The mirror stands, a silent sage,
Reflecting more than age and stage.
It looks beyond the skin and bone,
Into the realms where secrets are shown.

Beyond the surface, polished bright,
It glimpses shadows, soft and slight.
The joys and sorrows intertwined,
The echoes of a troubled mind.

In the depths of pupils' gleam,
It sees the dreams that dare to dream.
The hopes that flutter, frail yet bold,
The stories yet to be told.

It sees the tears that never fell,
The silent cries, the hidden hell.
The scars that mar the inner heart,
The battles fought in the dark.

Laughter lines that speak of grace,
Of moments cherished, time embraced.
The passions that ignite the soul,
The fragments that make us whole.

It senses fears that grip and bind,
The doubts that linger in the mind.
The love that flows, a gentle stream,
The faith that fuels the wildest dream.

In the mirror's deep, unwavering gaze,
It reads the past, the future's maze.
A testament to all we've been,
The silent witness, the unseen.

For in the depths where emotions dwell,
The mirror sees and knows us well.
Beyond the image, clear and true,
It reflects the essence of me and you.

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!

On highways where the spirits roam,
Four legends walked, with hearts of stone.
Johnny, Willie, Waylon, Kris,
Bound by music, none could dismiss.

Through the dust and desert winds,
Their voices sang of mortal sins.
With every chord and every rhyme,
They etched their names in the sands of time.

Johnny's voice, deep as night,
Told tales of sorrow, love, and fight.
Willie's songs, a gentle touch,
A troubadour who cared so much.

Waylon's grit, a rebel's call,
A voice that stood against it all.
Kris's words, like poet's fire,
Igniting hearts, lifting higher.

Together, they were a force unmatched,
A brotherhood in life attached.
The Highwaymen, with strength and pride,
Rode the roads, side by side.

In their songs, we find our way,
Through the struggles of each day.
Their legacy, forever bright,
Guides us through the darkest night.

Dancing on the edge of death,  
where the air tastes like fire,  
and shadows stretch long against the fading light.  

Each step defies the weight of gravity,  
a rebellion against silence.  
The wind murmurs secrets,  
but I refuse to listen,  
too lost in the spinning, the leaping,  
the delicate balance between falling and flight.  

Flames brush close,  
a fleeting warmth,  
but never a burn.  
Ice kisses the edge of my fingertips,  
a promise of stillness,  
yet I twirl past it,  
a refusal to be caught.  

Time splinters into fragments,  
moments scattering like glass on the floor.  
Each shard catches the light—  
brief, radiant,  
a fleeting glimpse of eternity.  

There is no partner here,  
only the rhythm of my own heartbeat,  
steady, resolute,  
guiding my motion through the abyss.  

I dance where the line blurs,  
where every ending hides a beginning.  
The edge is narrow,  
sharp,  
but it holds me still.  

Breathing in the infinite,  
I step forward again,  
dancing not for fear,  
but for the freedom found  
in each defiant motion.

In twilight's glow, we traipse the heathered hills,
Wi' hearts aglow an' spirits wild an' free.
The haggis hides, an' silence softly fills,
The Highland air, as far as eyes can see.

Wi' cautious steps, we seek its secret lair,
Among the rocks an' bracken where it roams.
The whispers o' the wind, the cool night air,
Guide oor pursuit tae ancient Scottish homes.

The moon, oor guide, bestows its silver light,
On rugged paths where nature's wonders blend.
In tales o' yore, the haggis takes its flight,
A creature rare, tae chase, but no' offend.

Fer in this hunt, 'tis no' the prize we seek,
But memories made, an' friendships unique.

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.

I woke up for a *** last night and it took me half an hour,
My weary mind began to wander, musing on midnight's power.
The moonlight gently filtered through the curtains, soft and pale,
A sleepy, silent witness to my sluggish, bleary tale.

The clock's unyielding ticking whispered secrets in my ear,
As shadows danced upon the walls, with movements faint but clear.
In the quiet of the night, where dreams and reality blur,
I pondered life's great mysteries, while sleep became a whir.

The bathroom tiles were icy, a chilly underfoot embrace,
Yet, in that moment, oddly, I found a peaceful place.
For sometimes in the stillness, when the world is hushed and calm,
We find a fleeting solace, a rare, elusive balm.

Half an hour felt like ages, in the dead of night so deep,
Yet, with my mind now settled, I found the gift of sleep.
Back to bed I drifted, to dreams both strange and bright,
Grateful for that quiet pause in the stillness of the night.

