On my walls hang two pieces of art;
large canvases boldly splashed
with colour, stroke upon stroke formed vivid arcs.

I wish I had kept my father's paintbrushes,
they were tools of masterpieces.
From them, my strokes could have made faces flush
and inspired songs and poetry; love?

*
But, perhaps ‘twas a blessing to create with unique expression and freedom.

Nothing is personal
It's just your ego
dramatically making it seem
the trash is all over you.

Down on
the farm
A farmers
daughter lay
I lie
beside her
In the
warming hay.
Well I got
to tell you
That was
the beginning
Of one hell
of a day.
There was
me just
A  little
shy
Didn’t
ask any
Questions
There wasn’t
any why
From this
young lad
A non ****** I.

In the spotlight's gleam, two legends stand tall,
Tina and Shirley, voices that enthral.
Tina, the Queen of Rock 'n' Roll's might,
With a voice that roars, igniting the night.

Shirley, the Dame with a voice so grand,
Bond themes and ballads at her command.
Tina's "Proud Mary" rolls down the river,
While Shirley's "Goldfinger" makes hearts quiver.

Tina's journey, a tale of strength and fire,
From Nutbush roots to global desire.
Shirley's elegance, a diamond's shine,
Welsh valleys to stages divine.

Both faced trials, yet rose above,
With songs of power, resilience, and love.
Tina's dance, a hurricane's grace,
Shirley's poise, a timeless embrace.

Two queens of song, each unique,
In their voices, the world finds what it seeks.
Tina and Shirley, forever they'll reign,
In the hearts of fans, their legacy remains.

Life’s like an old rose garden,
once blooming,
now withering.

Petals falling,
replaced by dry leaves,
wrapped in silence,
once so rare,
now so heavy.

I return home,
laughter ringing in ears.

But as the door shuts,
loneliness greets me,
like a cold, hazy mist,
or dark clouds that the stars resist.