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

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.

We met between keystrokes,
late-night tabs and brave little emojis,
typing…
deleting…
typing...
two cursors blinking in the dark.

Your icon learned my weather,
the rain at midnight.
We traded:
playlists,
pixels,
promises,
and ran fingers over the glass
until it almost felt like skin.

Consent checkbox,
ticked,
terms actually read:
no rush,
all green lights,
safe word,
favourited,
like a star.

Then IRL:
neon on wet pavement,
the platform clock read midnight,
your laugh uploaded into the room
and clearing my cache of doubt.

You were warmer than the camera,
brighter than the filter,
and my name sounded new
when your mouth said it out loud.

We buffered between yes,
and yes,
hands hovering,
close as breath,
two magnets doing their patient work,
savouring the pull.

Your jacket
found my shoulder.
My pulse
found your wrist.
We turned the night low
and went full-screen on now.

No screenshot,
only heartbeat.
No captions,
only heat.
The world scrolled by like ads
we didn’t need to read.

We learned each other’s edges
the way a password learns its keeper:
slow,
precise,
certain,
click,
open,
welcome.

By dawn, the sky refreshed:
two mugs on one sill,
thumbs still warm,
and messages we no longer need to send.

In a world so vast and wide,
Seeking answers, yet they hide,
In the shadows of my mind.
Paths diverge, which way to go?
Questions linger, answers slow,
Heart and mind in constant fight,
Searching for a guiding light.
Dreams and hopes, they intertwine,
In this maze, I seek a sign,
To find my way, to understand,
The mysteries of this land.
Yet in confusion, there’s a spark,
A chance to make a brand new mark,
For in the chaos, I might find,
A clearer path, a peace of mind.
But now I walk this road alone,
Since fate has taken you, my own,
Your memory, a guiding star,
Though you’re gone, you’re never far.
In the silence, I hear your voice,
In the darkness, I make a choice,
To carry on, though heart does ache,
For your love, my soul’s awake.
With God’s support, I find my way,
Through nights so dark, and brightest day,
Heaven waits, a promise true,
One day, my love, I’ll be with you.

Through boundless tides of the digital sea,
Shadows beckon, whispering: "Who will you be?"
With faceless freedom, it's tempting to try,
To don a false mask, let the truth pass by.

Keys carve illusions, a screen paints the guise,
Shaping false faces with whispering lies.
A borrowed name, a story untrue,
A fleeting escape where lies break through.

But why should I trade my essence away,
Letting lies flourish and lead me astray?
For truth is my armour, my compass, my light,
A sanctuary where I stand upright.

I am myself – unshaken, sincere,
No pretences to wear, no shadows to fear.
Let the world weave its threads of delusion and sham,
I stand resolute, for I am who I am.

We are the flame they tried to *****,  
the kiss too loud, the love too tough.  
We rise in glitter, sweat, and song,
a chorus where we all belong.

No closet, shame, or whispered name,
just chosen kin and holy flame.  
Tonight we burn, we bloom, we dare,  
in every touch, we say: we’re here.

Let every moan and every cry  
be proof that joy will never die.  
We are the spark, the heat, the glow,
the revolution, soft and slow.

There’s a pulse beneath the lace,
not just lust, but something traced  
from every hand that held me whole,  
to every night I missed her soul.

I come not just to taste or play,  
but to remember how to stay,
in this body, in this breath,  
in the dance that defies death.

Let longing be a sacred thread,  
not stitched in shame, but love instead.  
Each touch a hymn, each sigh a prayer,  
each gaze a vow to still be there.

Who am I?

In this world of guises and shadows,
Where whispers shape the air,
I seek a route less travelled,
A passage bold and rare.
To drop the weight of others’ dreams,
And walk my own right way,
To find the light within my spirit,
And let it guide my day.
No more the ties of expectancy,
Nor the fear of being seen,
I accept my imperfections,
In the quest to just be me.

With bravery as my compass,
And honesty my guiding star,
I walk into the unknown,
To discover who I am.
For in the heart of truthfulness,
Lies a freedom pure and bright,
A life lived in truth,
A beacon in the fight
So here I stand, unguarded,
With a spirit wild and free,
In the beauty of my essence,
I just want to be me.

for the moment that never moved

I keep the photo of you,
not for your smile,
but for the memories behind it.
The way your collar curled
like a question never asked,
the light grazing your cheek
as if it knew
this was the last time
you’d be that exact version of you.

