Geof Spavins: Poems - Hello Poetry

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13h · 28

🖤 Elegy for the Madman 🖤

Geof Spavins 13h

🖤 Elegy for the Madman 🖤

The moon’s gone black in Birmingham skies,
A wail of thunder as the last bat flies.
From Paranoid dreams to No More Tears,
You roared through chaos, defied your fears.

A Crazy Train we rode with you,
Derailing norms like rebels do.
You howled at night, you bit the flame,
The Madman carved his own acclaim.

Blizzard of Ozz blew through the scene,
White-hot riffs, distortion keen.
You danced with demons, eyes ablaze,
In Sabbath’s shadow and solo craze.

No saint, yet sacred in your howl,
A prophet in a leather cowl.
From Mr. Crowley’s haunted keys,
To Diary of a Madman’s pleas.

You blurred the line ‘tween grave and stage,
A jester-poet, wild with rage.
Even The Ultimate Sin was crowned
With riffs that tore the heavens down.

And now the silence creeps ashore,
The curtains close, you sing no more.
But echoes rise in every chord,
Forever fierce, forever adored.

So sleep now, Ozzy, cradle flame
The Iron Man has earned his name.
Your voice, a storm that never dies,
Still screaming through eternal skies.

RIP Ozzy

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1d · 18

Where Wildflowers Rot

Geof Spavins 1d

Where Wildflowers Rot

I remember you, not in moonlight or sonnets, but in the stench of smoke-filled pillows, half-smirked apologies, and the cold hum of your phone screen glowing too long after midnight.

Love didn’t bloom here, it cracked through concrete where **** and poppies tried to coexist, where we kissed like threats, mouths drunk on leftover gin and borrowed forgiveness.

You spoke in edits, cutting out truths like clutter, calling silence “space,” calling me “intense,” like affection was something to ration, not pour.

I touched your skin and felt the echo of all the hands before mine, none of them holy, just loud.

Hope tasted metallic. I bled through your quiet, left fingerprints on walls you never looked at, and wrote poems you never posted.

So when they ask where wildflowers go, I say: some rot. Some get plucked by liars. Some learn to bloom with fists. And some break through anyway, but they don’t weep. They spit.

by Geof (companion to Ink Queen’s “Where Wildflowers Weep”)

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1d · 27

New Skin

Geof Spavins 1d

New Skin

In trembling arms I stood on the edge to begin new skin.
Her ghost still warmed our mattress, yet I dared to begin new skin.

Your fingertips mapped the hollow of memory to begin new skin.
Grief, soft as a wild thing, intertwined with desire to begin new skin.

In that hush where past and future whispered, I chose to begin new skin.
Not betrayal but benediction unfolded in each breath to begin new skin.

Dawn sifted through blinds, prayers pressed to my ribs to begin new skin.
Loss and longing cupped me tenderly, shaping courage to begin new skin.

In the gravity of your hold I claimed grace again to begin new skin
This heart, once fractured, mends with every pulse, Geof learns to begin new skin.

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1d · 34

Velvet Gravity

Geof Spavins 1d

You reached with certainty, as if you'd studied my skin long before our hands ever touched. No fear. Just knowing.

We moved slow, not out of caution, but to taste every second like it was gospel poured from a cracked bottle.

You pressed against me, not hard, but whole. Chest to chest, breath syncing, a rhythm we didn’t learn but recognized in our bones.

Fingertips made circles, small and deliberate, as if they were writing scripture in flesh and memory. I answered in low vowels, open-palmed and unguarded.

The bed welcomed us, an altar already blessed, creased sheets echoing rituals, springs tuned to our rhythms.

Kisses landed where language failed, soft declarations etched into collarbones, the curve of spine, the held breath behind a quiet moan.

You whispered through clenched teeth, not out of restraint but reverence, as if the act itself demanded silence to be truly understood.

Limbs tangled, not in conquest, but in communion. What we shared had gravity, pulling confessions from every nerve, truths we hadn’t known we needed to speak.

When stillness found us, we lay in the wreckage of something beautifully undone, your pulse pressed into mine, our names somewhere in the ceiling where the echoes hadn’t quite settled.

We touched, the first time since... - Why do I feel so tearful?

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4d · 26

Talk Dirty, Stay Sacred

Geof Spavins 4d

Talk *****, Stay Sacred

You pulled up slick, grin full of trouble, eyes saying I know what you need, and I've got breath to match.

We skipped the soft talk, went straight to it; your lips hit skin like they had something to prove. Tongue like prayer, hands steady, you took me apart while the night watched through the blinds.

Then I spun you, dropped low, spoke fluently in every moan your body offered. No shame, just heat and hunger wrapped in rhythm and spit, us trading places till the whole room blurred.

Every inch worshipped, no shortcuts, just truth dripping from mouths made for confession. This? It wasn’t just head; it was understanding, shared breath, the kind of gospel that makes your knees weak and your spine remember.

After? We laughed, not like kids, but like royalty who’d tasted the crown and knew it was worth every word we never said.

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6d · 32

🕯️ Epistolary Flame

Geof Spavins 6d

🕯️ Epistolary Flame

I hear your blackness settling like dust across the loom of my lungs, each inhale a cavern so vast it echoes the promise of light. I know it will pass, but it is so dark.

In this calm of shadows, I count heartbeat by heartbeat, tracing the arc of a dawn that stubbornly waits beyond the wall. Hope is a whispered witness to the weight of night-time’s cloak.

My thoughts coil like wrought iron, heavy with the memory of blue. Still, I carry the ember of knowing that every eclipse holds its end, that even the longest winter breaks beneath a patient sun.

So, I honour the black, its truth and its chill, and trust in the slow return of colour. Until then, I will hold this candle, flickering against the void, a small blaze declaring that night bows to morning.

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6d · 6

🖤 The Descent of Azure into Black 🖤

Geof Spavins 6d

🖤 The Descent of Azure into Black 🖤

I. The Azure Mourning

As the day starts, where the sky holds its breath,
I walked with the blue, soft, aching, and dressed
In robes of regret, stitched with threads of delay,
Where the sun rose reluctant and shadows would stay.

The wind wore a sigh, and the trees bent low,
Their leaves like lost letters that no one would know.
My thoughts were a tide that refused to recede,
Each wave a whisper, each whisper a need.

Blue was the colour of longing unspoken,
Of promises cracked and mirrors broken.
It clung to my ribs like a song out of tune,
A lullaby drowned beneath a waning moon.

