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.

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

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.

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.

In the town of Loughborough, where sheep
Outnumber people, and the rain falls soft,
There lived a man named Bob, who had a dream
To build a rocket ship from old tin cans

He scoured the town for parts, a toaster here,
A broken vacuum there, and soon enough,
His yard became a scrapyard, much to the
Dismay of Mrs. Crumble next door.

“Bob, what on earth are you up to?” she’d shout,
As he welded bits of metal in the night.
“I’m off to Mars, dear Crumble, can’t you see?
I’ve got a date with destiny and stars!”

The townsfolk gathered 'round to watch the show,
As Bob unveiled his masterpiece of junk.
With duct tape, glue, and hope, he climbed inside,
And pressed a button labelled “Up We Go!”

The rocket sputtered, coughed, and then it soared,
A tin can comet streaking through the sky.
The sheep looked up, bemused, and chewed their cud,
While Mrs. Crumble fainted on the spot.

Bob’s rocket flew past clouds and birds and planes,
And soon enough, he found himself in space.
He marvelled at the stars, the moon, the Earth,
And thought, “Well, this is quite a lovely view.”

But then he heard a clank, a groan, a snap,
And realized his ship was failing fast.
He grabbed a wrench, a hammer, and some tape,
And tried to fix the mess he’d made of things.

Alas, poor Bob, his rocket was no match
For gravity’s relentless, mighty pull.
He crash-landed in a farmer’s field of corn,
And crawled out, dazed, but grinning ear to ear.

The farmer scratched his head and asked,
“What now?” Bob laughed and said, “I think I’ll try again.
But first, a cup of tea, a nap, and then,
I’ll build a better rocket, just you wait!”

And so, in Loughborough, the legend grew,
Of Bob, the man who aimed to reach the stars,
With nothing but his wits, some junk, and dreams,
And made the town a little brighter too.

In dreams, she floats on rivers made of light,
With tangerine trees and marmalade skies.
A girl with eyes like kaleidoscopes,
She wanders through a land of cellophane flowers,
Where colours blend and dance in harmony.
The sun, a golden orb, smiles down on her,
As rocking horse people eat marshmallow pies.
She drifts past fields of towering blooms,
Their petals whispering secrets to the wind.
In this surreal world, time stands still,
And newspaper taxis wait by the shore,
To carry her to realms unknown and vast,
Where imagination reigns supreme and free.
Lucy, in the sky with diamonds bright,
A symbol of the wonder in our minds,
She guides us through the labyrinth of dreams,
Where every turn reveals a new delight.

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.

In a peaceful room with candles aglow,
She works her magic, gentle and slow.
Her hands, like whispers, glide with grace,
Easing tension, finding the place.

With soothing oils, she starts her art,
A dance of fingers, a healer’s heart.
Knots unravel, stress takes flight,
In her touch, the world feels right.

She exfoliates with tender care,
Removing worries, layer by layer.
A scrub of salt, a touch so kind,
Leaving softness, and peace of mind.

Her presence calm, her spirit bright,
In her hands, the day turns light.
This lady masseuse, with skill so true,
Bringing comfort, renewing you.

In the tapestry of life, threads woven tight,
Three sisters stand, a bond of light.
Each one unique, a story to tell,
Together, a symphony, a magical spell.

In childhood’s realm, we played and dreamed,
Laughter echoed, our spirits gleamed.
Through fields of green and skies so blue,
We found our world, just us few.

Eldest sister, wise and strong,
A guiding star, where we belong.
Her voice, a melody, calm and clear,
In her embrace, we knew no fear.

Middle sister, heart so pure,
A gentle soul, love’s true allure.
Her laughter, a song, bright and free,
In her presence, joy’s decree.

Youngest sister, wild and bold,
A spirit fierce, a heart of gold.
Her dreams, a fire, burning bright,
In her eyes, the world’s delight.

Through storms and trials, we held tight,
In each other’s arms, we found our might.
When tears did fall, and shadows grew,
Together, we faced the world anew.

