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14h · 50
turning
Turn the mirror off
Turn the clock down
Turn the sun to night mode
Turn the world back to when I was young
prompted by Mirror by Jacob Polley
Kindness is not nice.

Nice is soft and inoffensive.
Nice is easy and effects no change, it's cotton wool - not stuffed tight, but just resting on the surface ready to be blown away or trodden into a muddy disinterest. Nice is a damp whisper, a mouse cowering in the corner, taking up as little space as possible, lest it be noticed, lest it presume too much and cause a whisker of offence.

Kindness isn't like that -

Kindness pushes in, claws out, quick and heavy, uninvited, unexpected, taking pleasure in disturbance, in leaving nothing unsaid and little undone in its pursuit of creating a disruption of difference. Kindness counts everyone a target, anybody a likely candidate for a three act matinee and evening performance of loud Kindness. Surprise is its currency, smiles its language, common humanity its passport to lands yet explored, to vast pink territories with drumbeats of gratefulness for the opportunity to march in with regiments of compassion and to leave a signature devastation of brutal Kindness.

Kindness is not 'nice'.
Kindness is loving awe-ful.
Galatians 5
The fruit of the Spirit is...kindness.
Titus 3:4
4 But when the goodness and loving-kindness of God our Savior appeared, he saved us....
3d · 28
God is a poet
This is my compilation of choice
This is where I hear God's voice
Wrapped in eloquent grace,
Punctuated with tearful praise
User manual or admonishment
Hope and encouragement
Stories of enemies and friends
- where battles end
in the end.

This is my anthology of choice
This is where I hear God's voice
Soft like the call of a lover
Earnest like the tears of a running Father
Substituting justice with forgiveness
Love Joy Peace and Patience

This is my anthology,
my compendium of choice
This is where I hear God's voice
This is where I hear words collide with joy
This is where words can fly

This is where you'll hear God's voice.

You see, my God is a poet.
started this after listening to 'God is a DJ'.
6d · 46
Households
Shared slow
Shared spheres
Shared strolls
Shared souls
household has taken on new meaning
If you like your fruit soft
and sweet
You need simply segment it
with patience.
However
if you prefer
the earlier bite of hurry
the bitter crunch of
'time is money'
then pick it early
because you know
we don't all have all the time
in the world
but we do have better things to do
with our time,
which as you know
is of the essence.

But if you like your fruit
soft and sweet,
then sit in the shade of the tree.
Sit at his pieced feet
and listen to his patience.
Galatians 5
The veg of the Spirit is
a bended knee in the morning,
a prayer while fasting,
and a habit of listening
to God’s voice in the evening.

The meat of the Spirit is
open hearted giving,
open handed serving,
open armed hugging
and being open to weeping.

But the fruit of the Spirit is
Love, joy, peace,
patience, kindness,
goodness, faithfulness,
gentleness
and self-control.
Against such things there is no law.
Galatians 5
22 But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness,
23 gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law.
24 Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires.
25 Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit.
Jun 26 · 49
Grounded
Steve Page Jun 26
To be as grounded as a kite,
dancing wild in the wind,
eyes on the sky,
but secure in my roots,
in my tether
to excited, nimble hands.
Suns out. Winds up.
Jun 23 · 35
Things I dont speak of
Steve Page Jun 23
There are things I don't speak of
There are those that stay unsaid
That remain untugged threads
and swallowed sighs

There are things that grow inside
There are those that ferment to full strength
That remain encased
Unrepented

There are remnants I don't share
There are those I keep to myself
Lest they seep out
Lest they drown out all else

There are things that will drown me,
that will **** me dead,

but not yet.
we all have our secrets.  I pinched the first line from Sabrina Mahfouz's poem Happy Days.
Jun 21 · 66
Father is a verb
Steve Page Jun 21
Father is a verb.
- Let me explain:

Father's Day; and
Father Christmas
have tried to convince us,
but don't be fooled:
You can, may or will father,
depending on your mood.
For father is a verb.

It only works in the transitive;
you can't father alone,
only in relationship.
It doesn't resent hospital trips,
and offers wrap-around comfort
when a partnership splits.
It's touch-line volume
drowns out all rivals.
And belly laughs come standard
with jokes on recycle.

[insert joke here]

Yes, father is a verb.

It's something we each do,
despite the hour,
it drives right on through
the night when life’s gone sour.
It'll hammer ten finger nails
to get the job done.
It will dance, heedless of decorum
forgetting reputation.