II. The Threshold

Then came the black, not sudden, but slow,
A seep through the seams where the sorrows would go.
It gathered in corners, in marrow, in breath,
A silence that sang of a colder death.

No thunder announced it, no scream split the air,
Just the folding of light into layers of despair.
The blue bowed its head, and the black took the throne,
A monarch of numbness, austere and alone.

I wandered through valleys where echoes were still,
Where joy was a rumour and hope was ill.
The stars turned their faces, the night would not speak,
And time wore a mask that was hollow and bleak.

III. The Labyrinth

In caverns of thought, I searched for a flame,
But the torch had gone out, and none knew my name.
The walls were of ink, the floor made of sighs,
And the ceiling was stitched with forgotten goodbyes.

I met my own shadow and asked it to stay,
But it vanished like warmth at the edge of the day.
I drank from the chalice of sleepless unrest,
And wore the black crown on my shivering chest.

IV. The Stillness

Yet in that abyss, where no light dared to gleam,
Where even the blue was a half-remembered dream,
There stirred a faint tremor, a breath not my own.
A whisper of silver in monochrome stone.

Not hope, not salvation, not joy’s sudden spark,
But the knowledge that even the deepest is marked.
That black is a colour, not absence alone,
And even in silence, the soul can be known.

So I sit with the black, not fearing its name,
Not asking for mercy, not seeking acclaim.
I honour its weight, its shadow, its hue,
For it once held the blue, and it once held me too.

I have that black upon me now. 18/7/25

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6d · 6

⚙ Shavings of the Forge

Geof Spavins 6d

⚙ Shavings of the Forge

In the cradle of crucibles, molten dreams pour,
Carbon and iron, alloyed to endure.
Cast steel cools in molds of intent,
Grain-bound strength in every dent.

Machinist’s dawn, the lathe hums low,
Tool meets stock in a tempered flow.
Torque and touch, precision’s dance,
Each pass a whisper; each cut a chance.

Spiral curls like silvered vines,
Long and laced in looping lines.
Blue-tempered ribbons, heat-kissed and proud,
Singing of friction, sharp and loud.

Short chips snap with brittle grace,
Scattered stars in a metal space.
Dust-fine swarf, a powdered veil,
Ghosts of edges, cold and pale.

Boring deep through hardened skin,
Contours carved from deep within.
Threads emerge like ancient runes,
Spun in silence, shaped by tunes.

Mill and drill, the chorus grows,
Steel responds in rhythmic throes.
Each shaving tells a tale of strain,
Of force, finesse, and measured gain.

So let the coolant mist and gleam,
A machinist’s breath, a craftsman’s dream.
For cast steel speaks in shavings made,
In every curl, its strength displayed.

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7d · 73

Between Sips and Silences

Geof Spavins 7d

Between Sips and Silences

for the moment we dare not name

We met in the evening, a café tucked away in the back streets, where steam curls and the world disappears.

Your smile, half-spoken, reaches across the table like a bridge I might risk walking. Fingers tap rhythms on ceramic cups, measuring time in heartbeats, not minutes.

I speak, then laugh, too quickly, maybe, and you catch it, not correcting, just knowing. We orbit casual topics, but the gravity between glances pulls deeper.

Outside, the pavement cools. Inside, our words grow warmer, a thread unwinding from comfort to curiosity and to the edge of tender, maybe.

I wonder if you hear it too, the silence that isn’t empty, but filled with the question neither of us dares to ask.

But your hand, brushing mine as we reach for the bill, answers it gently.

Tonight, we are possibility, wrapped in the scent of coffee and the hush of recognition. Not love, not yet, but something leaning toward it, like a flame finding air.

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Jul 16 · 31

Running Out of Time

Geof Spavins Jul 16

Running Out of Time

We stand in the quietness of a half-lit room
where our fingertips trace our final outline
and the air tastes of departed echoes.

Our pulse is a metronome of dread
ticking secrets away beneath brittle ribs.
Will it be today
when our breath dissolves into a sigh
and we vanish like midnight’s promise?

We ask each other in quiet tones: “Will it be today?”
“The hush already tightens around my breath.”
“Yet I cling to the rumour of tomorrow.”

Or could it be tomorrow
when the curtains draw back on emptiness
and the shadows swallow what remains of our shape?

We stand on the edge of a borrowed moment,
feet trembling on the threshold of silence,
no footsteps behind us, only the echo
of what once called itself alive.

Yet beyond our fear, a sovereign whisper lingers:
God has the timing in his hands,
measuring each second between mercy and fate.
Will it be today
or could it be tomorrow
when the hourglass shatters at His command?

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Jul 16 · 31

Banter at Tanvic

Geof Spavins Jul 16

Banter at Tanvic

🏁 The Banter at Tanvic 🛞
At Tanvic’s desk, where the bustle hums,
Come clinks of mugs and rolling thumbs.
With wit as sharp as a socket wrench,
They greet each customer with a banter trench.

“Need tyres mate? Let’s sort you right,
All-season grip or pure delight?”
One checks the tread with eagle eyes,
While tossing jokes that catch surprise.

"Brake pads worn? That squeal’s a clue.
We'll fix it up, no stress for you."
The team’s a blend of skill and jest,
With torque guns and stories, they’re simply the best.

Need a bulb? A filter? Or wiper blade?
Advice rains down like a retro arcade.
"You could use a new belt, not for trousers, mind,
Though we do admire that vintage find!"

They shuffle quotes and scribble keys,
As laughter drifts on oil-scented breeze.
Behind the counter, hearts rev loud,
Tanvic's crew: proud, quick, and ploughed—

Through greasy gears and Monday blues,
They’re the roadside poets in steel-toe shoes.
So if your car’s in need of care,
Their banter’s worth the time you spare.

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Jul 15 · 43

Ode to the Obvious (Said Nobody Ever)

Geof Spavins Jul 15

Ode to the Obvious (Said Nobody Ever)

I love when traffic flows like dreams –
said nobody ever, in rush hour screams.
And Mondays? A warm embrace.
Especially with deadlines breathing in your face.

“Please, more spam emails,” they plead with grace –
said nobody ever, not one trace.
I cherish the printer’s stubborn stall,
mid-report, mid-panic, down the hall.

Dishwater coffee, ambrosia divine –
said nobody ever, not even in line.
And meetings that could've been one line of text,
are truly the moments I cherish the next.