In whispered secrets, shared at night,
In moments of sorrow, moments of fright,
We found our strength, in love’s embrace,
Three sisters, a bond time can’t erase.

Now grown and scattered, paths diverge,
Yet in our hearts, a constant surge.
For love remains, a timeless thread,
Binding us, though words unsaid.

In every smile, in every tear,
In every triumph, every fear,
The love of sisters, pure and true,
A beacon bright, in all we do.

So here’s to you, my sisters dear,
In every moment, far or near.
For in this life, one truth I see,
The love of my sisters, forever with me.

In the corners of a bustling day,
A chance encounter, a smile, a simple "Hey."
Two paths converging, like rivers that blend,
In that moment, I found a new friend.

Eyes that sparkle with stories untold,
A heart that's warm, a spirit bold.
Laughter shared over coffee and tea,
In your company, I feel truly free.

We talk of dreams, of hopes, and fears,
Of past adventures, and future years.
In your presence, time seems to bend,
For in you, I've found a kindred friend.

Through ups and downs, through thick and thin,
With you, I know, we both will win.
A bond that's strong, a hand to lend,
In you, I've found a lifelong friend.

So here's to us, to new beginnings,
To shared moments, and endless winnings.
In the tapestry of life, a beautiful blend,
For in you, I've found a true friend.

In the heart of the kitchen,
where pots clatter and steam whispers,
there lies a tale of humble beginnings,
a saga of peas and ham,
a symphony of flavours,
a dance of the mundane and the marvellous.

Oh, Pea and Ham Soup,
you are the unsung hero of the pantry,
the green knight in a ceramic bowl,
the warm embrace on a cold, dreary day.

Once upon a time,
in a land of bubbling broths,
a lonely pea dreamed of greatness,
of joining forces with the mighty ham,
to create a potion of comfort,
a brew of bliss.

The peas, so green and round,
rolled into the *** with a plop,
like tiny emeralds diving into a sea of broth,
their destiny intertwined with the smoky ham,
a partnership forged in the cauldron of culinary magic.

The ham, oh the ham,
with its rich, savoury whispers,
joined the peas with a sizzle, a pop, and a bang,
bringing tales of smoky adventures,
of hickory forests and salty seas.

Together they simmered,
in a slow waltz of flavours,
the peas softening,
the ham infusing,
a marriage of textures,
a union of taste.

Garlic and onions,
the mischievous twins,
danced around the ***,
adding their own flair,
a hint of mischief,
a touch of zest.

Carrots and celery,
the reliable companions,
joined the fray,
bringing crunch and colour,
a rainbow in the ***,
a feast for the eyes.

The broth bubbled and gurgled,
like a storyteller weaving a yarn,
each bubble a chapter,
each gurgle a verse,
in the epic of Pea and Ham Soup.

And when the time was right,
the ladle dipped in,
bringing forth a spoonful of history,
a taste of tradition,
a sip of solace.

Oh, Pea and Ham Soup,
you are more than just a meal,
you are a memory,
a comfort,
a friend.

In the quiet of the kitchen,
as the last spoonful is savoured,
the tale of Pea and Ham Soup lingers,
a story told in flavours,
a poem written in broth.

Jovial zebras quickly vex the bright wizard,
Xylophones and quizzical jigs delight the bard.
Frogs jump over lazy dogs in the moonlight,
While quirky knights guard the ancient site.

Vivid dreams of exotic lands fill the night,
Glimpses of unicorns in the twilight.
Bold explorers venture into the unknown,
With zest and zeal, their courage shown.

Magical realms where dragons fly high,
Echoes of laughter as time passes by.
In this wondrous world, all letters unite,
Creating a symphony, a beautiful sight.

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

Quiet moments still,
Peaceful breaths in twilight’s glow,
Rest renews the soul.