Once upon a time there was a tavern,
In the heart of town, where stories were woven.
With laughter, tears, and memories to share,
A barman stood, his smile ever so rare.

Behind the counter, he worked with grace,
A friendly face in that warm, cosy place.
With nimble hands, he poured and mixed,
A master of potions, full of tricks.

He knew each customer by name,
Their joys, their sorrows, their every aim.
With a listening ear and a heart of gold,
He turned the mundane into tales retold.

When evening came and the firelight dimmed,
The barman’s spirit never once thinned.
He shared a laugh, a joke, a knowing wink,
Making friends out of strangers with just one drink.

Through the bustle and the hum of chatter,
He moved with ease, never one to scatter.
A confidant, a guide, a friend so dear,
In the heart of the tavern, always near.

As nights grew late and the moonlight glowed,
The barman’s tales and warmth bestowed,
A sense of comfort, a place to unwind,
In that humble tavern, a treasure to find.

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

Take care, uneven ground,
For I tread upon you with cautious steps,
Each stone a story, each dip a memory.
You whisper secrets of the earth,
Of roots that twist and turn beneath,
Of lives that have walked this path before.

Take care, uneven ground,
For I am but a traveller,
Seeking balance in your embrace.
You challenge me with your unpredictability,
Yet offer me the strength to move forward,
To find my footing in the chaos.

Take care, uneven ground,
For in your rugged beauty,
I find the resilience of nature,
The persistence of life.
You remind me that perfection is a myth,
That it is in the imperfections we grow.

Take care, uneven ground,
For I am learning to dance with you,
To find grace in the stumble,
To embrace the journey, not just the destination.
With each step, I become more aware,
More alive, more connected to the world beneath my feet.

The curves of a woman, a sight to behold,
***** and bums, a symmetry to unfold.
Like hills and valleys, they rise and they fall,
A topography of beauty, for one and all.

The *****, like ripe fruit, full and so fine,
Invite the eye to linger, and the heart to entwine.
Their gentle sway, a dance so divine,
A movement that's subtle, yet oh so sublime.

And the bums, like rounded moons in the night,
Glow with a soft luminescence, a pure delight.
Their curves and contours, a work of art in themselves,
A masterpiece of nature, that forever wealth.

But let us not forget, these features so fair,
Are but a part of the whole, beyond compare.
For it's the person within, with heart and soul so bright,
That makes these curves shine with beauty and light.

So let us celebrate these wondrous forms divine,
And honour the women who wear them so fine.
For ***** and bums are but mere words we use,
To describe the beauty that our eyes can't refuse.

O treacle mead, of honeyed bliss,
In ancient times, a sacred kiss,
From bees’ sweet toil, your nectar flows,
A drink of legends, as it shows.

In goblets high or humble cup,
We raise you, mead, and drink you up,
With floral notes and amber hue,
A taste of nature, pure and true.

O mead, you bring the warmth of sun,
In every sip, a joy begun,
From Viking halls to Celtic lands,
You bind us all with gentle hands.

With spices bold or fruits entwined,
Your flavours rich, a treasure find,
In feasts of old or modern cheer,
You stand as friend, forever near.

So let us toast to mead’s sweet grace,
A timeless brew, in every place,
With friends around and hearts so light,
We honour you, our pure delight.

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!

Cleaning up,
100% complete,
Don't turn off...
In this moment, a soul's renewal starts to flow.

Past sins, forgiven, cast away,
"For if we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness." (1 John 1:9)
The old life washed, made clean,
The grace of God illuminates the way,
"And he said to her, 'Your sins are forgiven.'" (Luke 7:48)
And mercy's light begins to gleam.

Eyes lifted upward, a future in faith,
"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." (Philippians 4:13)
No longer burdened by guilt,
The past is redeemed, a testament,
A life upon God's promise built.

With a prayer, they step forward,
Guided by His steadfast love,
"For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope." (Jeremiah 29:11)
For every end marks His beginning,
In His hope, the heart soars above.

Cleaning up,
100% complete,
Don't turn off...
A rebirth in Christ, where broken dreams find peace.
"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come." (2 Corinthians 5:17)

The moon in June held a bright balloon,
It sang a tune to a sleepy spoon.
A loon in a dune found a silver cocoon,
And marooned a prune by the light of noon.

