In the hushed woods, solitude cradles me,
As the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee
Infuses my hands with gentle warmth,
And memories of Joy drift like soft petals
In her cherished spot where bluebells bask in a dreamlike haze.

Beneath the delicate veil of morning mist,
The trees bow in silent adoration,
Whispering secrets of distant yesterdays
In the rustle of tender leaves and the murmur of the breeze.
Light and shadow engage in a quiet ballet, echoing forgotten smiles.

I wander along winding trails where memories lie hidden
Among tangled roots and freshly sprung shoots.
Each soft footfall on the familiar earth
Revives whispers of past laughter
And stirs a tender dialogue between what was and what is.

In the gentle glow of the unfolding day,
Echoes of Joy linger like faint footprints
Across the heart of the forest; a delicate imprint
That speaks of love and quiet resilience,
As nature’s eternal hymn offers solace in every sigh.

So I surrender to this living reverie,
Where absence and presence entwine in quiet harmony,
And every moment, like a petal adrift in a stream,
Carries the bittersweet cadence of life;
A promise that even in solitude, hope blooms anew.

Established landmarks removed test the fates
Burning wind in a vacant sky
Rearranged cosmic hemispheres of mind
Oracle of day not seen with naked eye

The need for warmth a thing of the past
Frigid waters the basis of new-fangled cell
Tortured derelicts kept from spiritual vision
Oracle of night hangs in day’s empty shell

Dubious means to generate a sun of artificial light
But a fling cannot replace a love that is shunned
Yet warm rays of sunlight still flow above the temporal
Still hanging in defiance of the 60 cycle hum

Regain your bearings oh heart of true light
Everything in its place: oracle of day and oracle of night.

the morning
chores,
a chorus,

a litany,
a recital,
of old, worn
words
familiar
well worn
ungloved
fists of firsts

a deep drink
of 11.5 ounces
of a cold spring
water shocking
in~vigor~ates

rebalancing a
sleep induced
deficit

a gloried yawn,
an exhalation
of the overnight
staleness, an
expulsion of
stale residue
residuals,
leftovers
of a prior
life, dismissed,
yet clinging
to your body

in vain
desirous
to be
remained
part of
the landscape
of your
plain

as part of
your
grandfatherly
accumulations

but there’s
only so much
room
in your
container,
and all
your liquidities
must be replaced

that takes space
for the
fresh withholdings

so.
drink deep,
replace the
fluids unique
that operate
your systems

and all the
rest
will flow,
stream easy

All things have their end
This rule of life won’t stretch or bend.
Living is a blast
For as long as it can last.
And you, my love, the cherry on top,
The horizons edge, where the mountains stop
I’m standing here, on a ledge
And watching, while the words slip off.

22.2.25 Lanza
SE

In Greenhead park's drained
  paddling pool
      a black cast iron water spout
        stands three feet tall;
a puddle of ***** rainwater
  reflects it's rusting brown base.
Red capital letters warn
      Don’t go into the Water when
        there is No Attendant,
      another sign says
        No Dogs.

This Victorian ironwork pipe waits
  for August
      when it will fill the pool with
        water and welcome
            excited, splashing children.
Round the shore
  families will
      enjoy vanilla ice cream
        or sit on plaid blankets eating
            ham sandwiches and blueberry muffins
      washed down with
          tepid coke.

I gaze at the sleeping iron spout and remember
  a blistering childhood August
      when the pool was full
          every day and
  no one thought about lifeguards
      or dogs.

  Ralph and I chased
      each other round the pool:
our bare feet felt
      rough concrete through
          the shallow water.
  He dared me
      to explore the overflow
  as it trickled into
      a dark York stone tunnel.
  I followed Ralph
      down the cold, cramped culvert
        to the starlight of distant planets.

  We walked through Skaro’s black and white
      petrified forest and helped
        Dr Who to defeat
            the Daleks
              in their ozone electric
                  metal city.

  Transported to another universe
      we boldly went
          to seek new people
            and civilizations.
    Ralph and I were
      red blooded Captain Kirk
          and green blooded Spock.

  In September
      school called us back to earth
  but the pool stayed
      full of water
        ready for
            winter ice.

Today
  I walk past the hibernating paddling pool
      as it dreams of summer fullness
  and meditate on
      the roles I played
        after last paddling
            in this pool.

We climb the Koro hill.

Forty years and still ascending
gives a good feel.

We stand under a Madhuca tree
blossoming in March heat and rain.

From the hilltop
the valley down below
looks dreamy grey.

We've greyed and graded
past full bloom.

In the wafting fragrance of Madhuca
we pray to hold on
for some more.