In twenty-four, the streets aflame
a tempest brewed, a nation’s shame.
Southport’s wounds still fresh and raw,
three children lost their lives, a flaw.
False whispers spread through cyberspace,
the stabber’s name, a twisted chase.
Muslim, seeker, both or none
the spark ignited, chaos spun.
England, torn by fear and hate,
far-right voices, venom’s weight.
Riots surged from Southport’s core,
a wildfire leaping, burning more.
Arson’s dance, a crimson waltz,
shops looted, streets in tumult’s pulse.
Police van torched, officers besieged,
a fractured nation, wounds unseized.
Islamophobia’s venom seeped,
racist fervour, hatred steeped.
Disinformation’s murky tide,
Russia’s whispers amplified.
Yet amidst the flames, a counterforce—
Stand Up to Racism, voices hoarse.
Anti-fascists, Muslims, too,
clashed with rioters, hearts askew.
In this fractured hour, we seek the light,
to mend the rifts, reclaim the night.
For England’s soul, a plea resounds:
heal the wounds, find common grounds.
I stand against the darkness,
where prejudice and anger collide.
My words, a beacon of empathy,
a bridge across the chasm wide.
For love knows no division,
no borders drawn by fear.
In unity, we find strength,
and hate dissolves when love is near.
So let us rise above the chaos,
embrace compassion’s flame.
Together, we’ll extinguish hate
and heal the wounds that bear our name.

At the start of the seventies, a spark ignites,
From Newcastle’s heart, a band takes flight.
Roxy Music, a name whispered in the wind,
With Bryan Ferry’s voice, where dreams begin.

A tapestry of sound, that’s woven with care,
Glam rock’s pioneers, they’re beyond compare.
Synthesizers hum, guitars wail and cry,
In their melodies, the stars align.

Andy Mackay’s sax, a soulful breeze,
Phil Manzanera’s strings, a symphony with ease.
Paul Thompson’s drums, a heartbeat strong,
Together they create a timeless song.

From “Virginia Plain” to “Avalon”’s grace,
Each album a journey, a new embrace.
Brian Eno’s touch, an avant-garde flair,
In Roxy’s world, there’s magic in the air.

Their style, a blend of chic and bold,
Glamour and art, a story told.
In sequins and suits, they take the stage,
A visual feast, a gilded age.

“More Than This,” a whisper in the night,
“Love Is the Drug,” a lover’s delight.
Their music, a canvas, painted with care,
Each note a brushstroke, vibrant and rare.

Through decades they journey, a legacy grand,
Influencing many, a guiding hand.
From punk’s raw edge to new wave’s beat,
Roxy Music’s echo, a rhythm sweet.

In the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame they stand,
A testament to a visionary band.
Their songs, a soundtrack to life’s parade,
In every heart, their mark is made.

So here’s to Roxy Music, legends true,
With every chord, they renew.
A symphony of art, a timeless muse,
In their melodies, we find our cues.

Where the winds blow, a heart of stone grows.
Eyes that pierce through veils of night,
A soul that knows no wrong from right.
Ambition’s fire, a burning flame,
No room for mercy, no room for shame.
Steps that crush the fallen leaves,
A path of power, one that deceives.
Whispers echo in the dark,
A ruthless mind leaves its mark.
No tears to shed, no love to give,
In this world, only the ruthless live.

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.

Silent tears fall,
Heart feels heavy,
Mind in turmoil,
Darkness surrounds,
Hope seems distant,
Lost and alone,
Searching for light,
Fighting the shadows,
Strength within,
Rising again.

Day Fades
Twilight takes
Stars chase
Pillows soft
Dreams aloft
Moonlight dances
Silver calls
Night whispers
Guide to sleep
Blankets wrap
Warm and Tight
Night guardians
Eyes heavy
Breathing slows
Slumbers arms
Gently sleep
Tomorrow waits
For now, Rest Quiet
Dream far and free
As stars watch

I think I got a little bit smelly,
From running around and being so silly.
But a splash of water and a bit of soap,
Will freshen me up, I surely hope.

With bubbles and laughter, I’ll scrub away,
The grime and the dirt from my playful day.
And soon I’ll be clean, from head to toe,
Ready for more adventures, let’s go!

