Tim lived at five one two
Caraway Lane with a
dog and lawn that was
hard to maintain and three
goats with no names
Two bankers came
Crisply dressed, repossessed
Caraway lane

Paul had tried every trick
through thick and thin but he
couldn’t make rent when it
went on cheap gin and he
hated the taste
Fated to waste
Downing and drowning in
Crown-clouding gin

Richard was shy with an
acne-pocked charm and a
look of sick shock as he
watched in alarm as his
paycheck ran dry
Couldn’t tell why
Money tree entropy
ended supply

Tim was quite pretty, clown
-witty and warm with flash
city-smoked glints and fresh
country-stoked draw, with his
cheekbones and jaw, and the
charm he had, strapping lad
dressed in plaid shirts he would
flirt with short skirts or a
dress or long pants, really
anything worked

Paul was quite petty, and
yet he had steady ad
-mirers in heady and heal
-y-tripped love, he was
shunned by wronged songbirds, he’d
stolen their sweet words, his
perfect pitch, descant-rich
Transcendent vocally
Elegant poetry
Angel-conferred

Richard had first-degree
Self-esteem vacancy
So, on occasion he
Self-critiqued shamefully
Good for perfectionist
standards which nurtured his
six-string-chord skilfulness
Master accompanist
Metronome rhythm-prone
strong instrumentalist

Each in a fix when a
-lone but the mix would be
known to eclipse what was
shown on the local bar
circuit you’d know if you
heard it, a joy to un
-earth it, so worth it e
-merged as the trio with
alchemy, beauty and
blasphemy, moral and
mortal-tinged humour a
-cademy, heaven-sent
harmony, rather be
here to see, them than be
anywhere actually
this is me, heavily
suddenly, readily
falling in love with three
men in one melody

The swings hum softly in the wind,
clouds drift like slow balloons,
and the rivers race each other,
laughing all the way to the sea.

Mountains wear their crowns of snow,
trees play tag with the breeze,
while the stars peek through at night,
waiting for the sun to hide and seek.

But we, so busy building walls,
forget the feel of grass beneath our feet.
We hold the sky in photographs,
too scared to reach out and let it hold us back.

The rain is just a skipping stone,
tossed from some far-off, gentle hand.
The world spins like a merry-go-round,
yet we clutch the rails, afraid to let go.

Look closer, can you see it now?
The colors, bright as chalk on pavement.
The echoes of laughter in the hills,
the quiet voice that calls your name.

This world is a playground, waiting still.
Not a prison of glass and steel.
Jump higher, run farther—fall if you must.
The hands that shaped the stars
will catch you in the dust.

Song Tears for fears, Everybody Wants to Rule the World.

Wisdom spills like morning light
From youthful lips untouched by spite,
Pure and simple, crystal clear,
With virtue adults long to hear.

Why is the sky grey and blue?
Why is there a shadow over the moon?
Questions that we've long forgotten,
Wrapped in wonder, freshly gotten.

They see the world with untrained eyes,
No filters yet to cloud their skies,
No prejudice to dim their sight,
Just raw perception and pure delight.

In their logic, direct and true,
Lives the insight we once knew,
Before the world grew complicated,
Before our minds were educated.

So when curious children do speak,
Their random thoughts, pure and unique,
For in their words, both odd and sage,
Lies innocence that vanishes as we age.

©️Lizzie Bevis

They mistake my softness for weakness,  
Like petals scattered in storms of hurt;  
Not seeing how deep my roots extend  
Through layers of wisdom and lessons learned.  

Each kind word I choose to speak  
Is backed by mountains moved in silence;  
Each tender touch I dare to give  
Springs from battles fought with resilience.  

I've learned that armour weighs down the spirit,
Thorns can wound the hand holding the stem;
While my quiet strength flows like morning light,  
Warming others without consuming them.  

So let them wonder at my gentleness,  
Let them question my peaceful stance;  
Because I have found that mighty rivers  
Flow with grace and not arrogance.  

In a world of sharpened daggers,  
I choose to be the sheltering tree,  
Not because I cannot withstand the storm,  
But because I’ve learned to just simply be.  

My strength lies in understanding  
That my heart does not need to prove,
The power that sustains its caring beat  
And the quiet force that dares to love.  

©️Lizzie Bevis