It turns manliness
into awesome-men-ness,
It tempers strength
with a dose of gentleness, yes
father is a verb.

Be sure, whoever you are,
it works in the singular:
I can father;
You can father
    (I'm not talking *** here;
     that takes a partner.)
But also,
-  it works in the plural -
we can father;
and they can father,
because, you see, in this village
it's an joint activity:
we father (and we mother)
collaboratively.

It works best in the present tense,
happening now, not "LATER!".

It can be said in a gentle voice
or something - even - quieter;

sometimes active:
directive, protecting;
but often responsive:
just sitting, listening;
...holding, and, hugging;

it responds to need, you see,
but works best proactively,
works great
sacrificially.

For example,
though it cost him dearly,
God Fathers us
and through us daily.
And one day, suit pressed,
He'll proudly walk
with the bride of Christ.
And as Father of the bride,
He'll host the party and blow the price;
(- BIGGEST - bar-bill - EVER)
And we'll be sure to save at least one dance
for Father.

Oh yes, you heard,
Father is a verb.
This was written in 2017 with thanks to all the men who have fathered me over the last 50 odd years and as a salute to those of you who father without borders.
With thanks to Godfrey Rust and his poem, Church is a Verb.  Go on, search for it.
Jun 20 · 73
Love is slow
Steve Page Jun 20
Love is patient.
Love is .... slow.

Love doesn't hurry.
Love doesn't celebrate brevity,
it doesn't interupt,
it doesn't rush.
Love refrains from finishing
your sentence,
and never jumps
to the punchline.
And love loves
a long shared lunchtime.

Love is happy to hesitate.
Love slows the pace
for the slowest of us.
Love - always - waits,
always protects,
always - makes - space.

The greatest love is slow
patience.
Heard someone say the opposite of love is hurry.  Made me think.
Jun 20 · 68
Blind love
Steve Page Jun 20
I pulled down the love is blind
and shut out the outside light,
and in the dark I let my love lead me
by touch alone, and so alone
we filled the room with our light
and kept the healing between us burning
til first chill of night,
when we saw it was safe to lift the blind
and tap our way back out into the world
- still alight
with our love is blind.
looking at blinds and got distracted
Jun 19 · 40
Don't hold on
Steve Page Jun 19
She said, 'its okay -
it's not what we thought
So it's time to stop short,
to let go, step back
and take a different route.
It's time to play a new track,
one which gives more scope
for dancing without tripping
for singing with no mind to the heckling.
So step back,
let go and go your way
while I go mine.
It's okay,
its just that this time
we both ran out
of each other's time.'
And she went.
Thomas W. Case got me listening to Tom Waits again.  This is a rift off Hold On.
Steve Page Jun 18
A pause
A choice of disconnection
A slow examination
of a proposed change in direction

An opening
An invitation
A deliberate fresh hearing
A much needed punctuation

A calming
A stilling
A waiting
A spacing

A surrender
A release
A long deep breath
And an unexpected
even deeper
God-given
Peace
Galatians 5 continued.
Jun 17 · 88
Relevant
Steve Page Jun 17
Holding my relevance
close to my chest
in case it's dropped
and lost
We all need to know our relevance
Jun 14 · 45
World Service
Steve Page Jun 14
The world is getting smaller
It's getting quicker too
But it's not getting any younger
A service is overdue
Steve Page Jun 13
Joy has a name
Whispered in awe,
Shouted in triumph and
Partied abroad.

Joy out-runs
Mourning and tears,
Drowns out hatred and
Drives out fears.

Joy brings peace
And laughter soon after,
Joy gives release and
Heals much faster.

Joy has a name
Above all others
His name is Jesus
Joy of many colours.
Galatians 5 - continued
Jun 13 · 46
Porcelain
Steve Page Jun 13
This cracked porcelain
This fragile identity
This inherited white-knighthood
This charging harbringer
of culture
of better
of superior
- has stumbled
under the weight
of warped history
and is on its knees
Still listening.
Jun 13 · 104
Street
Steve Page Jun 13
My street was full of aunties
and full of uncles too.
They weren't the same as family,
but grown-ups who we knew
- parents of my mates,
friends of mum and dad,
people I could trust to share
what it was they had.
- winter parties, summer trips
and massive paddling pools,
loads of music, lots of love
and laughter while we grew.
- common homes and gardens,
a street that was open plan,
family in every neighbour,
one big,
street-long
clan.
reminded of this older poem when thinking of community and what matters to an adult about their childhood - a reminder of what matters right now
Jun 13 · 502
Black Futures
Steve Page Jun 13
Black futures -
not a month
not a meme
not hash-tagged and gone
past in a blur.