I Speak Before I Think
Words tumble out, a hurried stream,
Before my mind can catch the theme.
A thoughtless phrase, a careless slip,
From brain to tongue, a hasty trip.
Regret, it follows close behind,
A shadow cast upon my mind.
I see the hurt, the puzzled glance,
The missed opportunity, the lost chance.
The sting of words, a potent force,
Can wound the heart, derail the course.
A careless whisper, sharp and keen,
Leaves scars unseen, but deeply mean.
If only I could pause, reflect,
Consider words with due respect.
But in the heat, the moment’s rush,
I speak too soon, my thoughts a hush.
I strive to be like Jesus, wise,
To speak with love, to empathize.
With the Holy Spirit as my guide,
To find the words that heal, not chide.
Yet in this flaw, a truth I find,
A heart that’s open, unrefined.
For though my words may sometimes sting,
They come from a place of genuine feeling.
So, bear with me, my friends so dear,
For in my haste, my heart is clear.
I speak before I think, it’s true,
But every word is meant for you.

I Think Before I Speak
In silence, I gather thoughts,
Weighing words, untangling knots.
A careful pause, a moment’s grace,
To find the right words, time and place.
I see the power words can wield,
To hurt, to heal, to build, to shield.
With wisdom sought from deep within,
I choose my words, let truth begin.
The sting of words, I know it well,
A careless phrase, a bitter spell.
So I reflect, with heart and mind,
To speak with love, to be kind.
I strive to be like Jesus, wise,
To speak with love, to empathize.
With the Holy Spirit as my guide,
To find the words that heal, not chide.
In every word, a chance to show,
The love and grace that we all know.
To lift, to comfort, to inspire,
To light the world, a holy fire.
So when I speak, I take my time,
To craft each word, to make it rhyme.
For in the silence, wisdom’s found,
And in my words, love will abound.

It feels like I am wading through treacle,
Each step a sticky, slow-motion sequel.
My shoes are glued, my socks are too,
Even my thoughts are stuck like glue.

I try to run, but it’s more of a shuffle,
Every move met with a sweet sticky scuffle.
The world around me speeds on by,
While I’m trapped in this syrupy lie.

Friends wave hello, then quickly disappear,
As I trudge along, year after year.
But in this molasses, I find some cheer,
For life’s sweet moments are always quite near.

So I laugh at my plight, in this treacle-bound tale,
And embrace the slow, the sticky, the snail.
For in this gooey mess, I’ve found my pace,
A humorous journey, in a treacle-filled space.

Golden sun sets low,
Waves whisper secrets to shore,
Peace in twilight’s glow.

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.

In the heart of a bustling city,  
Where time seemed still, so pretty,  
A library stood, small and quaint,  
With scents of books, ink, and paint.

But this was no ordinary place,  
It held a secret, a magical grace.  
At midnight’s chime, it came alive,  
Books would whisper, stories thrive.

Characters stepped from pages bright,  
Wandering aisles in the moonlight.  
A young girl named Lily, pure and keen,  
Found this library, like a dream.

She loved to read, her heart’s delight,  
And on that special, starry night,  
She saw the books with a gentle glow,  
Curiosity sparked, she had to know.

She touched a book, and to her surprise,  
Was pulled into a world before her eyes.  
A forest magical, creatures grand,  
Talking animals, a wondrous land.

A wise old owl, with feathers gray,  
Guided her through the forest way.  
He spoke of magic, stories’ might,  
And the library’s secret, hidden in light.

Lily explored, her heart so light,  
Meeting characters, day and night.  
Learning lessons, brave and true,  
In worlds of wonder, skies so blue.

As dawn approached, with gentle grace,  
She found herself back in the place,  
Holding the book, still softly bright,  
Her heart aglow with pure delight.

From that day on, each night she’d go,  
To the enchanted library, where stories flow.  
Adventures endless, wonders vast,  
In the world of books, her love would last.

I am because we are,
This truth, I carry near and far.
In the warmth of every hand I clasp,
I feel the pulse of life’s vast grasp.

