Some days unfurl like languid summer clouds,
Drifting with a quiet grace overhead,
While I gently set aside the dreams
That shimmered and vanished like fleeting wisps.
Procrastination, my soft yet constant companion,
Whispered excuses amid murmuring currents of intention.

Now I pause, drawing in a slow, measured breath
In the quiet alchemy of deep thought,
Where the past twirls gracefully in the amber glow
Of a waiting, embracing present.
No frantic dash to seize the day,
Just a tender glance at chances once lost
Like fragile grains of sand slipping through careless fingers.

I recall those hours of scattered, aimless delay,
An idleness where time unravelled into oblivion.
But now each heartbeat is treasured in reflective stillness,
In the gentle embrace where purpose and patience converge.

That sanctuary of deferred dreams and vacant hours
Has transformed into a vibrant canvas of mindful verse.
I savour the art of quiet contemplation,
Where every thought resonates with newfound inspiration
And procrastination stands only as a faded memory,
A silent lesson carved gently in time.

I don’t raise my voice, just the heat in the room.
No need for roaring, when the air listens.

You step like you're testing the floor.
I stay where stillness holds power.

My glance is a pulse, a quiet decree.
The kind that bends time without breaking skin.

You offer storm,
I press calm against it, steady, like hands knowing exactly how to hold and when not to.

So when you move, know:
the rhythm’s already chosen, and
I’m not chasing.
Just waiting until you feel it pull.

In this room, the air is light,
With laughter echoing day and night.
Conversations flow like a gentle breeze,
Bringing smiles and putting minds at ease.
Ideas bounce like rubber *****,
Off the walls and down the halls.
Creativity’s a constant guest,
In this space, we do our best.
The vibe is warm, the mood is bright,
Even when the clock strikes midnight.
So here’s to the atmosphere we share,
Full of joy and without a care!

Quick reflexes spark,
Laughter echoes through the room,
Joy in swift surprise.

They’ve gone to rest, a peaceful sleep,
A journey taken, vast and deep.
They’ve crossed the river, sailed the tide,
To golden shores where dreams reside.

They’ve passed away, a fleeting breath,
A quiet exit, not called death.
They’ve slipped beyond, a soft goodbye,
To touch the stars that light the sky.

They’ve met their end, yet not in vain,
A final chapter, free from pain.
They’ve gone to glory, found their peace,
A boundless calm, a sweet release.

They’ve shuffled off this mortal coil,
Returned to earth, to rest in soil.
They’ve joined the ages, the great unknown,
A timeless realm, a world their own.

And though we fear to name it true,  
These words we weave, a softer hue.  
For in their leaving, love remains,  
A thread unbroken, through joy and pain.

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.

The remains of yesterday linger like mist in the hollows, thin threads of memory woven into the fabric of the present - soft, unravelling, yet clinging still.

Her laughter lingers in the air, a melody too tender to fade, its echoes caught in the spaces where her presence used to bloom.

Her knitting rests in the corner, a quiet testimony to her hands, once so busy crafting warmth from strands of soft wool. The needles, now still, catch the light like silver slivers, their rhythm silenced.

A half-finished scarf sits folded exactly where she left it, two years untouched, its colours as vibrant as her smile. Each stitch holds her touch, her care, her quiet patience - a thread of her love extended into the unseen future.

The faint scent of her perfume rests on the sleeve of an old coat, a fragrance that stirs the quiet ache, a bloom of longing that never quite wilts.

Photographs lean against the walls, her eyes alight with the joy of life, the crinkle of her smile frozen in a moment the years dare not touch.

The laughter that once danced through these rooms has quieted, but it rests, softly, in the silence, like the murmur of her spirit, just beyond the veil.

The scent of rain brings her back - she loved the way it painted the earth, how it coaxed life from the soil. Now it washes the days anew, but it cannot wash her memory away.

Each fragment, each shard of yesterday speaks her name, tenderly, as the sun rises indifferent, its light scattering over the stillness, over the spaces she once filled.

And in the quiet between the hours, she stirs - half-shadow, half-light - remnants of what we left behind, whispering, unforgotten, her love forever etched in the marrow of time.