Futures built
on the foundation of the past,
but rising past past expectations
and housing future generations
of black lives that answer back
and build better black futures.

The future's bright.
The future's colourful.
Still listening and learning.
Jun 9 · 69
Growth
Steve Page Jun 9
It's about GROWTH.
It's about what type of fruit
inevitability grows.
But you don't get to pick and choose,
you don't get to specialise -
You can't specify your choice of variety,
no, it's a job-lot, in its entirety.
But don't get stressed,
it's not about yield or performance,
it's not a contest.
It's about the kind of person you express,
the flavour of person folk taste
when you're most hard pressed.
It's about the fruit of God's Spirit,
the overflowing character of Jesus.
But don't fret,
don't boast -
it's about
GROWTH.
Galatians 5
Jun 8 · 67
A Home is so unmoved
Steve Page Jun 8
Home is so unmoved.  It stays as recalled
smelling of the comfort of the first and last
as if to harbour memories regardless
of age, refusing to release its hold,
it stands so full of heart, with echoes of dinner

with steam lifting from hefts of potatoes
and withered veg, an adamant replay
of striped tablecloths and brown orange plates,
long cracked and stacked. You see how it was
close your eyes and see the scrapes of plates, the kettle.  
And that mug.
After ‘A home is so sad’ Philip Larkin (The Whitsun Weddings)
Jun 2 · 668
Knees
Steve Page Jun 2
I hate knees
Knees hurt on the way down
the stairs to breakfast.
Knees hurt on impact
when I pray in earnest.
Knees transmit pain
signals to my brain relentless.
I hate knees.
Whether on necks
or where they belong,
on the ground.
I hate knees.
The last three lines added today 6 June, after a week of tears and bewilderment.
Jun 2 · 74
Lions and Zebras
Steve Page Jun 2
The blue lion applied reasonable force down on the black zebra's neck, his lazy authority reinforced with each passing minute.
And the world looked on.

The black zebra signaled his compliance with a little blood and by changing colour to a curious shade of purple.
And the world looked on.

His black herd cried, but kept their distance lest the blue pride took an unhealthy interest in them too.
And the world looked on.

The para lion checked for signs of death, unhurried under the just restraint of the blue law.
And the world looked on.

Eventually the carcass was rolled aside, deflated, unfortunately losing some of its colour.
And the world looked on.

Then later the black herd stampeded, making a wider spectrum of noise that couldn't be ignored.
And the world looked up, asking for the blue lions to do their job, and corrale the black zebras lest they frighten the white cubs.

And the world looked away.
"Like a zebra in the clutch of a lion's jaw."
Jun 1 · 121
Up your game
Steve Page Jun 1
Just cos you’re smarter don’t mean you’re righter
Just cos you’re slimmer don’t mean you’re fitter
Just cos you’re taller don’t mean you’re stronger
And just cos you’re whiter don’t mean you’re purer

God made us different to make a clear point
just take a look and a moment to think
It takes this diversity to reflect a great God
He glories in difference and angels applaud

when we reach across cracks made by our fear
when we stand against hatred and act when we hear
any suggestion of bias, a smidgen of bigotry
any ill-conceived comment that denies someone’s dignity

God made us each different, cos different ain’t boring
gender or pigment, brainy or brawny
God’s image is found in all colours and sizes
so please do your part to bridge what divides us

My last word must go to the average white male:
acknowledge the privilege our lives entail
no need to apologise, no need to feel shame
just walk with humility and please -
up your game
I'm an ex-copper here in London.  I saw (and see) plenty of evidence of authority being abused, or privilege going unacknowledged. I'm an average white male.  I'm privileged.  That don't mean I'm better, but it does mean I have greater responsibility to speak up.
May 29 · 65
Dog
Steve Page May 29
Dog
The mangy lab
and the golden retriever
sat waiting
as if asking – which would I choose?
Which was no choice at all.

Both belong to me
and both would follow me
at heel.
One to dog my steps
and one to push his head
under my empty hand
to let me know I have a friend.
'black dog' is a well used picture of depression, but I'm trying to learn fresh analogies that avoid using colour or age or gender to erroneously epitomize a characteristic.   Does mangy conjure up enough of a picture for you?
Steve Page May 27
Ignore the lyrics.

You can't pursue love. You don't find love.
Love's not a thing to be kept or to be had -
it's a doing word
that you just have to work at.