Oh joy, another group chat ping! –
said nobody ever, in the midst of a meeting.
There's nothing like socks lost in the wash,
or autocorrect turning love into squash.

But still we smile, and carry on,
with half-done mornings and the curtains drawn.
For life’s absurdities have a clever tether:
they’re oddly poetic - said nobody ever.

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Jul 14 · 23

The Hollow Mantle of Scented Memory

Geof Spavins Jul 14

The Hollow Mantle of Scented Memory

You hold the slender stick of incense
between thumb and forefinger,
a quiet question framed in sandalwood.

A tap of flame at its tip
awakens latent murmurs
that curl upward in a pale spiral.

Smoke drifts like a slow confession,
tracing loops in the still air,
an unseen calligraphy of scent.

Each breath you draw expands
that hidden manuscript:
cloves, myrrh, cedar; fingers of dusk.

At the stick’s hollow heart, the flame wanes,
leaving a halo of ember
that shifts from red to ash.

Grey granules rain in silent punctuation,
each flake a remnant phrase
of transformation written in dust.

Your palm catches the residue,
a fine, silver testament
to what must become nothing.

The aroma lingers,
a ghost ache in the room,
mapping absence where presence bloomed.

Ash drifts down like memories;
tender, ephemeral, luminous;
and the stick stands hushed, hollowed.

In that hollow core, you glimpse
the space between flame and ash,
presence and departure.

You cradle the empty stick
as if it still holds a promise,
a threshold waiting to be crossed.

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Jul 13 · 29

Edge of No Return Lane

Geof Spavins Jul 13

Edge of No Return Lane

You *****!
You twitching tick of a man,
clogging lanes with your choked-up ego,
your mirror’s a shrine to your own smug face,
overtook like the rules were quaint,
like courtesy was some antique word
you'd auctioned off for a moment’s gain.

You *****!
sharp with nothing beneath,
your car a coffin for grace and tact,
steering through lives like they’re backdrop noise,
your brake lights blink like cheap excuses.

I saw you with your slipstream swagger,
the sneer worn like a braid of barbed wire,
and I wondered,
not if you’d crash,
but if you ever learned how to slow.

You were the storm’s rehearsal snarl rehearsed in chrome,

Your lane-change a fault line, a tectonic shrug beneath civility’s crust.
Your overtaking not motion, but motive
a hunger to be first in a race no one else was running.

Your indicators are Morse for mayhem,
-- .- -.-- .... . --
a signal sent to nobody,
because you only speak in static.

And yet, silence followed,
the hush of cars coasting beside restraint,
the world not clattering in outrage
but watching,
like a cat beneath streetlights.

I didn’t yell.
I counted the trees instead,
their branches like bones with secrets,
their leaves whispering forgiveness
to the wind that never apologised.

The road held us both me, and him,
like it does every stranger in love with arrival.

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Jul 11 · 98

Rebirth

Geof Spavins Jul 11

Rebirth

'            R ising from cinders, eyes alight with dawn
           E mbers swirl in wounded wings, beckoning flight
          B eckoned by the hush of fallen realms
         I gniting hope in the cavern of ash
        R enewed are the arcs of tomorrow’s blaze
         T hrust into azure skies with vigour reborn
          H erald of the eternal, kindling itself

My rebirth Phoenix tattoo

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Jul 11 · 30

Seven-Day Waltz (Country Lyrics in 3/4 Time)

Geof Spavins Jul 11

Seven-Day Waltz (Country Lyrics in 3/4 Time)

Verse 1
Saturday night’s a lonely waltz, Moonlight spinning on an empty floor. I trace your name in drifting dust; One, two, three… can’t hold you anymore.

Sunday paints the sky in sighs, Shadows waltz where laughter used to play. Counting slow breaths ’til you return, One, two, three… seven days away.

Chorus
Waltzin’ through these empty rooms, One, two, three… my heart keeps time to you. Seven days but feels like too many moons, One, two, three… I’m lost without you.

Verse 2
Monday drags my coffee cold, Memories drip like rain upon my soul. Tuesday’s hush crawls up the walls, One, two, three… your footsteps I recall.

Wednesday’s half-lit sky stands still, Time bends back on itself at will. Thursday's dust floats in the hall; One, two, three… I miss you most of all.

Bridge (Palindrome Pivot)
Empty rooms bloom in gloom, gloom in bloom rooms empty. Echoes lace the silent space, space silent the lace echoes. Moments fold in cold space, space cold in fold moments.

Verse 3
Friday’s hope peeks ’round the dawn, I see your shadow dancing on the lawn. Tomorrow’s steps will break this spell; One, two, three… and all will be well.

Chorus (Repeat)
Waltzin’ through these empty rooms, One, two, three… my heart keeps time to you. Seven days but feels like too many moons, One, two, three… I’m lost without you.

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Jul 11 · 37

Seven Days Between Us

Geof Spavins Jul 11

Seven Days Between Us

Saturday hums a lullaby of almost; my mind traces your voice in every song, counting chords instead of hours, hoping melody will speed the sky.

Sunday arrives on tiptoe, a hush at dusk, time curves back into something tender. One more night, and gravity shifts: seven days become one breath, and you're here.

Monday yawns at dawn, a patient snail bearing hours like burdens in its shell. Every second drips, a hesitant drop, and your laughter still floats beyond my reach.

Tuesday’s sun stretches shadows long; they beckon me into empty rooms where your footsteps once carved their names on polished floors that now forget.

Wednesday trembles under a sky half-lit, time caught between heartbeat and hush. I map each breath to how many more until your arms fold around my days.

Thursday limps, dragging yesterday’s dust, while I scramble for moments that vanish like stardust slipping through cupped hands; seven days, but forever in each.

Friday flares with half-remembered warmth, as if I glimpse your smile in every face. Hope and longing tangle their fingers, whispering that soon we’ll collide.

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Jul 10 · 52

Footsteps Between Thresholds

Geof Spavins Jul 10

Footsteps Between Thresholds

I. Echoes
This threshold was never mine to choose; three years ago, a chair beside me stood empty, its hollow stare naming every night without words. Grief became my compass, yet its needle spun in circles, pointing only inward to the ache I could not name.

II. Frontier
Loss unfolded as a boundless battleground, where each remembered smile redrew the frontier. Memory is not a shrine but a ritual of becoming. Sorrow arrived in a crooked wheelbarrow, unloading rain-stained promises at dawn’s first light.