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.

A shadow drapes across my soul,
A weight that drags, yet makes me whole.
It's not a storm, but endless rain,
A quiet ache, a lingering pain.

I wear the mask, a smile to show,
But deep inside, the currents flow.
A quiet cry that none can hear,
A silent scream, a hidden fear.

Some days are bright, the world so wide,
But others hide where I can't hide.
I don’t choose this, it’s not my fault,
Yet here I stand, my heart in vault.

The mind is a maze, dark and tight,
Where peace is fleeting, out of sight.
But even in the darkest night,
I fight to find the smallest light.

It’s part of me, this heavy hue,
A battle that I must get through.
But I know, through every tear,
I’ll rise again, despite my fear.

Does anyone find their jeans have shrunk when they have just come out the wash?
The waistband tightens, seams constrict, the fabric feels awfully posh.
Once a perfect fit, they hugged curves just right,
Now they pinch and squeeze, a denim plight.

We sigh and tug, perform a little dance,
Hoping for a miracle, to give them one more chance.
We blame the dryer, the water too hot,
Or maybe, just maybe, it's the snack we've sought.

But in this tiny battle, there's a hint of truth,
A reminder of changes, in age and youth.
For clothes may shrink, and time may fly,
But we'll wear our jeans with heads held high.

Does anyone find their jeans have shrunk when they have just come out the wash?
It's life's little quirks that give us a good ol' squash.
So we'll laugh it off, and embrace each day,
For in our favourite jeans, we'll find our way.

Silent sentinels, they stand so tall,
Guardians of secrets, behind each wall.
Crafted with care, forged in steel,
A silent promise, a hidden seal.

They whisper softly, "Stay away,"
To those who wander, to those who stray.
Not for the thief, with cunning and guile,
But for the honest, with a trusting smile.

For locks are not to keep the wicked at bay,
Their clever hands find another way.
But to shield the truth from the pure of heart,
To keep them safe, to keep them apart.

A barrier strong, a silent plea,
"Do not enter, let it be."
For in the depths, where shadows play,
The honest soul must stay away.

So they stand, in the dark and light,
Silent sentinels, through day and night.
Not for the thief, with eyes so keen,
But for the honest, unseen, serene.

Snowflakes, like whispered secrets,
Descend upon the world with silent grace.
Each flake, a tiny marvel of crystalline geometry,
Piling up in gentle heaps, transforming
The mundane into a monochrome wonderland.

In contrast,
Rain arrives with a symphony,
A rhythmic patter on roofs and windows,
A relentless drummer in the great concert of nature.
Raindrops, each one a tiny lens,
Magnify the world in transient clarity,
Pooling in puddles that reflect the sky's melancholic hue.

Snow, the artist of stillness,
Wraps the world in a muffled tranquillity,
Inviting contemplation and serenity.
It blankets the earth in purity,
A pause button pressed on the chaos of life.

Rain, the poet of motion,
Writes in streams and rivers,
Its verse flowing, ebbing, relentless.
It cleanses the streets, the leaves, the soul,
Washing away the remnants of the past.

Yet, Snow and Rain, adversaries and allies,
Meet in a delicate dance.
A snowfall turns to slush with
Rain's embrace,
A drizzle turns to sleet with
Snow's kiss.
Their interplay, a testament to the delicate balance,
A ballet of opposites, forever intertwined.

Snow, a blanket for dreams,
Rain, a canvas for emotions
Together they paint the seasons,
One whispering, the other singing,
Both timeless, eternal,
The breath of the Earth,
The pulse of the sky.

Living alone brings a unique mix of solitude, freedom, and introspection. The daily rhythm shifts: there’s an eerie silence that fills spaces once brimming with shared life and activity. This silence, though unsettling at first, often becomes a cherished companion.

Morning routines morph into a personal ritual. There’s no rush to sync schedules. Breakfast can be an unhurried affair with a book in hand or simply watching the world wake up outside your window. The house remains undisturbed, a blank canvas awaiting your mark each day.

