Every night
my harrowed mind
dive into our littered memories
that's evermore enshrined in my dreams.

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

Deep custard coloured daffodils
True harbingers of spring
Tall mustard painted trumpets
A joyous star-like thing.
Bright gold encrusted promises
Carried on the wing
A portent of emergent life
That a daffodil will bring

22.3.25
SE

Beneath the soft-spun green,
where stone and root rest in silence,
moss gathers itself.

It clings, quietly—
with soft shades of green,
cradling close the forgotten—
a fallen branch,
broken walls,
blanketing the injured places
left to time.

Moss teaches us to rest
in a gathering of dark places,
where eyes have no reason
to remain shut.
It is a slow healing after sorrow—
the way the world forgives itself.

Walk with care—
where moss stretches,
with a patience that heals
and forgives—
forever enduring,
forever moss.

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.

When it came to love
I had no real plan
I know I wanted to connect in an intimate way
with experimentation and playfulness

I was short on experience
there was a pandemic
I’d had few ‘at-bats’
that’s a sports metaphor

Much of it seemed surreal and abstract
like we’d entered another realm of everyday places
there was a subtle unpredictability
that was unfiltered, instinctive and unapologetically unhinged

freedom permeated every element
still, our collaboration allowed for honest conversation
I remember asking, “What are we doing?”
Thinking back, It underlined how vastly different our two experiences were
.
.
Songs for this:
Overtime (pt 1) by Mk.gee  [E]
Blur by embrs & astralcurrent