In ancient lands, where wisdom grows,
I’ve walked with those who truly know.
Through whispered winds and mountain peaks,
I’ve heard the voice of unity speak.

In every handshake, every smile,
I’ve found a reason to linger awhile.
A bond that binds us, soul to soul,
A shared humanity, making whole.

I’ve seen it in the markets bright,
In every humble, loving sight.
Through acts of kindness, freely given,
I’ve felt the touch of the divine, the heaven.

When neighbours fell, I lent my hand,
Together, strong, we rise and stand.
In every tear, in every laugh,
I’ve found my path, my life’s own staff.

Ubuntu walks with humble stride,
In every heart, where love abides.
In every moment, big or small,
I’ve seen the truth, the all-in-all.

For no one stands alone in life,
Through joy and sorrow, peace and strife.
We share a bond, a common thread,
In Ubuntu’s light, we’re gently led.

So let us honour, let us hold
This ancient wisdom, true and bold.
In every heart, a flame burns bright,
The eternal light of Ubuntu’s might.

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.

I kissed a girl, I kissed a guy,
Underneath the twilight sky.
With stars above and hearts so high,
We danced until the night passed by.
In moments shared, no need to lie,
Just pure connection, you and I.
With every touch, a gentle sigh,
A bond that words could not deny.
Through laughter, tears, and dreams that fly,
Together, we could reach the sky.
In love’s embrace, we both comply,
A perfect match, a sweet reply.

Oh, the morning after, shadows cast,
From night's wild revelry, now long past.
Echoes of laughter, distant as they roar,
In dawn's silent light, they are no more.

Eyes heavy, with heart weighed down so low,
Remnants of joy now turn into sorrow.
The taste of regret, bitter, chilling cold,
Under morning's harsh light, tales unfold.

Memories blur, like dreams in fog's embrace,
What once shone bright, now loses its grace.
The night before, a fleeting, thrilling high,
Leaves voids within, a deep, exhausted sigh.

A pounding headache, each thump a stark ache,
Reminders of all choices we did make.
The evening's fleeting joy, the night's allure,
Now morphs to silence, nothing remains pure.

In the morning after, with solemn tone,
Facing harsh truths in this early light alone.
The cost of fun, of choices too unwise,
A lesson learned in painful morning skies.

Yet in this pain, a chance to grow anew,
A wisdom gained that only dawn could view.
The morning after, though it brings its sting,
Lays down the path for new beginnings.

There once was a mosquito named Jack,
Who bit in the small of my back.
I scratched and I swore,
As she flew out the door,
Leaving me with an itchy attack!

****** Mosquitos – Literally

Upon the wheel, the clay does spin,
A formless mass, new life begins.
With gentle hands, the potter moulds,
A vessel’s shape, a story unfolds.

Each press and turn, with care and grace,
Imparts a mark, a sacred trace.
Through trials of fire, the clay must go,
To strengthen, harden, and to grow.

Imperfections smoothed, flaws erased,
In the potter’s hands, the clay is placed.
From dust to art, a masterpiece,
In every curve, a sense of peace.

The potter’s touch, both firm and kind,
Transforms the clay, renews the mind.
In every vessel, a purpose found,
A testament to love profound.

The star shines bright on Bethlehem’s night,
Angels sing of Christ’s birth,
Shepherds gather in humble delight,
Peace and joy fill the earth.

Angels sing of Christ’s birth,
A Saviour born to set us free,
Peace and joy fill the earth,
In a manger, love’s decree.

A Saviour born to set us free,
Wise men travel from afar,
In a manger, love’s decree,
Guided by the shining star.

Wise men travel from afar,
Shepherds gather in humble delight,
Guided by the shining star,
The star shines bright on Bethlehem’s night.

In the land of Chile, far and wide,
There grew a chilli, filled with pride.
But this wasn't just any spice,
Its tale, my friend, is quite precise.

From Mexico, the seeds did roam,
Across the seas to find a home.
They landed in the Andes' care,
In Chile's soil, rich and rare.