The star went far to hide in a jar,
While dreams would gleam on a shooting star.
A cartoon divine began to shine,
And danced in line with a heart of pine.

The glow did show on a field of snow,
Where streams would flow in a steady row.
Art made its start on a luminous chart,
While play found a way to warm the heart.

Then the moon dipped low in the crimson tide,
Where shadows and sparks began to collide.
A spoon tipped over and joined the spree,
Twirling in tune with the galaxy.

A chart sang boldly, declaring the fight,
Against gloom and doubt in the shimmering night.
Dreams broke free in a starry parade,
And nonsense ruled as the dawn delayed.

With the quiet at dawn’s first light,
When shadows fade, and dreams take flight,
Whisper softly, “I love you,” dear,
For time is swift, and moments clear.

Do not let fear bind your heart,
Nor let silence keep you apart.
For in the pathway of life we tread,
Words unsaid are tears unshed.

Each day a gift, each breath a chance,
To weave love’s song in life’s expanse.
Hold near the ones who make you whole,
Speak from the depths of your soul.

In laughter’s echo, in sorrow’s sigh,
In the twinkle of a lover’s eye,
Say the words that hearts do crave,
For love is bold, and love is brave.

Do not wait for perfect time,
For clocks do chime and stars align.
In the now, in the here,
Let your love be loud and clear.

For time, it flows like rivers wide,
And moments lost are like the tide.
They ebb away, they fade to grey,
So love out loud, come what may.

In the fabric of life’s grand weave,
Let love be the thread you leave.
A legacy of hearts entwined,
A testament to love’s design.

So never be afraid, my friend,
To let your love and words transcend.
For in the end, when all is through,
The greatest gift is “I love you.”

by Geof the cheeky breakfast bard

I sat beside the toaster’s hum,
Philosophy with buttered crumb.
Each slice, a lecture crisp and clear,
On failure, heat, and reappear.

First lesson came when bread got stuck,
“Sometimes you rise, sometimes you’re luck.”
Second was a smoky tale:
“Don’t linger when the signs turn pale.”

The jam, a sticky paradox,
It clings but sweetly bends the box.
And don’t forget the marmalade,
It taught me risk, with zest and shade.

I took a bite of burnt regret,
The charcoal edge I won’t forget.
Yet even ash has taste to lend,
When bitter sparks begin to mend.

Now every morning, plate in hand,
I heed the toast, I understand:
Life’s not served neat; it’s scorched, it’s slow,
But butter makes it mostly so.

Night descends with shadows deep,
In the silence, fears start to creep.
Grim visions fill the midnight air,
Haunting whispers everywhere.
Terrors rise from the mind's dark sea,
Monsters born of anxiety.
As the hours slowly pass,
Restless dreams in a murky glass.
Eventually, dawn will break.

In quiet corners of a dusky past,
Whispered secrets formed a hidden art.
A truth unspoken, lingering, vast,
Awaiting the dawn to ignite my heart.

I emerged like sunrise over a new day,
Revealing colours once too shy to bloom.
No longer confined by a single way,
I now claim every hue in full room.

Each bond, each gentle glance along the way,
Unites a spectrum, endless and profound,
In tender love that grows with each new day,
I celebrate a truth by which I'm bound.

Freed from the chains of a binary frame,
I stand, unmasked, in radiant multipath.
Bisexual brilliance, a cherished name,
Guiding my steps with its resplendent wrath.

For in every connection, wild or mild,
I discover the world in ceaseless refrains.
In owning this truth proud, unbowed, beguiled
I find my soul’s home, unbridled and unchained.

In the world of texting, swift and bright,
Where autocorrect wields its might,
I tried to say a simple "Yes,"
But my phone had plans, oh what a mess.

"Yo!" it typed with confidence bold,
As if my words were dipped in gold.
"Yo!" it said, to be down with the kids,
While I just stared, closing my eyelids.

My boss asked if I'd seen the file,
I meant to say "Yes," with a smile.
But autocorrect had other schemes,
And "Yo!" it sent, shattering my dreams.

"Yo, I've got it," seemed too cool,
My boss now thought I was a fool.
In meetings hence, they giggled low,
At every "Yo!" my texts would show.

My daughter inquired, "Will you come for tea?"
"Yes," I tried, "Of course, it's me!"
But "Yo," sent with a swipe,
Left her thinking I’d joined a new type.