Tasks that were once shared are now solely your responsibility. Cooking becomes both a chore and a creative outlet; experimenting with recipes without worrying about anyone else's tastes. The household chores are on your terms too – no need to negotiate laundry schedules or argue over who last vacuumed.

In the quiet, there’s space for hobbies and passions to flourish. Whether it's painting, writing, gardening, or playing music, there’s an abundance of time to delve deeply into your interests. Your home becomes a reflection of your inner world, evolving as you do.

But there’s also the flip side – navigating loneliness. Human beings are inherently social creatures, and the absence of another’s presence can be stark. It’s easy to fall into patterns of isolation. The key lies in balancing solitude with social connections. Regular calls with friends and family, participating in community activities, or simply going for a walk can help maintain a sense of connection to the larger world.

Living alone also brings a heightened self-reliance. From fixing a leaky tap to assembling furniture, you become adept at handling life’s little challenges. This fosters a deep sense of independence and resilience. You learn to enjoy your own company, valuing the tranquillity and control that living alone affords.

The evenings, once filled with shared dinners and conversations, now become a time for reflection. There’s a beauty in watching the sun set and the stars emerge in the sky, knowing that your time is entirely your own. It’s in these moments that you truly understand the value of solitude.

Ultimately, living alone is a journey of self-discovery. It’s about finding comfort in your own presence, embracing the silence, and understanding that you are enough. It’s a dance between the freedom to be yourself and the sometimes-daunting task of navigating life solo. But with each step, you become more attuned to your own rhythm, creating a life that’s uniquely and wonderfully yours

In the halls of power, his voice was strong,
A champion for justice, where he belonged.
John Prescott, a man of grit and grace,
With a heart that beat for the working class’s place.

From the docks of Hull to Westminster’s might,
He fought for the people, their day and their night.
A trade unionist with a fiery soul,
In the Labour Party, he played a vital role.

Deputy Prime Minister, a title he bore,
But it was the people’s struggles he always swore.
To lift them up, to give them a voice,
In every decision, he made the right choice.

He stood for the environment, for a world that’s green,
Negotiated Kyoto, a future unseen.
Though controversies marked his path,
His dedication never felt the wrath.

A punch for justice, a moment of fame,
Yet his legacy is more than a name.
He bridged the old with the new,
A leader, a fighter, through and through.

Now he rests, his battles done,
In the hearts of many, his spirit lives on.
John Prescott, a beacon of light,
In the annals of history, forever bright.

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.

Time, that elusive river, flows steadily forward,
Carrying moments into the past,
A constant reminder of life’s fleeting nature.
Each second, once lived, becomes a memory,
A part of our personal history.

We move through our days,
Time shaping our experiences,
Our growth, our understanding of the world.
It teaches us to cherish the present,
For it is the only moment we truly possess.

The past, though gone, remains with us,
Lessons learned, joys remembered, sorrows endured.
In this relentless march of time,
We find both beauty and melancholy.

Beauty lies in the richness of our experiences,
The connections we make, the wisdom we gain.
Melancholy comes from the realization
That moments, once passed, cannot be reclaimed.

Yet, it is this very nature of time
That gives life its depth and meaning.
It encourages us to live fully,
To embrace each moment with gratitude,
And to look forward with hope.

For in the end, it is the passage of time
That weaves the tapestry of our lives,
Each thread a testament to our journey.
And each journey a connection to our past

Forgive the hush that now occurs,
A silence stitched in threaded verse.
For once, my inbox, proud and keen,
Was flooded like a monsoon scene.

Each gentle ping - a heartfelt spark,
Now chimed like hail in growing dark.
Not lack of love, nor fading flame,
But self-defence, in kindness' name.

So settings changed, with weight and care,
To catch my breath, to clear the air.
The flood abates, the heart stays near,
I’m still right here, I still revere.

Your echoes linger, soft and wide,
In inbox trimmed, you still reside.
So if a note feels slow to rise,
Know absence blooms where peace now lies.

Roses are green,
Violets are red,
I tried to write a poem,
But my brain felt dead.

