#poetryoflife
***
THE LIFE OF NATURE—
"Waves roll restless tides whisper moonlit secrets."
"Mountains stand silent peaks crowned in drifting cloud."
"Fire’s burns bright embers faded ash remembers heat."
THE CITY STREETS—
"Pavements pulse footsteps tap stories never told."
"Neon flickers rain-slick streets glow restless nights."
"Buskers play coins fall hope sings through noise."
CHILDHOOD—
"Chalk dust flies’ laughter rings sun holds the day."
"Small feet race wide wonder lives in every step."
"Night lights glow softly fears fade in safe arms."
ADOLESCENCE—
"Questions rise fast answers slip just out of reach."
"Voices shift tone edges form testing new ground."
"Friendships burn bright loyalties turn quick and sharp."
TEEN YEARS—
"Mirrors hold long faces change searching for self."
"Hearts beat loud first love blooms then break apart."
"Road’s stretch far choices weigh futures take shape."
May 1
May 1, 2026 at 4:15 AM UTC
Lessons of the past
guide our uncertain footsteps,
creating new pathways.
Through wind and rain we move on,
braving the unknown ahead.
Doubt drifts behind us,
courage steadies every step.
Moments call our names—
no room for fear or regret,
live this life to its fullest.
Apr 10
Apr 10, 2026 at 12:15 PM UTC
There are moments
when words fall short…
short silence
says even less…
Less time
moves slowly…
slowly slipping
through our hands…
Hands try
to hold on…
on life
as it passes…
Passes love
within us…
us holding back
what we should show…
Show more…
more than we did…
did we miss
what mattered most?
Most days
now feel distant…
distant thoughts
of if only…
Only I had…
Apr 6
Apr 6, 2026 at 4:10 AM UTC
The Road That Made Me
***
Cavendish Road,
my street, my home.
My first memories—
Stanley Road school, then Westdale Juniors.
The training started early,
walking that steep hill on Cavendish Road,
age six,
legs burning on the way up,
freedom flying on the run back down.
Back in the ’60s,
the road was our playground—
full of adventure.
Through twitches and alleyways we ran,
racing push bikes from the Cavo Pub to the hilltop,
then tearing back down—
no helmets, no pads,
just bare skin and courage,
scrapes and bruises the prize.
The good old days, we say.
Knock knock on doors,
everyone knew everyone—
and it didn’t take long
for Mum and Dad to know.
And back then,
it wasn’t a soft talking to—
body armour was comics
down the back of your pants.
Wednesday nights were swimming,
and in summer,
Brickyard ponds.
Pirates and Redcoats—
until we lost George.
He just disappeared.
We didn’t understand.
Time and resilience brought us back,
but we never played pirates again,
never swam those ponds.
The teenage years came fast.
Off to Cavo secondary—
good years.
Not much time in class,
always somewhere else—
gymnastics, trampolining,
cross country running.
Anything but sitting still,
writing page after page
about history, science,
or the English language—
something I’m still learning.
I liked the girls though.
Then came a time
they liked me.
What a street I lived on—
everything I needed.
Life was full.
At fifteen,
I joined the Army—
Junior Leaders Regiment, Royal Artillery.
A life of its own.
Coming home on leave,
back to my street—
at first, nothing changed.
Then slowly,
people I knew moved away.
Years later,
back in the Cavo Pub—
the Cavendish, to give it its name.
Old school friends,
old times,
banter, darts, pool.
But shock hit hard—
so many of the lads and gals
lost to drugs of every kind.
I loved my street.
I loved what it taught me—
love, joy, pain, loss.
But life moves on,
and so did I.
A new home,
twenty-six years lived—
but the games were real now:
real pain,
real fear,
far too many losses.
Still—
resilience,
and the pull of memory,
brought me home.
I still love my street.
Cavendish Road—
my foundation.
still that boy,
from my street—
with a life of poetry within.