III. Transmigration
Then came his voice, soft question echoing my footsteps, revealing that love is trust reborn in another’s breath. “Not betrayal,” he told me, “but history retold with a new flame kindled from dying ashes, fire remembering itself.”

IV. Altars
Hand in hand, we ventured into nettled paths, learning humility at every *****. Morning rituals became our altars: rising coffee steam, laughter like incense, and the map of our smiles drawn in pencil, lines faint but full of hope. And I remembered doors I’ve opened only to find mirrors.

V. Thresholds
I ask only for sturdy shoes and a witness to every step, forward or back. Under a sky that still asks what blue might mean, a sky vast enough to hold my yesterdays and our tomorrows. And someone who understands that love, like grief, arrives on tiptoe, an imprint pressed in damp clay, proof that even after loss, we find our way.

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Jul 10 · 25

Thresholds

Geof Spavins Jul 10

Thresholds

The earth did not ask for footsteps, yet here they are, a lineage pressed in damp clay, slow echoes of a decision made before the mouth could speak it.

Above, the sky dangles its ancient questions: what is blue but belief stretched thin? What is light but fire remembering itself?

I stood once in a field where the nettles taught me humility, and the thistle crowned me with a sting worth keeping. Some places do not forget that you passed through.

We build altars from accidental things: broken fence wire, a bottle cap, the bones of once-loved laughter. Memory is not a shrine, but a ritual of becoming, again and again, the same story with a different flame.

Time does not carry us forward. It circles, creaks, stutters, a rickety wheelbarrow full of unfinished thoughts and rain-stained promises. We are caught between the then and almost.

And love? It arrives not like a trumpet blast but like a pencil mark, soft, tentative, easily smudged yet somehow permanent.

There are doors I’ve opened only to find mirrors. There are windows I’ve closed to keep the stars from judging me. Still, something sings in the basement of the soul, a low note shaped like home, like hope if it had a scent.

I ask for nothing but a good pair of shoes, a sky that forgets to end, and someone who’ll walk with me even when the map is wrong.

An introspection

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Jul 10 · 64

Spoken Backwards

Geof Spavins Jul 10

Spoken Backwards

Mad gym, my g dam.
Was it a rat I saw?

2_lines

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Jul 10 · 31

Sunshine

Geof Spavins Jul 10

Sunshine

Golden breath
Morning spills.

Windows beam
Soft light swells.

Waking trees,
Stretching slow.

Petal hush,
Dandelion glow.

Hope returns,
Clouds retreat.

Shadows bow,
Bittersweet heat.

Childlike joy,
Skinned-knee grace.

Running wild,
Limitless space.

Fields whisper,
Hills reply.

Honey air,
Dragonfly sky.

Wrinkled hands,
Garden soil.

Lifting roots,
Ending toil.

Memory flickers,
Sunlit pages.

Laughter lost,
Still it engages.

Rain resumes,
Yet light lingers.

Sun behind,
Grief’s long fingers.

Faith endures,
In golden thread.

Love aloft,
Never dead.

Candle soul,
Warm and bare.

He is here,
Everywhere.

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Jul 10 · 119

Heatwave Hijinks

Geof Spavins Jul 10

Heatwave Hijinks

The sun blazed with fiery delight,
Turning rooftops a shimmering white.
With each sweltering breeze,
We melted with ease
Even flip-flops gave up in the fight!

Limerick

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Jul 5 · 75

I need a wheeeee!

Geof Spavins Jul 5

I need a wheeeee!

I need a wee… wheeee!
I proclaimed with delight,
But suddenly spotted a bird in mid-flight.
Which reminded me then of my auntie's old parrot,
Who once stole a phone, then flew off to Harrogate.

That town! With its pastries, its trains, and its teas,
Which brings us to goats, and their fondness for cheese.
Oh right, the loo! Yes, that was my aim,
But I’d somehow detoured through memory lane.

There’s a cactus involved now, I’m not sure quite why,
It sat on a bench next to one Mr. Rye.
And he wore a jumper with zips down the side,
Which reminded me! trousers! (The zipped kind, not wide.)

And speaking of zippers, my own was askew,
Which reminded me... oh! I still need the loo!

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Jul 5 · 61

Clearbrook Tales

Geof Spavins Jul 5

Clearbrook Tales

At Clearbrook Lodge by twilight's grace,
Jemma's smile lit up the place.
Talk of trails and paddling dreams,
Of leafy paths and tranquil streams.

We claimed our space, then Sarn appeared,
The talk of land both loved and weird
Where rowing boats await the breeze
And paddle boards skim willow trees.

The gardens called us Saturday morn,
With blooms in sun, where steps were worn.
We vowed to watch the falcons' flight
On future days of feathered might.

Sunday drifted, slow and kind,
With BBQs and peace of mind.
While Monday's chip-salt kissed the skin,
On Pendine sands where laughs begin.

Tuesday’s wetlands soaked our feet,
Cranes waltzed through the grasses sweet
A feather found, now proudly placed,
A badge of nature, finely graced.

Wednesday brought a second chance,
To see the falcons swoop and dance.
Then gardens bloomed beneath our stride,
With nature walking by our side.

Thursday’s waves and dolphin cheer,
From Oxwich Bay to Worm’s Head near.
The seals blinked slow, the seabirds skimmed,
While laughter rode the ocean’s wind.

A stop at heritage, mill and stream,
With Welsh cawl’s warmth and cider's gleam.
We walked through stories, old and bright,
In leet-fed halls of shared delight.

And now we pack with hearts aweight,
For leaving dreams we’d love to wait.
Clearbrook whispers in the air
“Come back, and find your stories there.”

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Jun 29 · 56

Light and Name

Geof Spavins Jun 29

Your name is powerful and lifts all darkness.

It pierces the veil of night and calls the light to rise.

When we were lost in shadow,
When silence echoed loudest
Your name was spoken

And the silence broke.
The tombs cracked open.
The earth sighed with hope.

By your name, fear is scattered,
Chains are loosed,
And the barren hearts bloom once more.

Your name is fire without smoke,
A song no grave can silence.
Let it be sung on our breath and burned into our bones.

We rise in the name that lifts all darkness.
We walk by the flame that never falters.
We praise, not as those who beg for light,
But as those who carry it.

Amen.