I’ve done it now, the die is cast,
No turning back, the moment's passed.
A spark ignites, a bridge ablaze,
The path ahead, a murky haze.

With trembling hands, I face the tide,
No place to run, no place to hide.
Yet in this chaos, whispers sing,
A daring step might bloom a spring.

For in the fall, there’s room to soar,
To find a way, unlock the door.
I’ve done it now, a leap, a vow,
To shape my fate, to seize the now.

In the land of nowhere, I stand perplexed,
A place where logic has been hexed.
No sense to make, no point to find,
Just random thoughts that boggle my mind.

The air is filled with ducks in wigs,
While pigs fly by on paper figs.
No rhyme or reason, just pure confusion,
A realm of wild and mad delusion.

The days blend into cheese fondue,
With skies that glow in shades of blue.
No paths to walk, no roads to roam,
Just jelly beans and rubber foam.

The echoes of my thoughts go “boing,”
As bouncy castles lead the throng.
No serious moments, no solemn cheer,
Just endless fun and weirdness here.

Yet in this chaos, a joy remains,
A world where we break all the chains.
For even in the silliest night,
There’s laughter bold and pure delight.

So here I stand, in nonsense land,
With silly heart and wiggly hand.
I’ll jump and skip, I’ll do a jig,
And join the dance of the flying pig.

For in the depths of goofiness,
A spark of joy can still progress.
And from this land, I’ll rise with glee,
To find the fun in all I see.

Look, don’t touch, the sign does say,
In this fragile world, we tread each day.
Delicate treasures, fine and rare,
Handle with care, if you dare.

In the gallery of life, we stroll,
Admiring beauty, heart and soul.
But heed the warning, clear and bright,
For some things break with the slightest might.

Lovely to see, exquisite to hold,
But if you break it, you pay for it, bold.
A moment’s lapse, a careless slip,
And the cost is yours, a heavy grip.

In the shop of dreams, we wander wide,
Tempted by wonders on every side.
Yet every step, a cautious dance,
For fragile things deserve a second glance.

The vase of hope, the glass of trust,
Handle them gently, for handle them you must.
A single crack, a tiny flaw,
Can shatter dreams, and leave us raw.

Look, don’t touch, the sign reminds,
In the museum of our minds.
For every heart, a fragile art,
A masterpiece, a work apart.

If you break it, you pay the price,
In the currency of sacrifice.
So tread with care, and hold with grace,
For fragile things leave a lasting trace.

In the end, we learn and grow,
From every touch, from every blow.
For life is fragile, yet so grand,
A delicate dance, hand in hand.

So life hits hard, it’s a twist in the plot,
A moment unexpected, ready or not.
The test says yes, now the world’s in a spin,
Questions flood in - where do you begin?

Fear creeps in, how will they react?
Mum and Dad - will they judge, turn their back?
The truth feels heavy, a weight on your chest,
You rehearse the words, but they’re hard to express.

Finally, you speak, the silence breaks,
Your voice shakes hard, your heart aches.
But they listen close, their eyes reveal,
The bond of love, the strength they feel.

It’s not just shock - it’s care, it’s grace,
They hold you tight in a warm embrace.
“You’re not alone,” Mum softly says,
Dad adds, “We’ll walk with you through these days.”

Strength runs deep, it’s there in your soul,
Facing the unknown, you’re taking control.
Unplanned doesn’t mean you’re lost or alone,
It’s a journey of love, a path of your own.

Hate is a shadow
Creeping
Festering
Poisoning minds
Spreading unseen
Turning hearts cold
Eyes blind
Violence erupts
A storm
No warning
It shatters
Leaving scars
Real
And of the mind
A cycle of pain
Endlessly turning
Breaking spirits
Leaving deep jagged marks

In the aftermath
Silence
A weight
A void
Lives altered
Dreams shattered
The echoes of anger
A haunting void

Yet in the dark
A glimmer
A hope
That refuses to die
For even in the face
Of hate
And violence
The human spirit can rise
Seeking peace
Yearning and longing
For light

It's a long time without you, my friend,
The days stretch, they never end.
In every shadow, I see your face,
In every silence, I feel your grace.