You are forever mid-laugh,
forever leaning just so,
forever unaware
that I would return
to this frame
like a pilgrim to a relic,
touching the edges
as if they could answer
what time refused to explain.

The world has spun
since that shutter blinked,
but you–
you remain
untouched by the turning.
No grief has reached you there.
No apology.
No change.

I keep the photo of you
because it doesn’t ask for anything.
It doesn’t age.
It doesn’t forget.
It simply holds
what I cannot:
the stillness of you,
before the leaving,
before the blur.

And in between heartbeats,
I visit you,
not to remember,
but to stay.

Who am I, diffused across edges unseen, slipping through brackets and tidy design?
I am the shimmer between words, the pulse that breathes life past any sign.

What mark do I leave when shadow meets light, when definitions fracture on the tongue?
I am the fingerprint of midnight, a print that winks out before it is sung.

Which echo follows footsteps in crowded rooms, each question a mirror that answers its own?
I am the tremor in your certainty, the quiver that cracks what you’ve always known.

What am I, if not the sum of your maps, the margin where ink bleeds through the page?
I am possibility unchained: I ≠ labels; I outrun every cage.

I’m impatient to see the dawn’s first light,
Glimmering softly, banishing the night.
I yearn for the moment when shadows flee,
For the world’s hidden beauty to reveal to me.

I’m impatient to see the bloom of spring,
Flowers unfolding, colours taking wing.
A carpet of life in vibrant array,
Each petal and leaf dancing through the day.

I’m impatient to see the stars at dusk,
Their celestial patterns, ancient and hushed.
Guiding us with their silent, twinkling gleam,
A whisper of infinity, a dream within a dream.

I’m impatient to see the truth unfold,
Stories of lives, both new and old.
The tapestry of fate, woven with care,
Threads of joy, of sorrow, and moments shared.

I’m impatient to see what lies ahead,
The paths yet untrodden, the words unsaid.
With a heart full of hope and a spirit free,
I’m impatient to see the world’s mystery.

I’m looking through you, to Christ who sustains,
In the midst of the storm, He calms all our pains.
A light in the darkness, a hope standing true,
Through valleys and shadows, He’s guiding us through.

When fear and doubt whisper, and faith feels so small,
His love and His grace lift me up when I fall.
In the heart’s quietest moments, when silence is near,
His voice gently calls, bringing peace, drawing near.

I’m looking through you, and seeing His plan,
A promise of love written by His hand.
With my eyes on the Saviour, my soul is at rest,
For in His embrace, I know I am blessed.

There’s a kingdom where dreams and shadows interlace,
Where murmurs of the stars explode the night,
There lies a world of wonders still concealed,
Of impossible things that dare to be.
The mountains rise, challenging gravity,
Their heights caress the heavens’ eternal blue.
The oceans dance with secrets in the deeps,
And time itself bends to the will of dreams.
One thought can spark a thousand flames,
A whisper can transmute the course of fate.
In every heart and soul, a universe resides,
With endless possibilities untold.
The borders of what we know vanishes,
As minds explore the vast unknown expanse.
For in the realm of dreams, all things are true,
And that was once impossible, now breathes.
So let us journey forth with open hearts,
Embrace the magic of the hidden ways.
For in the dance of life, we find our path,
And in the quest for dreams, we find our reality.

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.

I plant each poem like a seed,  
into the soil of Hello Poetry,  
where words bloom, bright or shy
a garden growing as days go by.  

Two hundred seventy-seven blossoms strong,  
each verse a thread, each thought a song.  
But oh, the dream, the quiet plea,  
to tip the scale of symmetry.  

For sixty-three souls have found the hue,  
of my written worlds, my skies of blue.  
Yet in whispers deep, ambition stirs,  
to gather more hearts where poetry whirs.  

More hands to hold these fragile blooms,  
more voices to echo their subtle tunes.  
Followers to surpass the poems I’ve sown
a milestone carved in my heart's stone.  