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Jun 20 · 46

Overtake Left - NEVER

Geof Spavins Jun 20

Overtake Left - NEVER

James and Geof never overtake left,
Of lane-hogging habits, they feel quite bereft.
With mirrors adjusted and signals pristine,
They drive like true scholars of Highway Code green.

They glide through the byways with patience and grace,
Not swayed by the urge to win every race.
No tailgating fury, no horns out of line,
Just courteous cruising, civil and fine.

They banter in traffic with laughter and song,
A playlist of classics to help them along.
“Indicators save us!” declares Geof with cheer,
As James nods in rhythm - both hands on the gear.

Through roundabouts daunting and slip roads obscure,
They navigate calmly, their manners mature.
No road rage, no weaving, no impolite zip,
They cherish the journey, not just the trip.

So, here’s to the drivers who think as they steer,
Whose etiquette shines in the sixth motorway gear.
And may others who see them, perhaps feel impressed,
That James and Geof never overtake left.

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Jun 19 · 282

Riddling Rhyme

Geof Spavins Jun 19

O, T, T, begin the spree,
F, F, S, S, join the jubilee.
E comes next with elegant flair,
N's not far, high in the air.
T struts in, all bold and then...
We’re queued for E and T again!

Numbers marching, letters in tow,
A cryptic parade with a lyrical flow.
They don’t count sheep, they just rhyme tight,
The alphabet’s way of counting at night.

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Jun 16 · 59

On the Roads with James

Geof Spavins Jun 16

On the Roads with James

Two old soldiers, battle-worn,
With ink and beard where pride is sworn.
Through Norwich lanes, they take the test,
To see which driver ranks the best.

James, an ADI, wise and keen,
Guides the wheel with eyes so keen.
His task: to judge, to teach, to show,
Where skills excel and where they grow.

Yet more than marks on asphalt grey,
It’s shared respect that lights the way.
For once they stood in boots and gear,
And now they drive with just as clear --

A steady hand, a focused mind,
Trained in years of duty signed.
And waiting home when journeys end,
Are laughing girls and love to send.

For driving's more than turns and speed,
It’s careful hands, it’s thought, indeed.
A soldier’s past, a father’s care,
All reflected – everywhere.

A friendship with a past in common - we both served in the UK forces

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May 31 · 95

Ecdemomania: An abnormal compulsion for wandering

Geof Spavins May 31

Ecdemomania: An abnormal compulsion for wandering

My feet start dancing on their own,
A wild compulsion seeds where I roam.
The bed it calls yet the road sings louder,
Every step a rebellion, a freedom devoured.

No corners or confines can hold this heart,
For restlessness and wanderlust are never apart.
I pack my dreams, my humour, and a hat with flair,
Off I venture - leaving behind every chair!

If pavements could talk, they'd say, “There goes that spark!”
Chasing horizons, from sunrise till dark.
This curious urge defines my constant quest:
To roam the world and learn from each jest.

So here’s a salute to the wandering, wild and free,
For ecdemomania is not just a word;
it’s a key To unlocking life’s adventures, one silly step at a time,
A joyful pilgrimage filled with rhythm and rhyme!

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May 30 · 77

Defenestration – The act of throwing someone (or something) out of a window.

Geof Spavins May 30

Defenestration – The act of throwing someone (or something) out of a window.

Upon the floor, debates ignite,
They argue left, they argue right.
A filibuster drags the night,
A senator sighs, Oh what a sight.

The bills pile up, gridlock in place,
A lawmaker’s face turns red in haste.
Tempers flare, objections rise,
Committee rooms erupt with cries.

Then through the chamber, swift and loud,
One congressman breaks from the crowd!
With forceful grip and righteous vim,
They toss a binder - right at him!

Through marble halls and polished doors,
Defenestration takes the floor.
No policy fixed, no law is passed,
But someone went through glass at last!

Am I being a bit naughty here? This is how I see the current US government (2025) Chaotic

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May 30 · 86

Cattywampus – Something askew or not quite right.

Geof Spavins May 30

Cattywampus – Something askew or not quite right.

The shelf I built stands tall and proud,
Well -- almost tall, a little browed.
The legs are wobbly, joints askew,
It’s leaning like it’s had a few!

I step back, scratch my head and sigh,
This wasn’t meant to tilt and pry.
The blueprint said, “align with care,”
Yet here it sways -- a lopsided chair!

The screws are in, the nails are tight,
And still, it looks… well, not quite right.
Call it charm or odd design,
But cattywampus work is mine!

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May 30 · 83

Borborygmus – The rumbling sound your stomach makes.

Geof Spavins May 30

Borborygmus – The rumbling sound your stomach makes.

A meeting starts, the room is hushed,
My stomach rumbles - oh, I blush!
A deep borborygmus, loud and proud,
Echoes boldly through the crowd.

I shift my seat, pretend it’s fake,
Blame the floorboards, for goodness' sake!
Yet still it growls, a beast unchained,
A hunger cry that can't be tamed.

Coffee won’t hush it, nor a snack,
It grumbles forth - no turning back!
Alas, the truth is hard to face,
My stomach speaks, I rest my case.

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May 30 · 104

Absquatulate - To leave suddenly or escape

Geof Spavins May 30

Absquatulate - To leave suddenly or escape

As the chill wind begins to wail,
A hurried step upon the trail.
With shadowed cloak and whispered fate,
They plot their move - absquatulate!

No ties to bind, no chains to hold,
No debts unpaid, no tales retold.
A fleeting ghost, a restless spark,
Vanishing swiftly into dark.

To abscond with grace, to leave so light,
No backward glance, no need for fright.
Some say escape, some say to roam,
But some must flee to find their home.

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May 30 · 84

Floccinaucinihilipilification

Geof Spavins May 30

Floccinaucinihilipilification

Through halls of doubt and grand frustration,
Echoes floccinaucinihilipilification,
A lengthy term, with weight so slight,
To shun all worth, deny all light.

Yet words alone can twist and sway,
Can bend the heart, lead minds astray.
If value’s lost in careless diction,
We drown in mere contradiction.

So heed this verse, let meaning last,
Don’t let worth slip, fading fast.
For even long-winded deliberation,
Deserves its own appreciation.

This wonderfully extravagant word means “the act of regarding something as worthless.” That's quite ironic, given its sheer length!
Hope you enjoyed this little bit of linguistic fun.