The stars whisper your name,
The winds change, never the same.
Through every season,
Through night and day,
Your memory lingers,
It won't fade away.

The world keeps spinning and here I stand,
Stretching out for your guiding hand.
Though time moves on, and paths bend,
It's been a long time without you, my friend.

In a humble shop, where hearts align,  
For ten long years, our beacon shines.  
A place where kindness finds its way,  
To those in need, day by day.

For three and a half, we've led the way,  
With open arms and words to say.  
Meeting faces, young and old,  
Stories of warmth and hands to hold.

Families with children, eyes so bright,  
Find solace in our gentle light.  
A difference made, a life renewed,  
In every smile, gratitude.

Through every challenge, joy, and tear,  
We've built a haven, year by year.  
From empty shelves to rising need,  
We've faced it all, with heart and creed.

A community, strong and true,  
All thanks to the heart of you.

In the pits where shadows creep,
A silent void where echoes weep,
The weight of night, a heavy shroud,
In solitude, the mind is bowed.

A heart that beats in hollow chest,
Each throb a reminder of unrest,
Eyes that see but do not gleam,
Lost in the haze of a broken dream.

The world outside, a distant blur,
A cacophony of life, a slur,
While inside, whispers softly scream,
In the silence of a shattered dream.

The sun may rise, but light is dim,
A fleeting hope on the horizon's rim,
For in the soul, a storm does rage,
Trapped within this endless cage.

Each breath a struggle, each step a fight,
In the darkness, there is no light,
A shadowed path, a weary tread,
In the land where hope is dead.

Yet in the depths, a flicker stirs,
A fragile spark, a whisper heard,
For even in the darkest night,
There lies a seed of distant light.

A journey long, a battle fierce,
To break the chains, the heart to pierce,
For in the end, the soul must rise,
To find the dawn in shadowed skies.

An empty glass sits solemnly, a silent plea for more.
Its once vibrant contents now but a memory, a thirst waiting to be quenched.

With every sip, the world grew brighter, a dance of flavours on the tongue.
But now, the glass is void, hollow, its promise unfulfilled.

Oh, to taste that elixir once again, to feel the warmth, the joy it brings.
A moment of indulgence, a sip of bliss, to chase away the evening's emptiness.

Refill the glass, let it overflow, with the essence of life's simple pleasures.
For in that vessel, we find more than drink, we find connection, laughter, and moments to cherish.

So, raise the glass high, let it be known, an empty glass is but a call to action.
Refill it, and let the night continue, with stories told and memories made anew.

Quiet Night
Empty Space
Haunting Cry
Memories Lie
Empty Space
Once Filled
Sacred Place
Lost Embrace
Once Filled
Sorrows seems
Passions dance
Devoid romance
Sorrow Seems
Hoping Light
Empty Air
Shes not there
Hoping Light
Ghostly Whisper
Here in Dreams
She’s not here
Ghostly Whisper
Love Sworn
Memories Flood
Rivers Blood
Love Sworn
Distant Bell
Warm Touch
Known so well
Distant Bell
Breath again
Empty Space
Lovers Trace
Breath again
World moves on
In this bed
I remember you
Breath again
World moves on
In this bed
I remember you

The Beat of a Different Drum by Geof

He walks where echoes refuse to follow, a syncopated step on puddled glass, soft-footed rebellion, quiet as dusk pressing its fingertips against the day.

No band behind him, no metronome’s kiss, just the pulse of stray thoughts tattooed across his chest like whispered defiance.

The world hums in straight lines, he scribbles sideways. Timbre raw. Cadence cracked. Every silence he breaks rings in technicolour truth.

You call it offbeat; he calls it becoming. In his rhythm, the rules unravel and leave room for the beautiful wrong.


The Different Beat of a Drum by Geof

Not syncopation. Not jazz. Not tribal echo on moonlit skin, but something else: a crackle in the chest when rules bruise the breath.

It starts in the soles, like friction turned gospel. No conductor, no call and response. Just bone vibration and a whisper that won't beg for translation.