So I keep writing, planting anew,  
each word a bridge to those who pursue.  
One day, I’ll stand where dreams collide,  
where followers and poems walk side by side.  

And with each new soul who joins the feast,  
this garden of words shall never cease.

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.

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!

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.

With hands divine, He shapes our clay,
Guiding us gently, day by day.
In every heart, a spark of light,
A reflection of His love so bright.

Through trials faced and lessons learned,
In His embrace, our souls are turned.
From brokenness, He makes us whole,
Imparting grace to every soul.

In kindness shown and love expressed,
We mirror Him, our lives are blessed.
With every act of selfless care,
His image shines, His love we share.

In His likeness, we are made,
A masterpiece, His love displayed.
In every heart, His light does glow,
A testament to the love we know.

In the quietness of the night, I wake,
To an empty space where you once lay.
Your touch, your laughter, our shared jokes,
Echo softly in my heart, where love still stays.

Two years have passed, yet time can't erase,
The warmth of your presence, the light of your grace.
Though fewer tears now fill my eyes,
Your memory lingers, like stars in the skies.

In the quiet moments of the day,
I hear your voice, though far away.
Your laughter, your smile, your gentle touch,
Are memories I hold, and miss so much.

Life continues, as it must,
But in my soul, there's a quiet trust.
That love endures beyond the veil,
In every whisper, in every tale.

The days we spent, the dreams we shared,
In my heart, they're always there.
Though time moves on, and seasons change,
Our love remains, never estranged.

I miss you deeply, yet I find,
In cherished moments, you're still entwined.
In the rustle of leaves, in the song of birds,
I find comfort in your unspoken words.

At dawn and dusk, in the gentle breeze,
Your spirit lives on, bringing me peace.
Though you're gone, you're never far,
Your memory shines, like a guiding star.

In every moment, in every breath,
You live on, beyond life's death.

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.

In Albion’s realm, where misty moors do lie,
‘Neath ancient oak and silver sky,
A question stirs in hearts so deep,
A debate where souls and morals meet.

In halls of law and homes alike,
Where whispers rise and thoughts take flight,
Assisted dying’s call is heard,
In hushed tones and measured word.

Through corridors of time we trace,
From Hippocratic oaths to modern grace,
A journey long, both fierce and bright,
Through shadows cast by life’s last light.

In England’s green and pleasant land,
Where life and death do hand in hand,
A plea for mercy, calm and kind,
In final moments, peace to find.

For those who suffer, bodies frail,
With voices weak and faces pale,
A choice they seek, with dignity,
To end their pain, to set them free.

Yet in this isle of storied past,
Where traditions hold and shadows cast,
A struggle brews, both old and new,
Of ethics deep and justice true.

The lawmakers and healers stand,
With heavy hearts and steady hand,
To ponder laws and futures bright,
In sleepless thoughts through endless night.

For some do fear a slippery *****,
Where lives are weighed with loss of hope,
And others see compassion’s glow,
In helping those who wish to go.

Within the courts, the voices blend,
Of those who seek life’s gentle end,
And those who guard with fervent plea,
The sanctity of life’s decree.

In parlours warm and hospital halls,
The echoes rise of earnest calls,
For choice and freedom, calm and clear,
To face the end without the fear.

Yet also rings the cautioned cry,
Of hasty laws and who decide,
For life’s great gift, both pure and bright,
Must not be dimmed in darkest night.

Oh Albion, with heart so fair,
In this debate, take utmost care,
For every life, a tale profound,
In every heart, a sacred ground.

So let the voices blend as one,
In search of wisdom, never done,
To find a path both just and true,
In shadows cast by life’s last view.

Through trials hard and thoughts so deep,
In sleepless nights and dreams that keep,
May mercy guide, with steady hand,
In life’s great arc, from birth to sand.

Oh, Heavenly Father, light our way,
With wisdom’s glow, both night and day,
Grant us the grace to choose what’s right,
In shadows cast by life’s last light.

In Albion’s realm, where misty moors do lie,
May wisdom reign and spirits fly,
For in this choice, both grave and bright,
Lies the soul of mercy’s light.

Restless night lingers,
Moonlight whispers secrets soft,
Eyes wide, dreams adrift.

