In the name of the Father,
In the name of the Son,
In the name of the Spirit,
You’re washed in the blood,
Buried with Christ,
Raised in new life,
Baptised

I step into the sacred waters where mercy flows like a gentle stream,
Each ripple echoing the promise of a love that cleanses and renews.
The remnants of my past dissolve into the current,
Washed away by grace, leaving a soul reborn in light.

In the quiet depths, I find the strength to let go of my burdens,
Knowing that in every drop of water there is forgiveness,
And the silent power of resurrection whispers through the tide.
The old is laid to rest beneath the surface,
As the promise of new life sings in the rising dawn.

With every breath, I carry the legacy of sacrifice and hope,
A heartbeat resounding with the truth of redemption.
In the stillness after the flood, the Spirit rises within me,
Transforming despair into a vibrant hymn of faith,
A testimony that beyond every trial lies the embrace of eternal love.

Now, walking in the radiance of this unending grace,
I discover that the scars of yesterday become symbols of tomorrow's strength.
In the glow of divine mercy, I stand unashamed,
A living rebirth, forever marked by the transformative power of the Spirit.

Each step forward is a pilgrimage of the heart,
An affirmation that, through baptism, we are renewed,
And the miracle of resurrection echoes in every moment -
Guiding us ever onward in a journey of love, hope, and eternal life.

Bitters fade away
Golden brew soothes heavy souls
Joy in each small sip

Froth crowns the moment
Memories swirl like soft foam
Cheers spark a new dawn

Raise a glass tonight
Laughter echoes in soft clinks
Hope in every toast

The family gathered, voices bright,  
In the steakhouse glow of amber light.  
Sizzling plates and stories shared,  
Love well-seasoned, deeply cared.  

The mother poured a glass of red,  
Softly nodding at words once said.  
The father carved the tender beef,  
A simple act, yet rich belief.  

Children whisper, napkins torn,  
Trading bites with giggles worn.  
Fizzy drinks, dripping fries,  
Magic dancing in their eyes.  

The grandpa chuckled, took a sip,  
Savouring time that tends to slip.  
For in the hum of knife and fork,  
Life was seasoned—bold, uncorked

I was born in fire, cracked, burned, sealed.  
Scorched by fate, my essence peeled.  
No longer whole, no longer free,  
Yet now I wait - dark destiny.  

I drown in steam, in boiling deep,  
My whispers lost, my echoes weep.  
No hands will mourn, no voices cry,  
Yet still I serve, still I comply.  

A sip, a sigh, a fleeting thrill,  
I pass through lips, yet linger still.  
A phantom taste, a bitter spark,  
A sacrifice to fuel the dark.

What does this word mean to me?
It starts from long ago,
A different dimension
I question, ‘did it exist?’
The era of no mobile phones
Permed hair dos, ‘what was I thinking-and those glasses, yuk!’
‘Aha - Take on me-a reminder

A child of thirteen
Having older sisters had its downside.
They played mean
Giving me milk to drink,
And taking pride,
Then jumping on my stomach
as my back sinks
into the cold soil and the
Freshly mowed grass.
Then the scientific results -
They pass.
Milk trickles down my nostrils.
They laughed hysterically
And I sighed.

Then being tagged along with them and their boyfriends
Because they were told to look after me.
Gooseberry.

We used to go gooseberry picking with our parents
Yet this was ordered, no running, skipping or general play
My parents later split.
When we got home though, Mum made this into gooseberry pie,
I already taste the warm, juicy sweetness on the inside
With a crunch on the outside.
Drizzled with hot, sweet creamy custard poured on top.

Even then, being inside trapped my spirits,
Especially on a warm sunny day.
The woods were calling me
Exploring alone,
Finding alone,
Gooseberries
But then feeling the tummy ache.
Remember that Mum said to wash them first!
Not everything in life comes with a clean conscience
Choose carefully
If only i listened then,
what heartache would I save myself.

Yet those joys of being thirteen,
Then climbing trees,
Feeling proud as the sun shadows the path with branches.
Life filled my soul to perfection.
Innocence.
A glimpse of God where the sun echoed,
In spring
amongst the sounds of children playing in the woods,
Never growing weary
Keeping faith - my heart
Though it hurt
Now tasting the fruit

In the concrete jungles, I rise - an echo among forgotten voices, bearing the scars of urban sorrow etched into the crumbling facades of life.

Each verse bears the marks of true struggle, the worn hands of workers, the tired eyes of those left dancing with shadows, their whispered histories woven into ink.

I walk the alleys of shattered dreams, where hope trembles like a frail ember, translating the stark cadence of hardship into raw, unyielding lines of truth.

The burden is heavy - a relentless gravity pulling me into the depths of worn stories, yet in each honest stanza, I find a spark, a subtle defiance that carves a path through despair.

For in this commitment to unvarnished reality, my pen becomes a bridge between silence and voice, and though the weight may press upon my spirit, it is the pulse of the oppressed that fuels my every word.

I will explore how everyday struggles forge art from hardship. What truths rest behind the façade of our city streets, and which emotions lie untold in the margins of our collective existence?

Time rolls like a stream
Carving out life’s secret ways
Dawn whispers softly,
Moments heal our weary hearts
Time enfolds us in new light.