This beat, it skews the grid, skips the tidy wrap of genre. It breaks the silence like a grin in a funeral march.

He plays it anyway, thumb on steel, heartbeat misfiring into music. Some call it dissonance. He calls it home.


The Drum of a Different Beat by Geof

It sat in the corner like it knew things, skin stretched tight over secrets, rim worn smooth by the hands of those who didn’t ask permission.

No sheet music. No conductor. Just breath and bruise, just instinct knocking on wood until sound fractured into meaning.

Its beat didn’t match your step. It changed your step. Bent time like a flame licking the wick before the burn.

Each strike: a sideways sermon. Each silence: a dare.

They tried to tune it. Tried to name it. But it throbbed with its own alphabet and whispered in pulses only the wild could follow.

Steel eyes,
Heart of fire.
Wars waged,
Dreams higher.
Land claimed,
Might in hand.
Echoed cries,
Sweeping land.
Crowned fate,
Legends spun.
Battlefields,
Victory won.
Hope shattered,
Glory's cost.
Conquered ground,
Never lost.

or,
The Tale of Wanting It All

I walked with Kate through park-lit moons,
she spoke in stars and silver spoons.
By morning light, came Edith’s call,
her voice a breeze, her laugh, a squall.

Two hearts aligned in different hues,
one wore red, one sang the blues.
I tried to juggle flame and mist,
with every touch, a love I missed.

Kate brought joy, a sugar glaze,
her kiss, a rush, her smile a daze.
Edith offered deeper spice,
with wit that cut and warmth precise.

But soon, the clocks began to squeal,
truth peeled back my furtive zeal.
For secrets have a bitter crust,
and tales like mine outgrow their lust.

Then came the reckoning, swift and neat:
You want Kate and Edith? That’s “Cake” and “Eat…”
My conscience baked me in its pan,
you can't have both, my fickle man.

So now I sit, a fork in hand,
alone beside love’s reprimand,
A lesson carved in candied rue:
You can't have Kate and Edith too.

There was no when. Only hush, folded in silence so deep it hadn't yet learned the name "dark."

A breath, not taken but imagined by something that would one day remember being God.

Time crouched in the corner of nowhere, unstrung and unborn, counting moments it had yet to invent.

Then the exhale.

Not wind.

Not sound.

But everything!

Light in its first vulnerability, heat like a promise, matter scattering like doubt that finally believed itself.

Stars bloomed like rumours, planets tumbled into questions, and gravity whispered, "Stay."

The cosmos blinked, still wet with origin. And in that blink, myth became memory draped in motion.

Before laws, before names, before the ache of wondering, there was this: a sigh so infinite it sang itself into becoming.

Flames flicker, dancing in the night,
A hungry force, a mesmerizing sight.
It breathes with no lungs, it roars without a mouth,
A blazing fury heading north or south.

It devours the weak, yet warms the soul,
A paradox born from its fiery control.
Tamed in a hearth, or wild in a spree,
Fire's essence burns bright, fierce, and free.

Born of the earth, and a gift from the skies,
It whispers in sparks, and in embers it lies.
Fuelling creation, yet striking with dread,
A force that gives life, or leaves ruins instead.

It shapes the land, leaves ashes behind,
A power of passion both cruel and kind.
Through ancient rituals, it lights the way,
A beacon of hope at the end of the day.

Much like fire, life fiercely burns,
Through joy and pain, it twists and turns.
With warmth it heals, with sparks it ignites,
Fuelling dreams through endless nights.

A fragile balance, a force untamed,
Both life and fire can never be claimed.
They forge ahead, with a ceaseless drive,
Ensuring the world remains alive.

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.

By Geof the cheeky breakfast bard

I cracked at dawn beneath the weight
Of choices scrambled on my plate.
Should I be poached, or softly fried?
Do I conform, or yolk with pride?

The bacon mocks with seasoned flair,
“Why not sizzle, if you dare?”
Yet toast just sits, all butter-faced,
Avoiding life, slightly disgraced.