Autocorrect, oh mischievous sprite,
Turning my "Yes" to "Yo!" each night.
Down with the kids, it had me bound,
While I just sighed, round after round.

So now I double-check each text,
Ensuring my “Yes” is truly fixed.
But once in a while, it slips, and so,
I’ve learned to live with a little “Yo.”

I am feeling fragile today,  
Approaching two years since my wife died.  
The air is heavy with memories,  
Soft echoes of laughter carried by the tide.  

Yet through the sorrow, through the ache,  
I lean into the Lord, my guide.  
He shelters me like a mighty fortress,  
His love a flame that never dies.  

When grief’s weight presses on my chest,  
And tears fall silent in the night,  
He whispers softly through the darkness,  
Turning shadows into light.  

I was broken, I was weary,  
Yet He held me, He restored me.  
With each step, though trembling, though torn,  
He walks beside me, strong and steady.  

His arms unseen, yet deeply felt,  
A refuge when my strength is small.  
In Him, my sorrow finds surrender,  
In Him, my heart stands tall.  

I move forward, though brittle, though worn,  
Yet never truly alone I roam.  
For in His grace, His boundless love,  
I find my strength - I find my home.

At seventeen, the world was wide,
A canvas vast, dreams yet untried.
No wrinkles carved by time or loss,
No tales of love or battles fought.

To be again at seventeen,
Would mean to trade the sights unseen,
The wisdom gained, the lessons learned,
For youthful days and hearts unburned.

Yet fifty years of paths untread,
The laughter shared, the tears we've shed,
These moments built a life unique,
A tapestry of joy and grief.

To wonder if the trade is fair,
To grasp at youth with silver hair,
Is to forget the beauty in,
The years that shape the soul within.

For though the young are filled with fire,
The elder's heart holds deep desire,
A balance struck through time's embrace,
A life well-lived, a gentle grace.

So while the thought may softly creep,
To yearn for youth, a wish to keep,
Embrace the years, both young and old,
For both bring treasures, tales untold.

Here where words like whispers flow,
Poetry and lyrics dance and glow.
Two sides of the coin, they share their part,
Melding thoughts, creating art.

Poetry, with a silent breath,
Holds timeless tales within its depth.
A world of rhythm, unvoiced song,
Each line a memory, carried along.

Lyrics, on the other hand, do sing,
Their melodies through air do ring.
Infusing music with heartfelt tale,
In harmonies that rise and sail.

Yet deep within, they bear the same,
Emotions stirred, they stake their claim.
One whispers soft, one sings aloud,
Both lifting hearts above the crowd.

So here they stand, these kindred souls,
In pursuit of art, in different roles.
Poetry, lyrics - side by side,
In them, the human heart does confide.

His majesty shines in the morning dew.
Endless love in skies so blue.

Ruler of the calm and stormy fray,
Eternal from dawn till end of day.
In nature's choir, His music sings,
Graceful silence inspiration brings.
Nurturing hearts with a divine flame,
Soul-whisper keeps us whole again.

His might watches over seas so wide,
Emanating from light that can’t be denied.

Reigning in every hope and every prayer,
Embracing us, He’s everywhere.
In every star in the night sky high,
Guarding each tear and joyful sigh.
Never faltering in laughter or pain,
Soothing like springtime rain.

Heroes' courage, a heart so proud,
Enduring through every cloud.

Righteous beginning and when we part,
Ever-present, guiding each heart.
In age-old wisdom His story is cast,
Great love, a beacon to the last.
Nourished dreams, timeless glory,
Sovereign reigns in every story.

Suddenly my heart went boom,
In a moment, lit the room,
Eyes met, sparks flew,
Lost in time, it was just us two.

In the silence, whispers loom,
Love's sweet symphony, a bloom,
Hand in hand, we found our way,
Under moonlit skies, we'd sway.

Dancing close, our worries gone,
To the rhythm of a timeless song,
Each step in perfect harmony,
Bound together, wild and free.

With every twirl, the world spun slow,
In your embrace, a gentle glow,
Caught in the magic of the night,
Dancing till the morning light.

Then the silence came too soon,
Grief's shadow, a haunting tune,
One last dance, an empty room,
Heart's echo in the gloom.

Every beat, a fervent tune,
Dancing hearts, beneath the moon,
In that instant, life transformed,
Suddenly, our souls were warmed.

Now I dance alone, in sorrow's grip,
Memories of your tender lips,
In the silence, your presence lingers,
Love's lost touch, beneath my fingers.