#longword

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May 28 · 94

A Love Eternal

Geof Spavins May 28

I saw You first when morning light was new,
Yet in Your gaze, a home my soul has known.
A whisper in the winds, both bright and true,
A call that bids me never stand alone.

Your mercy rings like echoes from the past,
A grace I’ve touched in lives I’ve yet to see.
The present and eternity contrast,
Yet in Your love, both time and soul agree.

Your hands ignite a fire within my chest,
A flame unquenched, though wandering hearts may stray.
The universe bows low where You have blessed,
And love remains beyond the bounds of day.

If time repeats, let this embrace be mine,
For in Your arms, all worlds and stars align

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May 24 · 158

Bigoted

Geof Spavins May 24

Bigoted

People are bigoted, God is not,
Love is the lesson the world forgot.
Bound by borders, lines they drew,
Yet grace falls freely, ever new.

No creed nor colour sways the light,
That shines for all, both wrong and right.
Yet hearts grow heavy, stained with pride,
While mercy waits with arms spread wide.

So let not hatred bear the crown,
Or fear and fury wear us down.
For love was spoken, love was taught -
People are bigoted, God is not.

Racial Discrimination and Systemic Racism
Healthcare Inequities: A class action lawsuit in Queensland alleges that state health services discriminated against Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander patients. The suit, filed in the Federal Court, details claims that patients were routinely spoken down to and given substandard care in facilities across north Queensland.1

Racist Bullying in Schools: In Scotland, increased incidents of racist bullying have forced schools to take action. One recent case involved a young girl who, after suffering repeated racist taunts and isolation, had to change schools. Reports show that incidents of racist harassment in Scottish schools jumped by 50% in one year.2

Institutional Racism in Healthcare: Coverage of racial bias within the NHS reveals ongoing struggles with systemic prejudice. Studies and personal accounts have highlighted how Black and minority staff and patients often face dismissive attitudes and inadequate responses.3

Judicial Bias: At an international forum, a Canadian presentation discussed how judicial racial bias remains a rarely addressed yet critical issue in the justice system, shedding light on how court decisions can reflect entrenched prejudices.4

Xenophobia and Nationalism
Scapegoating Immigrants: In South Africa, political figures have been accused of using inflammatory, xenophobic rhetoric to demonize immigrants ahead of contentious general elections. This kind of toxic speech not only stokes division but also risks inciting violence against foreign nationals.5

Anti-Immigrant Violence in the UK: Recent reports from Amnesty International and other bodies have highlighted disturbing incidents of racist violence—attacks on hotels housing asylum seekers, vandalism at mosques, and other hate-fuelled actions. These examples underscore how nationalist sentiments can translate into real harm for minority communities.6

Religious Intolerance and Sectarianism
Attacks on Religious Minorities: In Jerusalem, there have been a series of attacks against the Christian community. Incidents such as the vandalism of statues and desecration of graves, along with verbal and physical abuse experienced by pilgrims and local worshippers, are clear manifestations of religious intolerance.7

Sectarian Violence in Syria: Another example comes from Syria, where reported episodes of renewed sectarian violence have targeted specific religious communities. These tensions, which sometimes erupt into lethal confrontations, echo long-standing divisions and serve as a stark reminder of how religious differences can be weaponized in conflict.8

Contrasting Models: On a more hopeful note, positive coverage from regions like Kurdistan in the Middle East demonstrates that religious pluralism is possible. Here, a national prayer breakfast bringing together Muslims, Christians, Yazidis, and others offers an inspiring counterpoint to the intolerance seen elsewhere.9

Political Polarization and Cultural Tribalism
Fragmented Communities: Articles like “The Erosion of Friendship and Family Bonds in the Face of Political Disagreement” highlight how political polarization increasingly fractures personal relationships. In an era of echo chambers and partisan media, even long-standing social bonds are strained by ideological divides.10

Culture Wars and Authoritarian Rhetoric: Analysis such as “Culture wars, political polarization and deepening inequality: the roots of Trumpism” shows how political tribalism has not only reshaped public discourse in the United States but also influenced governance.11

References

1
ABC (Australian Broadcasting Corporation) | MSN
Class action lawsuit accuses Queensland Health of racial discrimination in north Queensland
www.msn.com
2
BBC
Racism forced my daughter to move primary schools, mum says
www.bbc.co.uk
3
Index on Censorship
Annabel Sowemimo on the silent killer in the NHS
www.indexoncensorship.org
4
rabble.ca
Discussing judicial racial bias in Canada at the UN
rabble.ca
5
www.hrw.org
South Africa: Toxic Rhetoric Endangers Migrants - Human Rights Watch
www.hrw.org
6
www.amnesty.org
UK: Government must address 'root cause of racism that plagues our ...
www.amnesty.org
7
www.bbc.co.uk
Jerusalem Christians say attacks on the rise - BBC News
www.bbc.co.uk
8
theconversation.com
Syria faces renewed sectarian violence as government fails to deliver ...
theconversation.com
9
The Hill | MSN
Opinion - In the Middle East, Kurdistan offers a hopeful model of religious freedom
www.msn.com
10
craigbushon.com
The Erosion of Friendship and Family Bonds in the Face of Political ...
craigbushon.com
11
theconversation.com
Culture wars, political polarization and deepening inequality: the ...
theconversation.com

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May 22 · 106

Ripple & Flame

Geof Spavins May 22

Morning breath, hush – it stirs, it speaks,
A gift not taken, one that leaks.
Not to keep, not locked away,
Pass it forward, let it play.

Moses - what’s that in your grip?
Just a staff? No, watch it flip.
It carves the sea, it clears the way,
Not by chance - He made it stay.

A word, a hand, a glance, a beat,
Not small, not lost, not obsolete.
It tumbles, crashes, rings aloud,
A ripple tearing through the crowd.

Let life burn bright, not shrink, not fold,
Pass it down - red, fierce, bold.
It spreads, it climbs, it runs, it flies,
Lights up faces, splits the skies.

Every move, each step, a pull,
A voice that rips, that won’t grow dull.
And listen - hear that hum, that call?
“Encore,” He says – take it all.

written to order - as an oral beat poem and introduction to the Sunday message

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May 22 · 98

Ale's Well That Ends Well --or-- Hoppy Endings

Geof Spavins May 22

Ale's Well That Ends Well --or-- Hoppy Endings

Beer cures what ales you,
A clever twist on thirsty lore;
When life's too bitter, just imbibe a brew,
And let that lager lore restore.