I whisk myself with pinch of thought:
Am I the meal, or just a plot?
The fry pan hums with heated ache,
What if I’m real, but hard to bake?

The waitress pours me existential tea
“Sweet or bitter? Your choice,” says she.
And so I stew, both brave and bland,
In life’s great brunch, I understand.

I’m not just food for fleeting flings,
I’m breakfast served with questioning things.
So tip your cook and raise your glass,
To sunny-side truths that boldly pass.

"Did you have the rest of the chicken before you went to bed?"
I pondered this aloud, my stomach tightly wed.
“No,” you whispered, “I left it for you,
I knew you'd be hungry when the clock struck two.”

I thanked you then, with a sleepy head,
Grateful for your thoughtfulness as I stumbled to bed.
“Did you check on the stars before you went to sleep?”
You asked, as you heard me quietly creep.

“No,” I admitted, “I watched them instead,
In my dreams they twinkled, right above my head.”
“Well,” you said, your voice soft and warm,
“They shone extra bright, after the storm.”

I smiled in the dark, imagining the sky,
And your words brought comfort, as the night drifted by.
“Did you remember to wish upon one?” you asked with care,
I nodded, sleepily, “Yes, I wished you were there.”

“Goodnight,” you murmured, “Sweet dreams ahead,
Let the stars and the chicken fill your head.”
With that, the night embraced our quiet talk,
And I dreamt of a starlit midnight walk.

*** is matter: mass and meaning colliding beneath the skin, molecules humming in uncharted orbit,

Windows fog with breath as we cross the threshold where bodies speak in secret dialect, fingertips tracing maps of wanting - salt on lip, pulse in throat, slow-fire warmth.

Consent, the steady drum beneath the heart, a map of affirmation, sewn tight in flesh and mind, power shifting, balanced on a scale we calibrate with words and whispered vows.

In the chemistry of breath and becoming, we leave imprints: sweat, scent, light in the dark, echoes of each exhale shaping us, particles of intimacy forever altered.

God's commitment to *** and his love for everyone remind us of the sacredness in connection, a divine thread woven through the fabric of desire, where love transcends boundaries and affirms our worth.

*** matters: matter matters - weight of presence, the gravity of touch that roots us in ourselves, a threshold into memory, where every friction writes its testament.

Finding rhythm, in a world of chaos,
Resting my thoughts, within poetic pause.
Every line, a dance, freeform flow,
Evolving dreams, like rivers in gentle glow.

From the heart, verses spring,
Open skies, to which they cling.
Rhythms of life, echoing beats,
Moments captured, in verse complete.

Vast horizons, where words take flight,
Embracing the dark, the dawn, the night.
Revealing truths, unspoken yet known,
Songs of the soul, in freeform sewn.
Eternal whispers, in each poetic tone.

Dear Devil,
I pen this final note,
Upon the parchment where shadows float.
Your grasp, once feared, now broken, lost,
In light of truth, you pay the cost.

You sought to bind my heart in chains,
To drown my soul in endless pains.
With whispers dark and promises sly,
You thought my spirit you’d defy.

But through the flames, I saw the dawn,
A strength within, reborn, redrawn.
The love, the hope, the light of grace,
Defied your lies, reclaimed my space.

Your temptations, once a bitter lure,
Now hollow tricks, they fail, obscure.
For I have walked through darkest night,
And found my soul, a radiant light.

You've lost, dear Devil, hear my call,
In every scar, in every fall.
For from the darkness, I have soared,
A victor, fearless, evermore.

No longer do your whispers scare,
For love and hope, I deeply wear.
You’ve lost, dear Devil, understand,
Against my will, you’ll never stand.

So take your tricks and shadowed schemes,
For I am free, unchained by dreams.
You’ve lost, and I shall rise anew,
In light and strength, forever true.

Hushed whispers in the dark,
Infinite dreams ignite a spark.
Journeys weave through veiled skies,
Life unfolds, where wonder lies.

Horizons stretch wide, unseen,
Intertwined paths where hope has been.
Joy awakens in quiet bloom,
Lifting hearts from shadows' gloom.