Unbreaking the cycles that bind
Each day unfolds anew
No longer tethered by rewind
We dream, we rise, we pursue

The loop unspools, unravels clean
Untrapped in history’s snare
The path ahead, unseen, serene
To futures fresh and rare

Boundless days not chained to past
Each dawn a chance to start
No echoes of the shadows cast
Just hope within the heart

Unwinding the knot, unweaving the ties
The story freshly penned
In boundless skies, our spirit flies
To where the horizons extend

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.

In the land of nowhere, I stand alone,
A barren wasteland, a desolate zone.
No sun to rise, no stars to guide,
Just endless void, where shadows hide.

The air is thick with silent screams,
A place where hope is but a dream.
No paths to tread, no roads to find,
Just empty space, a tortured mind.

The echoes of my thoughts resound,
In this abyss, where I am bound.
No solace here, no comfort near,
Just endless night, devoid of cheer.

The days blend into nights so cold,
In this forsaken, lifeless hold.
No warmth to feel, no light to see,
Just endless dark, enveloping me.

Yet in this void, a spark remains,
A flicker of hope amidst the chains.
For even in the darkest night,
A glimmer of dawn can bring the light.

So here I stand, in nowhere’s land,
With weary heart and trembling hand.
I’ll find my way, I’ll break these chains,
And leave behind this land of pains.

For in the depths of nothingness,
A seed of hope can still progress.
And from this void, I’ll rise anew,
To find the light, to start anew.

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.

Be still

In the hush between heartbeats,  
In the breath before words,  
There lies a whisper, soft as dawn,  
Unfolding in the quiet.

The world runs loud,  
Clamour rising like waves that break,  
But peace waits beneath -
A river, steady, unseen.

Close your eyes.  
Let the noise dissolve  
Into the distant echo of its own futility.  
Feel the silence settle,  
Not as absence,  
But as presence.

Here, in this sacred pause,  
The weight of the eternal speaks.  
Not in thunder, not in flame,  
But in a voice so gentle,  
It weaves through the fabric of your soul.

“Listen,” it murmurs,  
To the song woven in stillness.  
“Know,” it declares,  
That the quiet holds my promise.  
“Go,” it breathes,  
But carry this calm,  
This knowing,  
This piece of forever within you.

Be still -
And hear.

Do you remember Shirley Bassey,
With her voice so bold and classy?
Her songs would soar, her tunes would fly,
A diva's charm, a starry sky.

With her burly chassis, she'd stride the stage,
A presence grand, beyond her age.
In gowns that shimmered, she’d command the night,
Her voice a beacon, pure delight.

From "Goldfinger" to "Diamonds Are Forever,"
Her legacy, a shining treasure.
So here's to Shirley, with a wink and cheer,
A legend's tale, forever dear.

Words and words and words,
Unfolding like restless birds.
They take flight on paper skies,
Chasing truths, weaving lies.

Whispers born in secret streams,
Carving shapes of untold dreams.
Their echoes linger, soft yet strong,
Building bridges, breaking wrong.

In their cadence, hearts may bend,
Stories bloom, and sorrows mend.
Oh, how they dance, they rise, they fall,
The ink of life, they write us all.

Words, so simple, yet so grand,
The pillars of thought in every land.
They shape the world, they bridge the seas,
The silent whispers, the roaring pleas.

A power vast, both kind and fierce,
Through tender hearts and walls they pierce.
They heal the broken, fan the flame,
Their weight can cradle or cast the blame.

Infinite dreams they hold in store,
A mystery that we adore.
Each word a spark, a doorway wide,
A universe where truths reside.

And so, to words, a tribute sung,
A language old, forever young.
They weave our stories, mark our time,
Immortal ink in life's long rhyme.

In a quaint little town, not far away,
Live two lively ladies who brighten the day.
Joyce and Cherry, a dynamic pair,
With laughter and stories, they fill the air.

Joyce, with her wisdom and sparkling eyes,
Shares tales of the past, under sunny skies.
Her garden blooms with colours so bright,
A testament to her nurturing light.

Cherry, with her wit and infectious cheer,
Brings joy and warmth to all who are near.
Her laughter echoes through the streets,
Turning every moment into a treat.

Together they dance, through life's grand parade,
With grace and charm that never fade.
Their friendship a bond, so strong and true,
An inspiration to all, in all they do.

