Bouncing back is a young man's game
while we put our mind to shuffling,
a little stumbling, but still climbing -
each foothold, each handhold
taking us up,
but no bouncing, just selecting
the safest, the least
arduous route back
and while we may not quickly reach
our past heights
we gain enough to preserve
our perspective
and perhaps gain a new one
while we hold on
to what we have.
But no bouncing.

So where is your peace?

Where is your place
where you face-to-face yourself
and greet your peace?

It may be found in solitude
or within stories spread long
with long-standing friends.  

It can be seated in the quiet
or threaded in your deep tread
through the roar of the pier's end.  

So, tell me, where is your peace?
And where did you last know its company?

I watch the rush of our trees,
their impatience,
their hurry ignoring seasons
running full pelt at growth
and fast forwarding their budding,
their fruit bearing,
in good time to take advantage
of the recent resurgence in the 5-a-day.

I watch and blink.

The storm was predictable,
but not as heavy as its counterparts,
and it was swiftly pushed aside
by the August sun and gusty winds.

The storm was predictable
as most are - eager,
but half-hearted
and susceptible to whim
and winds alike.

The storm was predictable,
but not as dependable as His words,
which quiet any storm,
calm any fears
and deliver us to the far shore,
ready for our next adventure,
whatever the weather.

I am a soft sandal
You are pebble beaches

I am a lace parasol
You are brutal high gales

I am a yellow sundress
You are sudden hail stones

I am scented sunscreen
You are cumulus clouds

I am Mr Whippy
You are a cloud of gulls

You are relentless
But I will adapt

Rowing isn't for me.
Nor drifting aimlessly.
I'd rather raise my sails,
for rowing isn’t for me.
I prefer to let the winds prevail
whether light draft or force 10 gale.
No, rowing isn’t for me.
Nor drifting aimlessly.

I carry my bags beneath
my no longer baby blues,
partly framed
and closer to grey

The bags darken with their weight
and they unwittingly pull
the eye down
from the splayed crows feet

I carry my bags