Love is a language expressed in deeds
and sometimes needs to get ****** to best succeed,
with a focus on what is needed whatever the cost
it’s a no-greater-love
that a friend gives on the way to the cross.

It’s a by-this-they-shall-know-you love
A lake-side more-than-these love
A one-another-as-I-have love.
A recognition of our debt of love,

So live relaying a reaffirming love,
Fulfill the greatest command of love,
Greet each other with a holy kiss of love
Build each other up with a that much stronger love.

Bear the heavy fruit of love
until it ripens into a truer love
that resembles in some small way
the seed that was that original
no-greater-love,

cos without love,
well, bruv
you and I,
no matter how loud we sing,
our branches are bear,

and we are nothing.
Kicking off a series on Galatians 5
May 25 · 70
Second Draft
Steve Page May 25
It's never clear to me where the dreams begin and
where the memories begin
but I know they both begin
to make sense after the first dozen times and
then once they make sense they cease to be interesting and
begin to bore me and
so I focus on waking up to both and
setting both feet on the cold stone floor where the **** and
the puke has already dripped through the cracks left
by the dance leaving a dry yellow stain just so
I know for sure I'm home and
not still in the in-between domain. And
I try to recall the detail but fail again,
so I start a new story where I'm the hero and
not a victim this time and
where there's no need for heroes cos everyone is in
a cooperative mood which makes me mad
- what's the point of a hero when
there's no heroism called for
- which makes me wonder who
called me here at this time of the night
when crows and bulldogs are the only ones awake and
are the only creatures who care about the size of the moon, oh and
me of course, so what's
that make me? some cross between a black arts symbol and
a patriot looking for a fight to justify the distrust and
anger I feel about the world

- blast and ******, I need a *** and
I need to puke so I lay back down, curl into my fetal and
let nature do it's worse. The warmth soothes me at first, but
soon enough the chill takes hold and
I wonder when mum will come and
tell me it's time for school.

The answer is exactly 30 seconds later and
as usual she notices nothing,
so imagination it is then
- not such a blessing then,
despite what the teacher said.
reworking a stream on consciousness to give it more of a handle
May 25 · 98
True Fruit
Steve Page May 25
Fruit goes off.
It gets mushy and smelly,
losing its colour and beauty - losing its taste,
eventually drying out,
losing all resemblance of what it once was,
only good for waste.

But fruit nurtured by a master grower,
a seasoned gardener,
fruit watched and watered til ripe and at its peak,
this fruit is harvested, fermented,
blended til building to a fuller physique,
brought to full maturity til ready for the table
and the banquet where no one's poor
and no-one is able to maintain a semblance of meek.

- where the gardener and the wine maker,
sit at the top seats smiling their blessing.
And the table branches out
giving room enough for the whole family gathering.

And the feast to end all feasts begins.
John 15 - I am the true vine.  Galatians 5 - The fruit of the Spirit.  A mash up.
May 24 · 172
Truth told
Steve Page May 24
Truth twisted or truth told?
Collusion or collaboration?
Who can tell what lies beneath:
Politician or statesman?
We need statesmen (women)
May 23 · 97
First draft
Steve Page May 23
It's never clear to me where the dreams begin and where the memories begin but I know they both begin to make sense after the first dozen times and then once they make sense they cease to be interesting and begin to bore me and so I focus on waking up to both and setting both feet on the cold stone floor where the **** and the puke has already dripped through the cracks left by the dance and have left a dry yellow stain just so I know for sure I'm home and not still in the in between domain. And I try to recall the detail but fail again, so I start a new story where I'm the hero and not a victim this time and where there's no need for heroes cos everyone is in a cooperative mood which makes me mad - what's the point of a hero when there's no heroism called for - which makes me wonder who called me here at this time of the night when crows and bulldogs are the only ones awake and the only creatures who care about the size of the moon, oh and me of course, so what's that make me, some cross between a black arts symbol and a patriot looking for a fight to justify the distrust and anger I feel about the world - blast and ******, I need a *** and I need to puke so I lay back down, curl into my fetal and let nature do it's worse. The warmth sooths me for a while, but soon enough the chill takes hold and I wonder when mum will come and tell me it's time for school.
The answer is exactly 30 seconds later - and as usual she notices nothing, so imagination it is then - not such a blessing despite what the poet said.
Stream of consciousness the tutor said. Let your imagination loose she said.  Okay.  There we have it.
May 21 · 103
New Weather
Steve Page May 21
I'm seeing new weather
Not a change of a few degrees
Not a rise or a fall
or an increase or decrease

But New

Weather not previously known
Never before seen
New weather, creating new
weather-worn scenes

Thick, slow rubber, raining
Single sunbeams of light
aimlessly floating
Heavy weight winds,
viciously falling
Warm salt, peppering
the horizon and once in a while,
if you're lucky,
Musical lightning

rumoured to be orchestrated by new angels
who aren't as predicable as their older cousins.
Stuff and nonsense?
May 16 · 261
Walking backwards
Steve Page May 16
I met a man walking backwards,
head to toe in high viz.
He was happy to ask for directions
and overtook the crowd with ease.