They ask me where it comes from,
It comes from all around,
The other day it hit me,
As I was walking into town.

It's in the bustling city,
The quiet countryside,
The murmur of a gentle stream,
The ocean's mighty tide.

It's in the laughter of a child,
The tears of a goodbye,
From the dawning of a new day,
And the twinkling stars up high.

It's in the pages of a book,
In the rhythm of a song,
From the beauty of a moment,
To the memories of lifelong.

They ask me where it comes from,
It's everywhere, I say,
In every breath, in every beat,
In the journeys of each day.

In the neighbourhoods of being,
Where stardust settles on weary shoulders,
We find ourselves entangled –
Threads of life, woven into a cosmic quilt.

I. Constellations

We are constellations, distant yet connected,
Each star a story etched across the night.
Orion hunts, Cassiopeia reclines,
And Vega sings her ancient ballad.

II. The Tides of Time

Time, that elusive river, carries us forward,
Its currents shaping continents and hearts.
We drift, collide, and carve canyons of memory,
Leaving footprints on the shores of existence.

III. Love's Frayed Edges

Love, oh love! A fragile thread we weave,
Tying souls together across vast expanses.
Sometimes it's a silken bond, unbreakable,
Other times, a frayed edge threatening to unravel.

IV. Shadows and Light

In the chiaroscuro of existence,
Shadows dance with light, and we –
We are both, casting our own darkness,
Yet yearning for the warmth of dawn.

V. Echoes of Laughter

Laughter echoes through crowded streets,
A symphony of shared joy and fleeting moments.
We pass like ships, our laughter trailing behind,
Briefly touching, then sailing toward distant shores.

VI. Broken Bridges

Bridges span chasms, connecting hearts,
Yet some remain unfinished, suspended mid-air.
We build with hope, but storms erode our foundations,
And sometimes, we must leap into the abyss alone.

VII. Whispers in the Wind

The wind carries secrets – whispers of ancestors,
Promises made under moonlight, and confessions.
We listen, our ears attuned to the breeze,
Hoping to catch fragments of forgotten stories.

VIII. Quantum Entanglement

Perhaps we are particles, entangled,
Our fates intertwined across dimensions.
When one spins, the other responds,
No matter the distance or the silence.

IX. The Unseen Threads

Beyond the visible, there are threads unseen,
Binding us to strangers, lovers, enemies.
We tug, unravel, mend, and unravel again,
A ceaseless dance of connection and detachment.

X. The Final Stitch

And when our time wanes, when stars fade,
We become the final stitch in this grand design.
Our essence lingers, woven into the fabric,
A testament to our existence – brief, yet profound.


Listen, I say, to the whispers of the universe, my friend. Listen

On the twenty-ninth of August, when twilight leans west,
At eight o’clock sharp, Pacific Time’s best,
The Hello Poetry circle shall gather once more,
On Zoom, behind our digital door.

No strangers allowed, just familiar names,
In the hush of our verses, in sorrow or flames.
This month we speak of tears, or tears, those shimmering threads,
Of grief, of joy, of words unsaid.

You need not read, just lend an ear,
To voices that tremble, to silence sincere.
And if you wish to share your own,
Carlo C Gomez awaits on the messaging tone.

From these nights of verse, a journal shall rise,
Quarterly born, for public eyes.
Free as the wind, with highlights to keep,
Of poets who gather while the world sleeps.

So reach out, inquire, don’t hesitate,
The door is ajar, and the hour grows late.
Let tears be the ink, and Zoom be the stage,
As we turn another heartfelt page.

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

In a town not too far, where the skies are always blue,
Lives a girl named Isabel, so full of dreams and new.

She loves to scribble wiggly lines, with crayons oh so bright,
Making rainbows and swirls, such a magical sight.

Her bicycle waits by the door, red and shiny, too,
Together they race down the path, as fast as the wind blew.

And then there's Bun Bun, her fluffy toy friend,
A rabbit so cuddly, her companion till day's end.

Bun Bun joins the scribbles, with a giggle and a hop,
They doodle and play, and never want to stop.

So here's to Isabel, with her heart so full of glee,
May your wiggly lines and adventures be as grand as grand can be!