By Paul Baldry (LongJohn)
Mar 31
Mar 31, 2026 at 6:47 AM UTC
Rooted deep in love’s embrace
Each connection leaves a trace
Loyal hearts that intertwine
Affection shared through space and time
Trust the bridge that holds us near
In every hug, the world feels clear
Open arms and listening ears
Nurture bonds that calm our fears
Sacred ties that never fade
Hope and joy together made
Infinite strength in unity
Promises kept in harmony
Souls aligned in empathy
Mar 21
Mar 21, 2026 at 5:41 AM UTC
Dear younger me,
I know you’re confused right now.
You’re sitting in a quiet room,
staring at the cracked ceiling above your bed,
the slow fan turning in tired circles,
wondering why life feels heavier for you
than it seems for everyone else.
You think something is wrong with you.
You watch others move forward easily—
passing exams, making plans,
laughing without carrying weight.
And you wonder
why every step for you
feels like walking through mud
on a long road after rain.
I wish I could sit beside you for a moment.
Not to change anything,
because strangely…
every painful chapter you’re living now
is shaping the person I became.
Yes, you will fail sometimes.
Yes, people will misunderstand you.
Some will leave.
Some will laugh.
There will be nights
when the world feels too heavy
and the silence of your room
feels louder than any crowd.
There will even be moments
when you feel lost enough
to question whether you should continue at all.
But listen carefully.
Those nights will not destroy you.
They will build something inside you
that many people never develop—
depth.
One day you will understand
that pain was not your enemy.
It was a teacher.
A quiet teacher.
It taught you patience
during the slow days when nothing moved.
It taught you kindness
when you began to see how much others suffer.
It taught you humility
when pride would have made you blind.
You won’t become the loudest person in the room.
But you will become someone
who understands people.
And that is a rare kind of strength.
One day you will leave home,
walk through unfamiliar cities,
and begin building a life
piece by piece.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Step by step along that muddy road.
And one day,
the boy who once felt like a burden
will stand as a man
his family can lean on.
Your parents will no longer look at you
with worry in their eyes.
They will look at you
with calm.
Maybe even pride.
And when that day comes,
you will finally understand something important—
None of those painful years were wasted.
They were forging you.
The road was simply longer for you.
But one day
your steps will reach solid ground.
So don’t hate yourself
for struggling.
Just keep walking.
I promise you—
I’ll be waiting for you there.
— From the man
you are slowly becoming.
Mar 7
Mar 7, 2026 at 3:57 AM UTC
***
The mirror
never lies.
It waits.
Patient.
Silent.
Watching who we become.
And when we stand before it—
everything appears.
The moments we cherish.
The ones we try to forget.
Some reflections
make us smile.
Others
ask difficult questions.
There are memories
we wish we could place
far behind us.
Yet somehow
the mirror keeps them close.
Not to punish us—
but to teach us.
Sometimes pain
speaks through it.
A quiet voice
reminding us
where we have been.
Other times
peace appears.
A calmer face.
A stronger heart.
Proof
that we have grown.
The mirror
does not judge.
It simply shows.
And if we are brave enough
to look carefully—
we find something there.
Courage.
Listen
when the mirror calls.
Learn from what it shows.
Because life
is not about perfection.
It is about reflection.
Falling.
Rising.
And stepping forward
still alive
inside the journey.
By Paul Baldry (LongJohn)
Mar 5
Mar 5, 2026 at 3:58 PM UTC
A Nostalgic Tale
By Paul Baldry
Went to the car wash today,
sat inside like royalty,
watching a lad outside
fighting my motor
with soaps, sprays,
and chemicals that
sound like they need
a licence to operate.
He caught my eye,
I caught his,
we swapped a smile —
and suddenly I was
ten years old again,
back when hardly
anybody had a car
but we still managed
to build an empire.
A Bob a wash,
ten pence for the wee yins,
and don’t start me
on the currency conversion —
I’ve done that lecture
too many times.
Half a Crown for the truck,
aye, 2/6,
25p in new money
for those still struggling.
No fancy gear then.
Just buckets, rags,
washing up liquid
nicked from under
the kitchen sink,
and a sweeping brush
that doubled as
a wheel scrubber
and a jousting lance
depending on the mood.
If they wanted polish,
they got Pledge —
furniture polish,
straight from your mammy’s cupboard.