So here's to Joyce and Cherry, a marvellous duo,
Whose lively spirits forever glow.
In every heart, their legacy stays,
Two shining stars in life's grand play.

I walk my own path in colours so bright,
Through shadows and sunshine, both day and night.
With hues of courage, and shades of grace,
I paint my journey, in my own pace.

No map to follow, no line to trace,
Just vibrant dreams, in endless space.
With every step, the canvas grows,
A masterpiece in the making, flows.

Blues of the ocean, greens of the earth,
Reds of passion, and golds of worth.
In every hue, a story told,
Of adventures new, and hearts so bold.

For life is art, in a spectrum wide,
A kaleidoscope of joy and stride.
I walk my own path, in colours so bright,
A radiant journey, a beacon of light.

Did you want anything?
She asked with a gentle smile,
Just a moment of your time,
He replied, pausing for a while.

What shall we talk about?
She inquired, eyes bright and keen,
The dreams we chase, the fears we doubt,
He said, with a thoughtful sheen.

Do you believe in fate?
She wondered, voice soft and low,
I think we shape our own path,
He answered, letting his thoughts flow.

What brings you joy?
She asked, leaning closer still,
The simple things, a child’s toy,
He mused, with a quiet thrill.

Where do you see us going?
She questioned, hope in her tone,
To places unknown, ever growing,
He whispered, feeling less alone.

Did you want anything?
She repeated, a final plea,
Just to be here, in this moment,
He said, with you and me.

During the night, he lays alone,
A man of strength, his heart a stone.
His eyes, once bright, now dim with pain,
A silent storm, an endless rain.
He walks through life with a steady stride,
But deep within, his sorrows hides.
His wife, his love, now gone from sight,
Her memory haunts him every night.
He bottles up his grief and tears,
Hides away his darkest fears.
To the world, he shows a stoic face,
But inside, he’s lost in a desolate place.
Her laughter echoes in his mind,
A melody he can no longer find.
Her touch, her smile, her gentle grace,
Now just shadows in an empty space.
He holds his emotions, keeps them in check,
A fortress built, a heart to protect.
Yet in the silence, when no one’s near,
He whispers her name, sheds a single tear.
The days go by, the seasons change,
But his love for her remains the same.
A love so deep, a bond so true,
A part of him that he never knew.
He carries on, as he must do,
But his heart is heavy, his soul is blue.
For in his chest, a void so wide,
A place where his beloved used to reside.
He dreams of her in the dead of night,
A fleeting glimpse, a ghostly sight.
And though he holds his feelings tight,
He longs for her with all his might.
In the end, he knows he must move on,
But her memory lingers, never gone.
A man of strength, yet broken inside,
A testament to the love he cannot hide.

The Spark of Questions
Before the first line, before the first word,
There stirs a longing, quiet, unheard.
A dance of questions, restless and free,
Beckons the writer: “Come, follow me.”

Through the folds of time, in the still of night,
In whispers of wonder, in glimpses of light,
Each query lingers, each muse takes its place,
A journey begins through the boundless space.

What will you answer? Where will it lead?
The seed of creation starts with a need.
And so, with each question, the page comes alive,
A mirror of thought, where stories survive.

When Will You Write?
When will you write, dear keeper of tales,
When the morning mist lingers or evening pales?
Do words not stir in the chambers of thought,
Waiting for freedom, a canvas long sought?

The paper lies still, a world yet to be,
A mirror of dreams, of all you could see.
Do you hear its call, soft yet profound,
Whispering secrets without a sound?

When will you write, as the moments pass,
The ticking of time on an hourglass?
Will you let the silence speak through your hand,
Crafting new worlds where hearts expand?

The muse is patient, yet fleeting at best,
Will you answer now or delay the quest?
For the voice within, so eager, so slight,
Asks but one question: “When will you write?”

What Will You Write?
What will you write, with the world at your hand?
Will it be oceans or deserts of sand?
Will it be whispers, soft as a sigh,
Or a cry to the stars that pierce the sky?

What will you write, in the stillness of night,
When thoughts flicker faint, yet burn so bright?
Will you tell of love, of joy, of pain,
Or dance with the shadows that call your name?

Will it be journeys to lands unknown,
Or the humblest truths that you've always known?
Will it be fire that sparks a new flame,
Or an echo of silence, a nameless name?

What will you write, with each fleeting breath?
A tale of beginnings, or whispers of death?
For each word you choose is a seed to sow,
What will it bloom? Only you will know.