The chilli grew, with zest and zing,
But felt a chill in early spring.
It shivered in the mountain air,
A chilli's fate, oh quite unfair!

"A Mexican chilli," it declared with cheer,
"Should be warm and full of fiery cheer!
But here I am in Chile's breeze,
Chilly and cold, I want to freeze!"

The farmers laughed and wrapped it tight,
In blankets warm, a funny sight.
They whispered tales to keep it warm,
Of sunlit days and summer's charm.

The chilli dreamed of spicy dishes,
Of tacos, salsas, all its wishes.
But in the Andes' chilly hold,
It felt its dreams were getting cold.

One day it met a cactus bold,
Who said, "Dear chilli, do be told,
In Chile's cold, you'll find your spark,
A chilly chilli, leaves a mark."

The chilli laughed and found its place,
In soups and stews, a warming grace.
For even in the coldest climes,
A chilli's spice can charm at times.

So next time you taste a fiery bite,
Remember the chilli's chilly plight.
From Mexico to Chile's crest,
A chilly chilli can be the best!

In the velvet dark of nightfall’s embrace,
Stars awaken, each in their place.
Whispers of twilight, soft and serene,
Paint the sky in a midnight sheen.

Moonlight dances on silken waves,
Casting shadows in hidden caves.
Crickets sing their lullaby tune,
Under the watchful eye of the moon.

The world slows down, in gentle repose,
Dreams unfurl as the night wind blows.
In the velvet dark, hearts find peace,
A moment of stillness, a sweet release.

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.

In the expanse, beyond our sight,
God-beyond-us, Infinite Light,
Creator of stars, the cosmos grand,
In every grain of desert sand.

Beside us walks the Holy One,
God-beside-us, the Father’s Son,
In every heart, a gentle guide,
With love and grace, always by our side.

Within our souls, a spark divine,
God-being-us, in you and me,
A whisper soft, a silent prayer,
The breath of life, always there.

Three faces, one essence, intertwined,
In every heart and every mind,
Beyond, beside, within us all,
The sacred dance, the divine call.

If you had three wishes
Tell me what they would be.
A fancy car, a new guitar,
Or that money grows on trees

If I had three wishes
I tell you what they would be.
If I had three wishes
You would be all three.

Do you know how the rules go?
You cannot wish for world peace.
Or wish for love from anyone.
And with any an old friend be

You cannot wish for more wishes,
That does not bother me.
'Cos if I had three wishes,
You would be all three.

I could say "I want to fly,"
But that would get old after a while.
A million things that I could do
But they would be nothing without you.
So, I cannot think of anything....

If you had three wishes
Do you know what they would be,
Would one be saved for a rainy day?
Or for someone more in need.

If I had three wishes
I tell you what they'd be.
If I had three wishes
You would be all three!

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

I’m not an American but what’s the score with Trump,
A figure so polarizing, he makes the headlines jump.
From tweets to rallies, his presence looms large,
A captain of controversy, always in charge.

Policies and promises, some kept, some not,
A legacy debated, in every thought.
Supporters cheer, detractors sigh,
In the court of public opinion, the stakes are high.

Economy, immigration, walls and trade,
Decisions and actions, in history’s shade.
Love him or loathe him, his impact is clear,
A chapter in politics, both far and near.

We are bound as one,
In shared breaths, life’s circle flows,
Ubuntu’s light shines.

Wind whispers
Earth beats
Existence rhythm
Endless worth
Leaves rustle
Streams murmur
Vital cadence
Dreams symphony
Child laughs
Age sighs
Echoes life
Story staged
Dance measure
Beat resound
Vital cadence
Purpose found

Unseen in the crowd, I stand alone,
Never quite fitting in, feeling unknown.
Love seems distant, a far-off dream,
Overlooked, I drift in a silent stream.
Voices around me, yet none to hear,
Emptiness grows, fed by my fear.
Desiring connection, a touch, a sign,

Drip, drip, hope flows in,
Silent strength in every drop,
Warrior within.