The truck was a saga...
mops, ladders,
and the occasional
near death slip
that we laughed off
because we were immortal.
We soaked each other
more than the cars,
and a few passers by
caught a blast too —
all accidental,
all hilarious,
all part of the graft.
Honest work,
good fun,
and enough money
for swimming,
the cinema,
and sweets the size
of actual sweets,
not these modern
micro morsels.
No screens,
no apps,
just community spirit,
soap suds,
and the joy of
a job well done.
And today,
watching that lad
with his high tech arsenal,
I realised car washing
has become a skill,
a science even —
but back then
it was magic.
Feb 14
Feb 14, 2026 at 9:20 AM UTC
Your passion is fierce and fiery,
soaking my longing dry,
wrapping your flames of desire
tightly around my body.
We hold long conversation,
then you turn me to the door,
charred and spent,
all before the rise of dawn.
Feb 6
Feb 6, 2026 at 6:16 AM UTC
No map, no marks, no guided hand,
Just shifting feet on sinking sand.
I didn't reach, I simply fell,
Like paint that finds the canvas well.
Without a rule, without a choice,
I found my heart, but lost my voice.
Jan 29
Jan 29, 2026 at 10:00 AM UTC
Nothing changes.
Life in the base.
Same chessboard,
And endless chase…
for nothing.
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 10:30 AM UTC
They wander in search of ancient shrines,
Endlessly roaming, people seek the divine.
Each day, a new address for God, they say—
Even He seems to move away.
I’ve watched the roads, the cars, the skies,
Even learned to watch my thoughts arise.
No one leaps to a final stand,
Man merely roams across the land.
When the wind, with careless grace,
Blows away cheap plastic bags in chase.
I've seen, at the edge of fleeting delight,
So many drift through the dreamy life.
All joy and sorrow now congeal,
Even the finest feels unreal.
Wearing pride as his only name,
A hidden serpent feeds on pointless fame.
And leaving behind the soul of sight,
He spins in circles, day and night.
Rather than stepping deep within,
He dances round the veil of sin.
I’ve watched the roads, the cars, the skies,
Even learned to watch my thoughts arise.
No one leaps to a final stand,
Man merely roams across the land.
They wander in search of ancient shrines,
Endlessly roaming, people seek the divine.
Each day, a new address for God, they say—
Even He seems to move away.
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 9:14 AM UTC
It started with a girl—
Differently wired,
Her hands, her heart
Moved to rhythm the world didn't always catch.
As I watched her,
she loved,
and smiled
Simply as she was.
At first sight,
I am unable to comprehend—
Though uneasy,
Grateful still for life.
As I watch,
I traced her face with my eyes
Studied her closely.
I asked myself
about the questions
she asks herself.
I wonder—
If she says,
“Why can't I just be normal?”
If she whispers,
“I wish I could stand, I wish I could speak”
“Why must must I be differently-abled?"
I wonder if she questions her existence,
Measures her worth
Against the ordinary,
Against the ease
With which the world moves
Then I wonder—
What truly is normality.
It is jarring
that I, too, ask the same question.
And I weigh my own fate,
Against the ease of others,
and ask the same
“whys” or “what ifs.”
So if she is told she is less,
and if she asked to be normal,
Why should the so-ordinary
question the same fate
when our destinies
are completely different?
And I wonder—
Have we mistaken being normal,
or do we all carry the same question
even with our different fates?
Which is it?
Are we to be grateful either way,
or does one have the right to ask
while the other must be silenced?
They say those altered in form have it worse
than the ones who seem whole,
but I see her echo differently—
And in that echo,
She is whole.
Aug 30, 2025
Aug 30, 2025 at 6:17 AM UTC
We all run after the ones
who don’t even turn to see us,
while the ones who truly care—
we leave waiting in the shadows.
And by the time we realize,
the gems are gone.
Yes… we are humans.
Flawed, emotional, and often, just a little too late.
Jul 6, 2025
Jul 6, 2025 at 1:07 AM UTC
Sacrifices
Painful, yet worthy.
Exist in every aspect of life.
As a child,
some fun if health doesn't permit.