A pint of humour in a frothy glass,
Where worries stir but soon subside;
In every sip, let troubles pass,
While malt and mirth provide a ride.

So raise your mug and toast the day,
For every brew brings laughter anew;
When life turns sour, don't rue the fray;
Just cheers, and let your spirit spew!

May your woes be whisked away by ales,
And your laughs as bold as foamy trails.

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May 20 · 75

Baptised

Geof Spavins May 20

Baptised

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.

Inspired by Zach Williams album "Rescue Story" Track 9 "Baptised"

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May 19 · 89

3 in 1

Geof Spavins May 19

3 in 1

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

#haikus

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May 16 · 76

People Watching: The Family

Geof Spavins May 16

People Watching: The Family

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

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May 12 · 84

Been Better

Geof Spavins May 12

Been Better

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.

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May 6 · 91

Weight

Geof Spavins May 6

Weight

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?

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May 4 · 199

The Roll of Time

Geof Spavins May 4

The Roll of Time

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.

Tanka

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May 4 · 94

Luft of a Norming Day

Geof Spavins May 4

Luft of a Norming Day

Silence, before the world has stirred,
I wander through a mist of dreams and whispered hopes,
A tender murmur in the cool, damp air,
Where every dewdrop cradles the promise of morning.
I inhale deeply, the scent of raw earth and possibility,
Feel the gentle pull of a day yet uncharted,
And wonder if you, too, need a lift this norming day.

The velvet dark retreats as dawn paints pastel hues,
An artist’s caress smoothing away the remnants of night.
The air, alive with magic, flows like an unseen river,
Carrying secrets from the far realms of slumber.
In this ephemeral space between shadow and light,
I find strength to set aside yesterday’s burdens,
Floating on the breath of "luft" that refreshes and renews.

There lies a sacred promise in the rising gold,
A call to each heart that dares to dream anew.
The silent language of morning sings in every ray,
Urging us to rise, to unfurl like blossoms after rain.
In these whispered minutes, the world transforms,
Becoming a canvas where hope and courage intertwine,
And the soul takes flight, buoyed by the airy hymn of life.

Across the horizon, where light meets ambition,
I glimpse reflections of all we dare aspire to be.
Every beam, every soft ray, a reminder:
We are born of stardust and dreams, fragile, infinite.
The "norming" day speaks not of constraint but rebirth,
Of reinventing ourselves with each inhalation,
And letting the wind of change carry us beyond familiar bounds.

Imagine the air as a guide, a gentle, constant friend,
That undresses the heavy garb of yesterday’s doubt,
Unfurling hidden layers, revealing the beauty within.
Each breath, a silent prayer of hope,
Each step forward, an act of defiant tenderness
Against the inertia of routine and the weight of yesterday,
A pledge to rise high on the wings of a revitalized soul.

Morning unfurls like a long-lost letter from the heart,
Each word inscribed in the quiet moments before the bustle.
There is a poetry in the soft cadence of your existence,
A blend of resilience and vulnerability that sings louder than any storm.
With every exhale, you release what no longer serves,
Breathe deeply, and let the bright air cleanse your spirit,
For the day, like a gracious friend, awaits your bold arrival.

In the labyrinth of light and shadow, you wander,
Searching for strands of meaning hidden in the gentle breeze.
And there, in the liminal space of early dawn,
The air itself speaks with the language of renewal,
Whispering of forgotten dreams, buried beneath layers of hesitation,
Yet eager to rise anew as you step beyond the threshold,
Carrying the soft, relentless promise of a fresh, unwavering "luft."

So let the rising sun be your guide in this norming day;
Allow the cool, shifting air to lift you from within,
Transforming challenges into stepping stones
And the quiet sighs of early morning into a symphony of hope.
Embrace each delicate, breath-held moment
As an invitation to become more, to bloom fiercely
Under the boundless canopy of a day reborn in light.

Now, as the morning crystallizes into golden hours,
Remember that you are a traveller in this vast expanse of wonder,
Crafting your own story with every tender breath,
Every beat of a heart that rises with the sun.
Let the wind carry away your doubts, and let your spirit soar,
For life, like the air, is free and infinite,
Ever inviting you to dance with the dawn, unbounded and alive.

In these verses, may you find your uplift, your solace,
A thick, luminous tapestry woven from threads of hope, duty, and desire.
So step into the day with open arms and a soul unburdened,
And let the soft, ethereal "luft" of morning lead you
Into realms where every moment is a promise,
Every breath a celebration,
And every heartbeat a testament to your enduring light.

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Apr 28 · 119

Whispers of Victory, Echoes of Hope

Geof Spavins Apr 28

Whispers of Victory, Echoes of Hope

In the quiet dawn after thunder,
Eighty years ago - when victory sang
Across a scarred and trembling Europe –
We hear Your whisper, God,
A soft, unyielding hum of hope
Through the rubble of war and the silence of loss.

On this sacred day, where memory meets mercy,
Your hand is the unseen architect of freedom,
Crafting a path from despair to the light,
A mosaic of courage and healing
Carved into the hearts of those who believed
In a peace that was always Your promise.

We stand at the edge of history’s echo,
Where shattered dreams rose on the wings of prayer,
And in every soul that dared to hope,
We see Your radiant presence –
A luminous anthem whispered in the wind,
A divine grace that carried us through darkness.

The echoes of drums and distant cries
Blend with the rustle of poppies,
Those silent scarlet reminders of sacrifice,
While the ancient stars bow quietly above.
In their shimmer, we trace Your infinite compassion,
A quiet covenant everlasting.

God, You are the gentle murmur
In the lull after the storm,
The hand that steadied trembling hearts
When the world lay broken and weary.
In the soft embrace of dusk and dawn,
Your love remains, an ever-guiding beacon.

On this 80th anniversary of VE Day,
We gather memories like scattered petals,
Reverently laid upon the altar of time –
Each petal a testament, a prayer, a story.
They tell of sorrow transformed into strength,
Of battles lost so life might triumph.

In the deep silence between thunderclaps,
When the earth still trembles from remembered strife,
Your voice, clear and unyielding, rises:
"Be still, my children, for in
Your suffering I weave a tapestry of victory
Worn proudly by those who embrace the light."

A breath of wind carries the songs of valour,
Not of conquest or cruelty,
But of quiet defiance against despair –
The hymn of a people reborn
In the shadow of war’s legacy
And in the bright promises
You inscribed in every heart.