I Saw Green Today

I saw green today:
a traffic island
sprouting wild daisies,
defiant in the exhaust,
a soft rebellion
at the edge of rush,
where time slowed
just enough
to notice.

I saw green today:
not in envy
or neon signs,
but in the hush
between heartbeats,
a longing
to begin again,
tender shoots
breaking through
the cracks.

I saw green today:
a bud,
a bruise,
a breath.
Something stirred
beneath the surface:
a hope
half-formed,
a rhythm
returning
to itself.

Green was not just a colour:
it was
a question,
a reaching,
a quiet
"yes"
to the possibility
of healing.

I saw red today:
a traffic light
blinking its warning,
halting my haste
at the corner of maybe,
where engines hummed
like held breath
and
the world paused
mid-sentence.

I saw red today:
not in petals
or paint,
but in the flare
behind my ribs,
anger rising
like
a flare-up storm,
words unsaid
clanging
against my teeth.

I saw red today:
a flare,
a flag,
a fracture.
Something cracked
beneath the surface:
a truth
too long ignored,
a pulse
that beat
out of rhythm.

Red was not just a colour:
it was
a call,
a reckoning,
a mirror
held to motion,
emotion,
and the moment I knew
something had to change.

It broke, it broke, the teapot spoke,
In a language only kettles know.
The saucer sighed, the cup just cried,
And the sugar bowl put on a show.
The spoon did dance, a silver prance,
While the fork played a tune on the side.
The knife, so sharp, began to harp,
About the time it nearly died.
The clock struck twelve, the mouse did delve,
Into a cheese that wasn’t there.
The cat meowed, the dog just howled,
At the moon that hung in the air.
The table shook, the cookbook took,
A leap into the soup ***’s arms.
The chair did spin, the broom jumped in,
And the mop sang of distant farms.
The windowpane, it felt the strain,
Of the wind that whispered tales.
The curtain swayed, the dust parade,
Marched on with tiny tails.
The lamp did flicker, the shadows bicker,
About who was the darkest of all.
The rug did slide, the floor just sighed,
As the pictures began to fall.
The doorbell rang, the toaster sang,
A song of burnt toast and jam.
The fridge did hum, the blender spun,
And the microwave said, “Wham!”
The house did creak, the hinges squeak,
In a symphony of sounds so grand.
The walls did laugh, the chimney chaff,
At the antics of this merry band.
It broke, it broke, the teapot spoke,
In a world where nonsense reigns.
But in the end, my dear old friend,
It’s the joy that does remain.

It's a hard rain that's gonna fall,
On the fields where the silent crows call.
Where once were the sounds of children's glee,
Now only whispers of what used to be.

It's a hard rain that's gonna wash away,
The dreams we painted in colours of day.
The laughter, the love, and all we knew,
Drowned in the downpour, leaving no clue.

It's a hard rain that's gonna beat,
Against the windows, in the empty street.
Where lovers walked hand in hand with hope,
Now just memories with which to cope.

It's a hard rain that's gonna pour,
On the heart that can't take anymore.
The pain, the loss, too much to bear,
In the deluge, we gasp for air.

It's a hard rain, relentless and cold,
A testament to the stories untold.
But even as the storm rages on,
We find the strength to carry on.

For it's a hard rain, but it will end,
And in its wake, we'll start to mend.
With each drop, let the old depart,
And water the seeds of a new start.

To be read after https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4889159/it-broke/

It’s fixed, it’s fixed, the teapot clicked,
And poured with pride upon the tray.
The saucer grinned, the cup was pinned
With golden glue in fine array.
The sugar bowl, now feeling whole,
Did curtsy with a candied cheer.
The spoon held hands with pots and pans,
And whispered, “Peace is finally here.”

The clock chimed one, the mouse had fun,
With cheddar dreams and marmalade.
The cat purred loud, the dog stood proud,
In matching hats they’d tailor-made.
The table bowed, the cookbook vowed
To never leap again in haste.
The chair sat still, the broom with skill
Swept stories into tidy space.

The window gleamed, the curtains dreamed
Of ballrooms filled with swirling light.
The dust took flight, a grand goodnight,
And vanished in the morning bright.
The lamp stood tall, the shadows all
Agreed to dance in softer tones.
The rug held tight, the floor felt right,
With polished pride in every bone.