I met a man walking backwards,
telling me what was to come.
'Keep both eyes on the past,' he said,
'for the future is just re-runs.'
My daughter told me of a local man who walks everywhere backwards.  When she told me that hed asked for directions I just cracked up.  I haven't laughed that much in a while.
May 15 · 114
In the Spring
Steve Page May 15
In the Spring, when kings go off to war,
when last year's battles are rejoined
and daughters lose their fathers to the egos of man

In the Spring, when dormant vegetation raises its head,
when bulbs reveal the colour within
and pollination can work its propagating wonders

In the Spring when frost gives way to dew
and the air warms in the sun,

- it is in the Spring that I renew my allegiance to my creator God
and look to him, and to his Son, for my path.
I know it's a little late, but its heart felt.
May 11 · 65
Botched
Steve Page May 11
Do I look bovver'd it's botched?
You wanted bespoke and that’s just what you got.  
I’m chock-a-block with jobs,
so this the best of a very bad job.

It might look bog standard,
but remember it was already cack-‘anded,
so just shut your gob
with all your talk of you being robbed.  

Look, your ladyship, you might well be miffed,
but I’m sure you can make do with a little skew-wiffed,
so ‘and over the readies and make it swift -
I’ll walk away and we’ll call it quits.  

You know me and my rep round this manor,
if you don’t cough up I know a right tasty geezer
who will breeze over ‘ere and wrap each of his fingers
round a whole lot more than your French wind-ders.

- That’s a lot better, you’ve got a nice gaff
and I’m sure neither of us want all of the faff
that goes with ‘ard feelings and still ‘arder stares
through broken front wind-ders and costly repairs.

You know what I mean?
I was channeling Bob Hoskins for this one.   I'm from south east London - and some of it rubbed off on me.
May 9 · 109
Tide
Steve Page May 9
What will the tide bring in?
What will it later reveal?
Like time,
        it won't keep waiting.
Like love,
        it can't help but heal.
My boss uses a vivid phrase: it's only when the tide goes out, you see who's not wearing trunks.
Makes you think.
May 8 · 52
God is a poet
Steve Page May 8
This is my anthology of choice
This is where I hear God's voice -
a voice wrapped in grace
or punctuated with tearful praise.
User manual and admonishment
Hope and encouragement
Stories of enemies and friends
where battles end
in the end

This is my anthology of choice
This is where I hear God's voice -
a voice soft like a lover
spoken comfort like an open-armed Father
Substituting justice for forgiveness
Love Joy Peace and Patience

This is my anthology,
my community of choice

This is where I hear God's stanza'd voice -

Tonight,
God
is a poet.
A response to Robert Alter's 'The Art of Biblical Poetry' and rifting off 'God is a DJ' (Faithless)
May 5 · 233
I spent my day
Steve Page May 5
I spent my day breathing life into my memories.

I often walk or sit among them.
I give them
the attention they ask for
to maintain their roots.

I administer
the moisture they desire
to retain their colour
their scent.

I know they aren't
what they used to be
but they grow with me
and give me hope
for more
more beauty
more life
and more to live for.

I spent my day with my memories.
May 5 · 56
Windermere Children
Steve Page May 5
Afterwards I started feeling
like I am a human
being again.

That's what this place did to me
it brought back my human
in the reflection of the hills,
the lakes, the trees,

but doing nothing to fade the ink.
No one told me that I had been liberated,
I had lost my knowledge.

So I ran free to find my voice last heard
before the years lived with the lasting dead,
the years sat with the lasting hunger,

but I had everything, I had paradise. So I ran -
taking my time to reclaim my body for the hungry,
taking my time to reclaim my voice for the silent.

I stopped living through and started living slowly.
I slept and ate and grew into our new normality,
together again alone.