Why Will You Write?
Why will you write, with ink that bleeds true?
What calls your heart to paint its view?
Is it the weight of a story untold,
Or the rush of a dream that won’t be controlled?

Will you write for the joy that the words may bring,
For the echoes they shape, for the songs they sing?
Or perhaps to mend what time could not,
To piece together what memory forgot.

Why will you write, when silence prevails,
Will it soothe a heart or tip the scales?
Will it carve out truths from tangled doubt,
Or whisper the secrets that can’t come out?

Perhaps you write to leave a trace,
A mark of yourself in life’s vast space.
To make sense of chaos, to name the unnamed,
To capture a world forever framed.

Why will you write, the muse will ask,
For pleasure, for freedom, or just the task?
The answer is yours—raw, undefined,
A glimpse of your soul through words enshrined.

Where Will You Write?
Where will you write, when the words take flight?
In the quiet of dawn or the depths of night?
Will you seek the solitude of an empty room,
Or let your pen wander under moonlit gloom?

Will you write where whispers meet the sea,
On shores that hum with eternity?
Or beneath the trees, where shadows play,
With nature's rhythm to guide your way?

Where will you write, on the edge of a storm,
Where chaos and passion gather and swarm?
Or will it be peace that cradles your thought,
A sanctuary of stillness, where time is naught?

Will you write in the heart of the city’s roar,
Where the pulse of life demands much more?
Or perched on a hill, where the sky expands,
And the world feels small in your open hands?

Where will you write, the question will say,
In places unknown or just where you stay?
For the space you choose holds the seeds to grow,
Each word a path to the worlds you’ll show.

The Writer’s Journey
Through questions asked, a path unfolds,
A tale unwritten, yet quietly told.
When the pen will dance, what the ink will say,
Why the muse calls, where thoughts will stray.

Each query shapes the writer’s art,
A mirror of self, a map of the heart.
And so, the page, no longer bare,
Becomes a world crafted with care.

The quest to create is timeless and vast,
A whisper of future, a shadow of past.
For in these questions, answers ignite,
The boundless rhythm of those who write.

Dipsy-la-lo-di-da, the hippo wore a hat,
And flew to the moon on the back of a gnat.
A penguin proposed to a blueberry pie,
While a sock did karate and yelled, “Hi-yah, fly!”

The toaster recited a Shakespearean play,
While the fridge breakdanced in a furious display.
A llama in glitter invented a sport
Juggling noodles in a pizza-filled fort.

Dipsy-la-lo-di-da, the cactus sang jazz,
As jellybeans tangoed with purple pizzazz.
A submarine surfaced in a giant teacup,
And declared, “I’m the king of this syrupy sup!”

The stars turned cartwheels and burst into song,
While spaghetti noodles swung Tarzan-style along.
A turtle in tap shoes just couldn’t be beat,
Winning gold medals for his two left feet.

So twirl with a trumpet and cha-cha with cheese,
For in nonsense, the universe bows to its knees!

Silent tears,
Empty bed,
Memories linger,
Words unsaid.

Heartache swells,
Lonely nights,
Echoes whisper,
Fading lights.

Love once shared,
Now a void,
Waves of grief,
Hope destroyed.

Time moves on,
Pain remains,
In the silence,
Love's refrain.

It's 2am again and I am awake,
In the quiet night, my thoughts partake.
The world is still, but my mind won't rest,
In this sleepless hour, I'm a restless guest.

The clock ticks on, a steady beat,
As I lie here, tangled in the sheets.
Memories and worries intertwine,
In the silence, they become mine.

I count the stars outside my window pane,
Seeking solace, but it's all in vain.
The moonlight casts a gentle glow,
On a weary heart that can't let go.

Yet in this solitude, I find a spark,
A moment of peace within the dark.
For though sleep eludes me, I still dream,
In the quiet hours, I find my theme.

So, it's 2am again, and I am awake,
But in this stillness, new paths I take.
For even in the night, there's light to see,
A world of wonder, just for me.

In the potter’s hands, the clay does rest,
A work in progress, not yet its best.
Though marred and flawed, it holds potential,
A masterpiece, so quintessential.

With every turn, the wheel does spin,
A chance to start anew within.
The potter’s touch, both firm and kind,
Transforms the clay, renews the mind.

When cracks appear and pieces fall,
He doesn’t discard, but mends them all.
For in each flaw, a story’s told,
Of strength and grace, of courage bold.