Across the fields once ravaged by conflict,
Gentle streams now murmur in the language of renewal.
They speak of a divine plan unfolding –
A plan where every tear is softened
By the balm of Your eternal compassion,
And every scar becomes a story of redemption.

In the delicate interplay of memory and hope,
We celebrate Your artistry, God,
For in the chaos of a broken world
You planted seeds of redemption,
Nurturing fragile blossoms of peace
To bloom amidst the ruins of conflict.

Every moment on this day
Is an echo of Your timeless grace,
A reminder that even in the blackest hours,
Your light found a way to shine –
An ember resuscitated
Into the conflagration of a newfound dawn.

The anniversary rings like a chime,
A resonance celebrating the victory of life,
A chorus exalting the divine
For steering mankind from the brink,
For gifting us not just an end to strife,
But a beginning defined by love and purpose.

So let our hearts, brimming with memory and gratitude,
Rejoice in this luminous intersection of past and promise.
In the sacred silence between remembrance and renewal,
Your presence is a radiant sunrise,
Infusing the present with the glow of infinite hope,
And guiding our footsteps toward a future bathed in light.

O God - On this 80th anniversary –
We honour You in every whispered prayer,
In every ray of soft, forgiving sunlight,
In the hallowed hush of the evening’s glow.
For in the end, it is Your grace that wrote our story,
And Your love that continues to sing the anthem of freedom.

Victory in Europe Day is the day celebrating the formal acceptance by the Allies of World War II of Germany's unconditional surrender of its armed forces on Tuesday, 8 May 1945

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Apr 27 · 79

No Return: Ever Forward

Geof Spavins Apr 27

No Return: Ever Forward

I've heard your voice, steady and clear,
A whisper that grew, now thunder, now cheer.
"No turning back," you declare to the skies,
A flame ignites in your resolute eyes.

The path you tread may be rugged and steep,
With shadows that linger, with storms that weep.
Yet faith is your lantern, casting its glow,
Guiding your heart wherever winds blow.

The world may question, may pull at your will,
But your spirit stands unshaken, still.
For love that binds, for grace that saves,
You're walking a road, through valleys and waves.

Through trials that seek to wear you thin,
You hold a song of courage within.
"I have decided," your soul proclaims,
"To follow the One who knows my name."

No turning back, no steps undone,
The journey is yours, with Him as the sun.
Each step a prayer, each breath a new start,
Carving His promises deep in your heart.

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Apr 27 · 88

The Sacred Map

Geof Spavins Apr 27

Through life’s dense forest, wild and deep,
A sacred map, my soul does keep.
Its pages whispered by divine breath,
A guide through storms, through life, through death.

The Bible stands, a beacon true,
Its wisdom ancient, yet ever new.
Each line a compass, every word,
A guiding call, a truth inferred.

When shadows fall and paths confound,
Its timeless light shines all around.
Through Psalms of peace and Proverb’s ways,
It charts my course, it marks my days.

No map of man can e’er compare,
To scripture’s path, beyond despair.
Its pages point where faith may thrive,
And love and grace keep hope alive.

So, with this map, this gift profound,
Each step I take, on holy ground.
Through valleys low and peaks above,
It leads me home, with boundless love.

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Apr 27 · 74

Cosmic Whispers

Geof Spavins Apr 27

Cosmic Whispers

Under a soft cascade of light and heart, I wander through night’s endless field - finding dreams at the break of day, where time dances in bold, quiet steps and gentle whispers cradle the spark of life.

In the silent arms of shadows, echoes of ancient voices hum a secret song; soft silhouettes of stars trace untold tales across a vast, uncharted sky, as delicate art and grace entwine with each breath.

Moments melt into a surreal tapestry, threads of joy, hope, and tender sorrow woven with laughter, whispered promises, and the bittersweet taste of rain - each drop a fleeting spark in the boundless air.

Within the sacred space where chaos meets calm, a cosmic symphony unfolds its vibrant melody: free souls rise on hidden paths, carrying the soft murmur of forgotten memories and the resilient beat of a true, divine journey.

Beneath a shimmering dawn, the world transforms - a bold parade of colours, gentle winds, and secret voices, while silver streams of moonlight converse with ancient trees, casting reflections of eternal truth upon the mystic canvas of endless time.

In the quiet pause between heartbeats, my spirit drifts on a delicate current of light and dark, where every tear, every smile, is etched into the living fabric of existence - a soulful testament to life’s luminous dance.

Listen - within the silent weight of night, the universe whispers a tale of timeless wonder, of whispered legends, sacred prayer, and fierce hope; a surreal chorus where pain and promise, joy and grief, merge into one ethereal embrace.

And so, I stand amid this cosmic embrace, guided by a radiant beacon of dreams and memories, my thoughts like delicate petals in a wild, celestial wind - forever bound to the mystery of the infinite, as the universe writes its tender story in vibrant hues.

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Apr 27 · 93

Nocturnal Echoes

Geof Spavins Apr 27

Nocturnal Echoes

I never recall my dreams at dawn, yet last night, Ringo Starr drifted into my slumber. In that surreal moment, we exchanged words of song and poetry - just before he faded into twilight, he left me with a question that echoes still: “Are these truly poetry?” And with a knowing smile, he replied, “What are words?”

In the velvet theatre of my mind, his voice cascaded like a timeless refrain, each syllable aglow with the shimmer of forgotten stardust. Our dialogue unfurled into a graceful dance - a delicate interplay between the resolute strum of guitar strings and the ephemeral heartbeat of verse.

I wandered through corridors draped in half-remembered dreams, where each word painted its mark upon the endless canvas of night. I mused on whether language is nothing more than an echo, or if it wields the power to capture the boundless depths of our silent, unspoken truths.

Beneath the halo of a fading moon, that lone question resonated endlessly, a quiet challenge to the weight and wonder of language itself. In that shared moment, poetry transcended mere letters and rhythm - transforming into a living paradox, as transient as it is eternal.

Now, as dawn spills its gentle light upon the edges of memory, I find myself ensnared in the echo of that simple phrase, pondering what words are but fragile vessels carrying our dreams, our songs, our deepest selves.

So, with Ringo’s gentle mystery still humming in the morning air, I embark upon a journey through the intricate terrain of language, seeking the hidden meanings cradled between every tender note of the song that dares to sing within our hearts.

What are words? They are the echoes of our souls - ever fleeting, ever profound.

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