Running not marching
Breathing not moaning
Swimming not dying
Living not surviving

and my voice lived to tell.
This is where I belong - not alone.
For the child holocaust survivors transported to Windermere. I recommend the documentary
May 5 · 141
Bloom
Steve Page May 5
The blossom landed softly
and spread its smile unevenly
- even wickedly -
before over-reaching herself
and fading
into an inappropriate pink
only then to be reinforced
by a cherry drop
and another,
eventually
pooling
and forming a flower
of its own
in full bloom
Watching a ****** thriller and got distracted by the graphics.
May 3 · 93
If you want
Steve Page May 3
"If you want to change the world, pick up your pen and write...." ( and pin it up where it can be read)
Martin Luther.
1517 Martin Luther nailed his writing to the town notice board (the church door).  He kept writing, kept reading his writing publicly - some years 200 performances.  And got peoples' attention.
May 2 · 97
Perspective
Steve Page May 2
My life experience.
His timeless scripture.
Which is the lens?
And which is the picture?
My answers starting to change.
May 2 · 179
Package Deal
Steve Page May 2
When I tell you of my story
Will you lean in or turn away
When I share the cause of my hurt
Will you weep or find an escape

Can I trust you with my story
Can I rely on you to stay
Please tell me now not later
It's late, too late for games

If you stay to share my story
They'll be laughter with the tears
But they come with me as a package
With the wounds under repair
Relationships are tricky
May 2 · 106
Pushback
Steve Page May 2
You kept on pressing down
as if my heart couldn't break at all
As if the pressure you applied
would not take it's heavy toll

You kept on pressing down
as if my body could absorb
Every blow and every insult
rebounding off your inner wars

You kept on pressing down
not believing I'd react
But now it's me who's pressing down
and you who's on your back
Domestic abuse is a greater problem in lockdown.
Apr 30 · 183
Sorbet
Steve Page Apr 30
I was not expecting,
given its colour and its texture
and given my preference
for the familiar,
I was not expecting
my hand to take the spoon
to scoop, to lift
the lemon to my mouth
and I was surely not expecting
the ice to wrap my head
in silk
enveloping my shoulders
my arms
and fall into my chest,
forcing my mouth back open
to take in the warmth of the smiles
and expel my laughter
as I reached for more.

Yet my life is not as expected
and not aligned to my preferred,

but oh for more silk and laughter -
I wasn't expecting that ending.
Apr 30 · 84
Where the quiet is
Steve Page Apr 30
If I
when I'm shouting
when I'm shouting in the tin-roof rain
against the stadium crowd
If I
when in the white shadow of her pain
bone marrow and head to toe
If I
fail to make myself heard
then I only have myself to blame

- I'm practiced enough
in finding a way through
through careful positioning
through forceful attention grabbing
with her head in both hands
taking her head to mine
and catching her eyes
brow to brow and toe to toe
until she knows I'm there
and that she can come back to us here
where the quiet is.
Sensory overload in children is crippling.  This was kicked off by a reading of https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46483/danse-russe .  But I went in a different direction.
Apr 27 · 31
Googlejitsu
Steve Page Apr 27
Feet flat, knees level,
I take the laptop position:
wrists and forearms relaxed,
shoulders loose.
I begin with a quick and precise combination
of key words flowing like darts from my fingers.
I ignore the too obvious feints and
scroll swiftly down,
keeping my laptop balanced
as I consider my options with care.
Sweeping away retail sites that got past my blocks
I focus on my target
and execute a killer click
and - bow
to sup my cooling tea.
I'm a Google master.
I'm spending more time on my laptop of late
Apr 27 · 100
Clouds
Steve Page Apr 27
I knew a formidable, tempestuous man
and whilst he did much to his credit,
his dark grey moods
and the air that turned blue
clouded his very real merits.
Apr 25 · 98
Nursery Rhyme #3
Steve Page Apr 25
Jack and Jill went up to Lidl
To queue for toilet paper
Jack got bored and soon he snored
Jill's patience was much greater

Jill queued on and moved along
Until allowed to enter
She found a pack and on the way back
Kicked Jack with pent-up anger.
A response to Jack & Jill.
Apr 25 · 122
Nursery Rhyme #2
Steve Page Apr 25
Steve Page the elder
Sat with real pleasure
Eating his birthday cake
He took a large bite
And got a great fright
He'd swallowed his tongue by mistake.
A response to Little Jack Horner.
Apr 25 · 84
Nursery Rhyme #1
Steve Page Apr 25
Steve the poet sat at his desk
Steve the poet made a great mess
All of his pencils and all of his pens
Couldn't help Steve make a stanza of sense
A response to Humpty Dumpty.
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