We've sailed cerulean seas to pastel shores,
Known only to the glorious few,
We have disembarked, ready to explore,
As our lone ship waits slumbering in view
of the glorious bay. Light paints daybreak
across the sky. We see the rising sun
through imagined jungle—and hesitate:
The image lingers, but it must be done,
Eyes close. Toward the interior we turn
remembering, and hoping to return.

Silver speckled specks sprinkle the night sky
Spectacular sparks
Spots of light, flying by

A meteor shower

I stare up at the sight
Lying in a quiet field
The cities light far in the distance
Delighting in the darkness
A portal to another dimension often hidden
Paradoxically, a reality obscured by light
Away from the truth the light reveals
I now relish in the truth of the dark
The view of the night sky
A portal to the past
Yet also to the present

Back supported by the cool, firm earth
My visual field consumed
Filled with infinity
I soon realize
Here, now, in this moment
I have no head

Where my head should be
Is the night sky
Myriad stars and the endless space between

When juxtaposed to infinity
Actual, immeasurable infinity
Even my stubborn ego
Cannot keep up the fight
I dissolve into the night
And each gleaming point of light
Sometimes streaming across so bright
A glorious glint
On a short fated flight
Undertaken anyway
Without even a hint
Of spite


Each ephemeral illumination
Mirrors the spark of creation
The egoic conflagration
This meandering mentation
Of thought
Pure invention
Now caught
My attention
Now an ought
Instead of is

Rumination replaces reality
In between the stars and me
Not physical, still I cannot see
My attention follows helplessly

Infinity recedes
Thought impedes
Advice I do not heed
A voice I do not need

As suddenly as it began, it disappears
The thought vanished, my mind clears
Again I have no head
My bed is the earth
My view is infinite
Each star a blazing hearth
Billions giving birth to light across the galaxy
In this small piece that I can see
I peacefully float
In infinity
No self at all
No head to call my own
I make the world my home

Where have I come from?
Where am I headed?
What am I doing here?
Does it feed my soul’s desire?
Who am I?
Am I who I want to be?
Am I who I’m destined to be?

Into the woods
Seeking solace and R&R,
Away from civilisation,
And the dreaded mobile phone.
Off grid, switched off and outnumbered by trees,
Explore who I am, what I’m doing, where I’m heading.
At 50
Time to take stock,
Reappraise and reapply,
And fulfil my soul’s path.

How do you do that?
When you don’t know what it is
When you don’t know who you are
When you’ve never truly been you.
Always wanting desperately to fit in,
but never seeming able.
Afraid of being judged,
yet judging too.
Never taking action
for consequential fear.
Drifting through life,
Disassociated,
Disconnected,
Discombobulated,
No surprise.
Disengaged,
Discontented,
Disenchanted.

5 nights in the woods
Just me and my tent.
Walking all day,
Staring in the fire all night.
Sitting in peace and quiet amongst coppice, hornbeam and oak
Seeking answers
With none forthcoming.
Other than taking time out.
And dreaming of
Living the #vanlife
Going where the mood takes me.
No rush, no worries, no cares,
Just me and my camper van
Freedom and
Flexibility.

Travelling on the road,
Meeting kindness of strangers,
Comfy dress down
No airs and graces,
Deep conversations,
Connection,
Move on.
Being the nomadic free spirit,
that’s me.

But is it an escape?
A way to stay disconnected?
A way to not face up to feelings
Of anger and shame?
Or will it be the making of me?
The discovery of me?
The adventurer in me?

Spin the wheel
Steer toward the horizon
My body, a ship
Sailing for the sunset
The sky finds home in my eyes
And salt teases my tongue
The world is my sea
And I am a land locked creature
That wishes to drown her skin
Within the sea of exploration

It’s really, truly morbid, how my vehicle came to me,
Twas’ the death of a friend of a friend of a friend
Of a friend who was close to thee
He was dead when I got your keys.  
I find that I’m quite infatuated, by your shining, crimson flair  
And your window that squeaks, and your faux leather seats,  
Stained carpets and central air
Who knew trucks could be debonair?  
Shall I name all life’s pains that mean naught in you?
Like that person who says, and then he says, and she says
They all say, and then it is true
So, I drive to find new points of view.
We will thrive on gasoline fumes and the human will
Until the ground is ****** dry and wells shot
Till then, freedom, adventure, and hidden hills
Will be ours, you and I, Bombadil.

He must feel alone.
Okay, yes, I know he’s just a drone.
But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel alone.
He must miss Earth, his home.

At night he must stare at the sky,
At the stars and the moon,
Wishing that he’ll come home soon.

Little does he know that his live feed,
Is no longer seen.
The messages he’s sending,
Are deemed a waste of spending.
Because down here on Earth,
We’ve reevaluated his worth.

But no one let him know,
Up there all alone.
That drone.
That must miss Earth, his home.

Time is an adventure.
It carries us regardless of our willingness.
The past is  memory,
present is memory.
Future?
I stopped, then continued,
The future is the untold story.