching moon.

Each whisper shared becomes a treasured boon,
As hearts entwine, we find we crave for more.

In shadows deep, the weight of care can bore,
Yet in its depths, we find that love bears none.

In our quest for life, we enthrone the Sun.

Some things hold more weight than verse,
An infant's cry, a dog’s keen thirst;
The kettle’s boiling song,
Talk shows on elections burst,
And TikTok trends disperse,
Mundane life prolonged.

Our days filled with moments bright,
Meals that churn, and dawn's first light;
Promises we tend.
Viral clips that haunt the night,
Pathways tread, both wrong and right,
Fond repeats, they mend.

In trials faced, in highs and lows,
Daily life, in poetry shows;
Heartbeats, fears, and joys.
In simple acts, our story grows,
Each line our journey knows,
Love and life; our voice.

Some things weigh more than verse, it’s true,
Like a baby’s cry or a dog’s need to chew.
A kettle’s loud whistle, talk shows that fight,
TikTok trends fading into the night.

Our days are a mix of both bright and the bland,
With meals that we savour and dawn’s gentle hand.
Viral clips flicker, then quickly they fade,
Yet in simple moments, our memories are made.

Through ups and through downs, life’s a wild ride,
With heartbeats and laughter right by our side.
In acts that are simple, our stories unfold,
With love in our lives, the best tales are told.

In the wreckage of trust,
we gather the fragments,
each shard a lesson,
each splinter a step toward light.

Let us speak the unspoken,
words hung like low clouds,
unraveling the knots of resentment,
finding courage in vulnerability.

With open hearts,
we can bridge the chasms,
threading honesty into our seams,
weaving new patterns from the old.

Forgiveness is a gentle river,
flowing through the cracks,
softening the edges of our wounds,
drawing us back to the shore.

Together, we can map a path
through the overgrowth,
reclaiming the thoroughfares
with kindness as our compass,
compassion as our guide.

In the distance, new bridges await,
bold and unyielding,
built on the promise of understanding,
on the hope that we are stronger
when we rise together,
turning the ruins of yesterday
into the foundation of tomorrow.

In the shadow that our hearts cast,
hatred blooms, a stubborn ****
where once grew a garden of trust.

Words, once tender,
shatter like glass,
a bridge collapsing under weight,
echoes of apologies falling into silent abyss.

We deceive ourselves,
clutching memories like
fragments of a broken mirror,
forgetting the faces we wore,
the warmth that once held us close,
burying the past in shallow graves.

A vast network unfurls,
circuitry of disconnection,
new bridges rise on the horizon,
but the arteries lie severed,
thoroughfares overgrown,
forgotten paths leading nowhere.

We navigate this labyrinth,
the ghosts of what was
whispering in the dark,
reminding us
that healing is a slow tide,
and some wounds
never truly mend.

In whispers soft, the dawn will break,
Embrace the light, let shadows flee,
With every breath, a chance to wake,
Life’s fleeting dance, a gift to see.

The world awaits, a canvas wide,
In whispers soft, the dawn will break,
With open arms, we rise and ride,
With every breathe, a chance to wake.

Through trials faced, the victor’s call,
Embrace the light, let shadows flee,
From dawn’s first light to evening’s fall,
Life’s fleeting dance, a gift to see.

Lightly upon each cheek
Alternating pleasantry
Undulating symmetry
Reeks of season’s revelries
Every neurone, every pore
Never fading, never more

Hello
PeOple of the once
EThereal metamoRph
Your moment has now
arrived; PERiwinkle
adornments on your
china on display,
SPecific to table placements
ICarian silhouettes on
placemats, UnIcorn-lined
doilies in conTrast Yell
out: 'perspicacity.'
Your aid and companionability
see us through it all.

listless, lost in thought,
aimlessly observing all
surveying every nothing
poised in readiness yet
nestled in half a slouch
glowing palm, deft digits
caress a screen lit, only
momentarily quick with
each changing scene