As a teenager,
sacrificing extracurriculars to fulfill parents' expectations.
As an adult,
leaving passions to drown in a stressful job in order to lift responsibilities.
As a partner,
sacrificing one’s own wishes to prioritize partner's likes and dislikes.
As a parent,
keeping personal luxuries aside to uplift children happily.
Sacrifices—
even though seem tough to do,
give a sense of calm and content after seeing later results.
Jul 5, 2025
Jul 5, 2025 at 11:15 AM UTC
I’m in a drought for time— yet flooded with ideas.
as the sun rises with the dust, and by dusk, all hope
feels spent, or quietly scattered.
I know destiny calls— even without a map, signal
or a location marked. "Yeah, I don’t know what
I’m doing," I often confess, in quotation marks—
still walking toward the shape of who I’m meant
to become.
Pushing through bruises and bitter slights—real joy
flickers, but most smiles still feel perfectly rehearsed.
To stay above the arrows, but never ahead of myself—
sharp enough, still, to pierce through the soft fabric
of my many, many daily doubts. And I’m learning:
sometimes the cage has no door— but only the illusion
of one, built from fear.
There’s always a world just outside of it— _waiting._
We’re all just finding ourselves day by day.
_And life?_ It’s one day after another— until, finally,
you recognize the person you've been becoming
all along.
Jun 22, 2025
Jun 22, 2025 at 4:20 PM UTC
I lay there,
Face pressed into a pillow
Wet with every reason to scream.
“What did I do?”
“What did I do?”
Like a scratched record stuck
On guilt and grief and ******* helplessness.
She said she didn’t want it.
So why did she go through with it?
Why leave me behind
When I was already ruined?
I loved her.
I still do.
I saw us building things—
A life with messy mornings
And laughter so loud it cracked the ceiling.
But she’s married now.
She’s gone.
And I’m still here.
Still breathing.
Still pretending it doesn’t hurt as much as it does.
- THE END -
© 2025 June, Hasanur Rahman Shaikh.
All rights reserved.
Jun 11, 2025
Jun 11, 2025 at 8:27 AM UTC
She was a simple girl.
A kind, happy going, compassionate and a talented one.
Over thinking was her hobby.
Taking pain was common for her.
She valued people more than self…
And received pain more than she deserved!!
Jun 9, 2025
Jun 9, 2025 at 2:49 AM UTC
During the chess game,
she made a good move.
I smiled a little,
typed:
"Nice"
Just felt right.
A simple thing.
No reply.
We played on.
It ended—a draw.
Then came her words.
First:
"indian"
I blinked.
Felt the air shift.
Then, second:
"monkey"
I just sat there.
Not hurt yet. Not angry.
Just… stunned.
Like: is this real?
I typed back:
"Why"
I added:
"You broke my heart"
I read it again.
Still stunned.
I didn’t know her.
Didn’t do anything.
We just played.
Then she dropped:
"virginity"
That word.
Out of nowhere.
Then:
"i no interesed"
"bye"
It didn’t sting.
It didn’t burn.
It just confused me.
Like the wind changed direction
and I wasn’t ready.
I wrote:
"Virginity?"
"What are you saying?"
No reply.
Just me,
sitting with a drawn game
and a question
I never saw coming.
Hope this poem reaches you.
To Juana Dayana
Of Colombia—
From HRS,
An Indian soul,
Caught in a drawn game’s pull.
- THE END -
© 2025 June, Hasanur Rahman Shaikh.
All rights reserved.
Jun 8, 2025
Jun 8, 2025 at 6:34 AM UTC
Even after tasting all cuisines from different time squares,
Eating home food by your mom’s hand is what gives you satisfaction.
Not getting full marks,
But getting extra marks than expected is what gives you satisfaction.
Showering love and caring siblings is cute,
But teasing them and irritating them is what gives you satisfaction.
Dad buying the things we wanted is okay,
But buying them with our own hard-earned money is what gives you satisfaction.
Seeing happiness on your dad’s face is nice,
But you being the reason behind his pride and happiness is what immense satisfaction is.