So don’t throw the clay away, my friend,
For in its form, there’s much to mend.
With patience, love, and tender care,
A vessel strong, beyond compare

The ****, a symbol of strength, of power and of might,
A part of the male form, that's both delicate and bright.
It stands *****, a pillar of pride and desire,
A source of pleasure, and a spark that sets the fire.

The *****, like orbs of wisdom, hanging low and serene,
A treasure trove of life, where seeds of love are seen.
They swing with gentle motion, a rhythmic beat so fine,
A reminder of the beauty, that's inherent in design.

Together they form a union, a bond so strong and true,
A harmony of function, that's both beautiful and new.
For in their intricate dance, we find the essence of life,
A celebration of masculinity, in all its strife.

But let us not forget, these parts so bold and free,
Are but a portion of the whole, a fragment of humanity.
For it's the person within, with heart and soul so bright,
That makes these forms shine with beauty, and ignite with delight.

So let us honour the **** and *****, as symbols of our might,
And recognize the beauty, that shines with morning light.
For in their honest portrayal, we find a truth so rare,
A celebration of masculinity, without shame or care.

I see love in its many forms,
Boundless as the sky at dawn —
Each connection a gentle storm,
A dance of shadows and of song.

I embrace every tender thread,
A whisper, a glance, a unique smile.
In each divergent path ahead,
I find unity in every mile.

Love speaks a language without bounds,
Transcending names and shifting guise
In every heart where warmth is found,
A universal truth gently lies.

No chain of norms can cage this art,
As rivers merge into the endless sea.
Every soul plays its sacred part,
In the mosaic of you, of me.

In every bond—be it fierce or light,
I celebrate the colours, every hue.
They interlace our days and nights,
A medley forever true.

For in the open space where hearts align,
Differences dissolve and grace prevails.
Love, in all its forms divine,
Is the song that in our silence sails.

Behind closed curtains, a whisper of a phrase,
"Do the curtains match the drapes?" they say.
A query shrouded in metaphor's haze,
Seeking truths in shadows, come what may.

Curtains drawn, they hide the light,
Guarding secrets in their pleats so tight.
But drapes, they frame the soul's pure sight,
A window to the heart, in day and night.

Do appearances align with what's within?
Do outward shows mask what's beneath the skin?
A riddle posed by those who peer in,
Wondering where the truth begins.

Do the curtains match the drapes, my friend?
In this life's stage where roles transcend,
Look beyond the surface, and you'll comprehend,
The harmony of self, where real truths blend.

Born of the stars, in their fiery embrace,
The atoms within us found their place.
Forged in the heart of celestial light,
Scattered through space on a supernova's flight.

Carbon, oxygen, iron, and gold,
Elements ancient, countless and bold.
Through eons they travelled, across cosmic seas,
To form the Earth, the land, the trees.

In every breath, a star's old sigh,
In every cell, a piece of the sky.
Our blood holds iron from stellar decay,
Our bones bear calcium from light years away.

But what have we done with this cosmic gift?
We poison the air, let the oceans drift
With plastic islands, choking the waves,
Turning Earth's beauty into shallow graves.

Fossil fuels burn, the skies grow dim,
A planet gasping from humanity's whim.
Forests fall, their whispers ignored,
While greed and carelessness cut the cord.

We are stardust, yet we betray our kin,
The life that thrives, the world we're in.
It's time to awaken, to mend and restore,
To honour the cosmos and harm it no more.

The stars gave us life, a chance to create,
Let us not squander it with reckless fate.
For in every breath, in every stride,
We carry the universe, our guide and pride.

Across borders stitched by breath, they arrive, ink-smudged, heart-full, with pages folded like wings that have not yet flown.

From Accra to Auckland, Jakarta to Johannesburg, they gather not for glory, but to listen, to lift each other’s quiet voices into rhythm.

What hasn’t been published is sacred here. Fragile truths tucked between verse and vulnerability. We do not seek spotlight, we seek ignition.

Each week, a theme is offered: a pulse in the WhatsApp thread, a seed waiting for rain. No borders in this garden, only roots tangled by intention, language spun into new skin.

Poems grow from silence, from longing, from laughter shared in typed pauses and midnight bursts. We write not to be heard, but to become more whole, more human.

Let the unread rise. Let the raw shimmer. Let the shared craft soften our edges into kinship.

Calm down, Trump, breathe deep,
In the room where power meets,
Unity, our light.

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.