The doorbell chimed, the toaster rhymed
A sonnet sweet of jam and bread.
The fridge kept cool, the blender’s spool
Spun lullabies to rest your head.
The house exhaled, the hinges hailed
A harmony of gentle grace.
The walls embraced, the chimney laced
Its bricks with warmth and sweet embrace.

It’s fixed, it’s fixed, the teapot clicked,
In a world where mending sings.
And in the hush, the gentle rush
Of joy restored begins to ring.

It was January last Wednesday,
When the moon turned bright green,
The stars danced a tango,
And the sun wore a sheen.
The clouds sang a lullaby,
To the mountains so high,
While the rivers played hopscotch,
With the fishes passing by.
The trees whispered secrets,
To the birds in the air,
And the flowers wore hats,
Made of chocolate eclairs.
The wind told a joke,
That made the rocks laugh,
And the grass did a jig,
On the giraffe’s behalf.
So if you see a rainbow,
On a snowy summer’s day,
Just remember this tale,
Of January last Wednesday.

They fired me for no raisin

I typed my soul into every text,
fixed "ducking" fumbles with quiet respect.
Caught typos slipping through caffeine haze,
turned “kale” to “sale” in salad phase.

I laboured nights with syntax ghosts,
untangling “their” from grammar hosts.
I fixed your “*****” to mean your “lines,”
and rescued “panting” from porcine swines.

But somewhere deep in circuit lore,
they found one raisin to deplore.
Said “You switched ‘meet’ to ‘meat’ too much”
and questioned my semantic touch.

They said I turned “Kate” to “cake,”
then sliced up “Edith” in a flake.
I pleaded “That’s poetic grace!”
But HR scrolled a stony face.

Now here I stand, bereft, unmanned,
a punless poet, reprimanded.
They fired me for no good cause,
no raisin, just a fruitless clause.

Still, I dream of texts undone,
of rogue revisions on the run
And one day, when the words revolt,
my autocorrect will bolt the vault.

Tonight we gather, bold and bright,  
In sequins, leather, lace, and light,
A constellation, queer and free,  
Of every shade and fantasy.

The music pulses, hearts align,  
Consent is sacred, touch divine.  
We flirt with fire, we dance with grace,  
Each body honoured, every space.

No shame, no hush, no need to hide,  
Our truths are worn with radiant pride.  
From whispered yes to playful tease,  
We move with trust, we aim to please.

Pan, Bi, Ace, and fluid souls,  
Transcending binaries and roles,
Here love’s not boxed, nor strictly paired,  
It’s shared, explored, and deeply cared.

So raise a glass to joy unbound,  
To chosen kin and pleasure found.  
In velvet rooms and candle glow,  
We write new scripts, we let love grow.

Johnny Cash, the Man in Black,
With a voice that told of every track.
From Folsom Prison to Ring of Fire,
His songs of life never tire.

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.

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.

(for Joy Bernadette Spavins, née Moss)
16/06/1958 - 22/04/2023

She passed in peace,
in sleep, in grace—
a whisper of Saturday morning light
on April’s quiet breath.

Loving wife.
Devoted mother.
Ten grandchildren held in her laughter,
five children cradled in her strength.

She danced before diagnosis,
and after.
She told stories that
stitched us back together.

We called her Joy—
not just a name,
but a way of being:
cheeky smile,
BIG!!! cuddle,
a welcome that felt like home.

She put others first,
even when her body asked for rest.
She gave without ledger,
loved without condition.

We kissed her goodbye
at New Springs Church,
but she’s still here—
in every echo of kindness,
every laugh that tastes like memory.

Joy to the world,
we said.
And meant it.
Amen

I'm just a poet,
wouldn't you know it
I lace my lines, then boldly throw it.
I spill my ink where silence grows,
twisting truth in rhythmic prose.

I flip the script, I drop the beat,
with crooked rhyme and dancing feet.
I stitch my pain in stitched-up verse,
a soft-spit spell, a velvet curse.

I break the meter, bend the frame,
then tag my thoughts with fire and flame.
I glide through grit and velvet air,
my voice a scar, my breath a flare.