May 20, 2025
May 20, 2025 at 11:03 AM UTC
They said,
“Enjoy your childhood.”
But forgot to mention
how the world
starts weighing more
the moment
you understand it.
Apr 12, 2025
Apr 12, 2025 at 2:05 AM UTC
Some rest in a lover’s trembling hands,
whispering vows too soft to last.
Some lie upon a quiet chest,
a farewell kiss from petals past.
Some twirl free in the morning breeze,
brushing the sky in fleeting flight.
Some are pressed between old pages,
holding echoes of moonlit nights.
Some are worn behind an ear,
a fragrant crown for fleeting youth.
Some are crushed beneath careless feet,
forgotten before they bloomed.
Some wilt alone, unseen, unsung,
fading into the earth once more.
Yet all have known a moment’s grace,
a touch, a tear, a love once pure.
For every petal tells a story,
each bloom a breath, a life, a chance—
and whether scattered, held, or broken,
every flower still must dance.
— 🌸
Mar 26, 2025
Mar 26, 2025 at 2:14 PM UTC
In the chatter of magpies, beneath the sky so blue,
Nishu's words dance, and the world feels new.
"In the afternoon, below a grey blue sky" —
Her poetry, a song, as the moments fly.
"I hear the chatter of the magpies," she writes,
A symphony of joy, a vision in the lights.
We, too, find solace in those quiet calls,
Where nature whispers, and the soul enthralls.
Your “Collectibles,” a treasure chest deep and true,
Each line a memory, a fragment of you.
"Some may call it clutter, junk," they say,
But your words are more—the treasures we display.
"Welcome Solitude," a gentle space,
Where poetry breathes, with its calm embrace.
Like your lines, Nishu, we, too, find peace,
In the rhythm of life, where the soul’s release.
"In every flower, there is a poem," you write,
And in your work, a garden blooming bright.
Your words, like petals, unfold with grace,
And in your verses, we find our place.
Nishu, your poetry is the light of the day,
A guide through the hours, a warm ray.
Thank you for your words, your art so fine,
For showing us beauty through your poetic line.
Mar 26, 2025
Mar 26, 2025 at 11:16 AM UTC
Romance it was,
when I thought
that in this country
I would feel at home.
When I boarded that plane,
headed for the future.
A promising future,
full of trials
and many successes.
I crossed borders,
both physical and emotional.
I never thought my life
would fit into a suitcase.
In my suitcase,
only a few clothes,
but filled with everything
that pushed me forward.
The rest was in my mind:
the embrace of my mother and father.
Will this be the last time I see them?
Longing and nostalgia,
a feeling in my chest.
I don’t know if it’s sadness or love,
pride for doing
what many cannot,
and yet, I dare.
Now I find myself here,
I am the different one,
the one who speaks with an accent.
Strong in life,
wondering what I’m doing here,
searching for my path.
Not for an earthly purpose,
but because the universe
needs me here.
It seems like a terrestrial journey,
but it is an astral journey
to another reality.
Many times I cry,
other times I comfort myself.
I am no longer from here,
but neither from there.
When I say,
"I am from the world,"
I find myself.
Mar 13, 2025
Mar 13, 2025 at 7:32 AM UTC
"Becoming more me"
a whisper rising from the depths,
where silence births creation’s glow,
where poetry finds breath.
"Words out of nowhere flow in me",
you paint the night with untamed thought,
a soul that lingers, sleepless, bright,
where dawn and ink are caught.
"Still upward in this journey I be",
climbing where the fog is deep,
where sorrow walks but faith remains,
where echoes softly weep.
"Love drifts, lost inside some emotion",
embers flicker, then ignite,
falling into tear-streaked eyes,
turning darkness into light.
"Bringing out more of me",
your voice is both the storm and sky,
your poetry a lantern’s glow
when heavy shadows lie.
Weeping Willow, your words move like rivers,
unfolding between stillness and storm.
Each verse a pulse, each thought a breath,
a melody where the soul is reborn.
If you find these words, may they be a mirror,
reflecting the beauty you bring to the world.
Mar 8, 2025
Mar 8, 2025 at 5:05 AM UTC