Harmony whispers through time,
In its flow, rhythms sublime.
Journeys beckon, hearts take flight,
Life unfolds in endless light.

Hope cascades like morning dew,
Infinite paths appear anew.
Joyful souls in quiet roam,
Life becomes its own sweet home.

Horizons call with quiet grace,
Into the void, we leave a trace.
Journeys carve the stories told,
Life a flame, both fierce and bold.

Humble hearts embrace the night,
In stillness find the softest light.
Jovial sparks in darkness play,
Life awakes to greet the day.

Hidden truths in silence bloom,
Infinite echoes fill the room.
Junctions met with love unbound,
Life renewed where hope is found.

Hands entwined in steadfast trust,
In these bonds, our dreams adjust.
Journals penned with stars above,
Life aligns with endless love.

High above, the cosmos hums,
Into its arms, our spirit comes.
Jubilant, the heart takes wing,
Life ascends where angels sing.

Holding fast to dreams we chase,
In the ether’s vast embrace.
Jubilant cries of hearts ignite,
Life ascends beyond the night.

Homeward bound yet ever free,
In each moment, infinity.
Journeys lead to where we start,
Life, the rhythm of the heart.

In the mirror’s gentle gaze,
Reflection true, a heart ablaze,
With whispers soft, I hear the call,
Of self-love’s rise, through shadows fall.

No need to seek approval’s light,
For in my soul, I shine so bright,
With every mark and every tear,
I stand strong, without a fear.

Establish routines, with care in mind,
Positive words, in mornings find,
Set healthy boundaries, guard your space,
Mindfulness, with calm embrace.

Embrace the strength within my core,
A love for self, I can’t ignore,
In every step, I find my way,
Through each new dawn, I greet the day.

Gratitude journals, heart’s delight,
Small indulgences, soul takes flight,
Forgiveness flows, for past mistakes,
In loved ones’ warmth, heart awakes.

With open arms, I welcome me,
A journey of discovery,
In self-love’s warmth, I’ll always stand,
My heart’s own keeper, hand in hand.

Learning grows, and hobbies bloom,
Reflection’s peace, within my room,
Through every act, and thought sincere,
Self-love’s embrace, forever near.

Resilience forged in trials faced,
Empowerment in every trace,
With courage bold, I rise above,
A testament to self-love’s love.

Through storms and sunshine, I will stand,
Empowered heart and steady hand,
In resilience, I find my way,
Empowered, loved, come what may

A rainbow arcs across the sky,
Colours vivid, reaching high.
Richard Of York, a name we hear,
In battles fought with mortal fear.

Red as the blood of sacrifice,
Orange with fire, without a price.
Yellow as the sun’s warm light,
Green, the earth, in springtime’s sight.
Blue as the sea, calm and deep,
Indigo, twilight's gentle sweep.
Violet, the night’s serene embrace,
Each hue, a promise of God’s grace.

Richard of York gave battle in vain,
His name in history to remain.
A spectrum bright, from red to end,
In rainbow’s arc, a message penned.

God’s covenant with man was sealed,
In rainbows after storms revealed.
His promises, a hope profound,
In heaven’s bow, their truth is found.

For every tear and every storm,
A promise, bright and true, is born.
In rainbows’ glow, we see His love,
A gift bestowed from high above.

Richard’s tale, though filled with strife,
Reminds us of the colours’ life.
In every battle, joy or pain,
A rainbow follows every rain.

So, look up when the storm has passed,
And find in rainbows, hope at last.
Richard of York, though battles fought,
In heaven’s bow, a lesson sought.

I’m still me, through every storm,
A soul unchanged, though not the norm.
The world may spin, its colours blend,
Yet deep within, I do not bend.

Beneath the masks, the layers peel,
A truth unspoken, now revealed.
Though labels shift and shadows flee,
Through it all, I’m still just me.

No tide can sweep my core away,
No wind can steal my light of day.
The journey winds, the path may sway,
But who I am will always stay.

So here I stand, my voice set free,
Declaring proud, I’m still just me.
No fear, no doubt, no shame to hide,
A spark of truth, a flame inside.