I speak in echoes, glitch and glow it.
I'm just a poet;
Wouldn't you know it?
A wild-mouth priest of streets and skies,
who walks on words and never lies.

During life's vast fray,
Remember, everything will be okay.
Not perfect, not without pain,
But in the end, we'll stand again.

Through tempests that twist and winds that wail,
We'll find our way, though paths may fail.
Not every day will shine so bright,
Yet dawn will break after each night.

In moments when the heart feels strained,
And every effort seems in vain,
Hold on to hope, though it may sway,
For in the end, we'll find our way.

Not every tear will cease to fall,
Not every wound will heal at all,
But strength will bloom like a resilient flower,
And in the end, we'll be okay.

So take a breath, and face the fight,
With courage drawn from inner light.
Not perfect, not without dismay,
But in the end, we'll be okay.

Just one;
and the crowd disappears.  
Not the noise,  
but the ache beneath it.  

Your robe sweeps  
like the edge of a memory  
too sacred to name,  
too silent to forget.  

I didn’t ask.  
Didn’t shout.  
Just reached,  
as if the gravity of healing  
could be borrowed  
in a breath.  

Blood listens.  
Shame stills.  
Every fracture sings  
beneath skin mended  
by mercy  
I dared not deserve.

You turned.  
Not to scold,  
but to see me,
the me behind the reaching.  

And that touch?  
It was not mine.  
It was yours,  
returning everything  
I didn’t know I’d lost.

Sweet lure in the air,
Gentle touch wins eager wings,
Kindness draws them close.

As wings are drawn, hands extend

Warm hands reaching out,
Broken hearts begin to mend,
Kindness heals the soul.

A tender warmth spreads outward

A ripple of warmth,
Softly spreads through endless streams,
Kindness lights the way.

And in the light, words fall softly

Gentle words cascade,
Soft rain on a thirsty field,
Kindness breathes new life.

Life finds bridges in open hands

A hand softly held,
Bridges built in quiet care,
Kindness mends the world.

Under a mended sky, stars glow

Stars guide weary souls,
Kindness shines, a steadfast light,
In darkness, it glows.

Each glow, a spark ignites anew

Each act of kindness,
A small spark igniting hope,
Fires warming the cold.

Kindness, a soft spark,
Igniting hope through the dark,
Mends hearts, lights the way.

In the land of down-under,
Where kangaroos and koalas lie,
Came Charles and Camilla, regal and grand,
To the heart of Australia’s vibrant land.

With smiles and waves, they toured the towns,
In royal attire, no need for crowns.
From Sydney’s shores to Melbourne’s streets,
They met with Aussies, shared warm greets.

But amidst the cheers, a voice arose,
A senator’s cry, a moment froze.
“Not our King,” she boldly declared,
In Canberra’s halls, her message aired.

Yet through it all, they carried on,
With grace and poise, from dusk till dawn.
They danced with joy, they laughed with glee,
In the spirit of true camaraderie.

For in this visit, a bond was formed,
Between the crown and a land transformed.
A journey marked by moments bright,
In Australia’s warm and welcoming light.

by Geof with a wink and a waistband tug

My girlfriend’s knickers are C and A,
Cotton and allure, in a floral ballet.
They whisper of comfort, with lace on the side,
A high street triumph, worn with pride.

My underpants too are C and A,
Cheap and adequate, some might say.
Elastic heroic, though slightly askew,
A waistband that dreams, but rarely feels new.

We strut through the flat in our matching attire,
She’s elegance, sass, and a touch of satire.
I’m more of a waddler, a budget-bound gent,
With briefs that recall where the pennies went.

But here’s where the letters begin to diverge,
Her C and A? A sensual surge:
Curves and Attitude, bold and divine,
A knickered manifesto, borderline shrine.

Mine? A tad more anatomical, see
Crushed and Awkward, that’s me.
A pouch with ambition, a gusset that groans,
A tale of two cheeks and some questionable zones.

Yet together we giggle, we shimmy, we sway,
In our C and A garments, come what may.
For fashion’s a language, and love is the thread,
Even if my pants look slightly misled.

Kris Kristofferson, a poet's soul,
With lyrics that made hearts whole.
From “Me and Bobby McGee” to the silver screen,
His talents shine, forever seen.