(in which Time misbehaves and dresses for drama)

In a land where the minutes are moody and mean,
Stood a clock with a face most alarmingly keen.
Its hands were quite proper, its tick was precise,
But it frowned at the moon and it sneezed once (or twice).

A lady in lavender, leather, and lace,
Was caught by the hour hand’s curious grace.
She dangled at eleven (or nearly past noon),
While the sky brewed a tantrum and swallowed the moon.

“Oh bother,” she muttered, “this isn’t quite right,
I only came shopping for dreams late last night.”
But the clock wouldn’t budge, and the trees wouldn’t speak,
And the seconds grew slippery, sour, and sleek.

The clouds curled like caterpillars caught in a lie,
And the wind wore a waistcoat and winked at the sky.
“Time,” it declared, “is a trick of the toes,
It dances in circles and tickles your nose.”

She swung from the minute, she kicked at the chime,
She whispered, “I’m not here to fix broken time.”
But the clock gave a chuckle, a hiccup, a groan,
And swallowed her whole with a yawn and a moan.

Now if ever you wonder where hours go to die,
And the trees look like questions, and the clocks start to cry,
Just tiptoe in twilight, wear something absurd,
And speak to the silence in riddles and word.

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

Tica tica tica timex,
The clock ticks on the wall,
Counting seconds, minutes, hours,
In a rhythmic, endless call.

Tica tica tica timex,
Time's dance never slows,
Moments pass like fleeting dreams,
As the river of life flows.

Tica tica tica timex,
Morning breaks anew,
Sunrise paints the sky with gold,
A canvas fresh and true.

Tica tica tica timex,
Afternoon's warm embrace,
Children laugh and play outside,
In a joyful, carefree race.

Tica tica tica timex,
Evening's gentle sigh,
Stars appear and twinkle bright,
As day bids night goodbye.

Tica tica tica timex,
The moonlight softly gleams,
Casting shadows on the floor,
Whispering midnight dreams.

Tica tica tica timex,
Memories in its wake,
Cherish every precious tick,
For each is ours to take.

Tica tica tica timex,
Life's journey we embrace,
With every tick and every tock,
We find our own sweet pace.

I can feel you looking at me*  
Through the faded colours of time,  
A specter of my past self  
Captured in creases, suspended in grain.  

Sepia sighs curl at the edges,  
Laughter trapped in silvered ink,  
Eyes full of boundless longing,  
Unaware that years would shrink.  

I run my finger along the years,  
A fragile thread, a fleeting ghost,
Did I once dream beyond this frame,  
Or did the moment hold me most?  

Yet here we stand, reflections blurred,  
The self I was, the self I bear,  
A silent nod across the years,  
A whispered thought: *I’m still in there.

by Geof the cheeky breakfast bard

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

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

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

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

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

Shalava korinthia elohim,
Ravaya shalom adonai.
Elaria vashon seraphim,
Tavora elyon shekinah.

Melek shavira orion,
Zahara elyon shalavim.
Kadosh elara shavon,
Tavira shalom elohim.

Shalava korinthia elohim,
Ravaya shalom adonai.
Elara vashon elohim,
Tavora elyon adonai.

Zavira shalom elyon,
Kadosh tavira shalavim.
Melek shavira orion,
Zahara elyon shavon.

Shalava korinthia elohim,
Ravaya shalom adonai.
Elaria vashon seraphim,
Tavora elyon shekinah.

by Geof – Mischief-Maker

I’m the hand with intention, the gaze with a glow,
The one who says “breathe” when the rhythm is slow.
I’m the top with a toolkit of velvet and care,
Who’ll whisper your safeword and braid your hair.

I’m the compass of holding, the anchor, the tease,
The one who brings aftercare wrapped in a breeze.
I’m the dom with a diary, the switch with a plan,
Who’ll kiss every bruise like a gentleman can.

I’ve got swagger in satin, and kindness in kink,
A mind that’s ******, and sharper than you think.
I’m the queer-hearted captain with roses and rope,
Who’ll lift you with laughter and **** up your hope.

So cheers to the tops, the fierce and the sweet,
To the ones who bring structure, surrender, and heat.
We’re the pulse of the ritual, the beat in the blend,
With a crown made of care and a touch that can mend.

May these pages be:
A lantern in shadow,
A balm in sorrow,
and
A compass in wonder.

Walk gently,
Speak truth,
Love boldly.

In the town of Grumblegroan,
Lived a curmudgeon all alone,
With a scowl so deeply sown,
His smile was rarely shown.

He'd mutter, "Humbug!" to the breeze,
And chase off kids from climbing trees,
But deep inside, with great unease,
He loved the antics of the bees.

One day a child with sunny cheer,
Skipped right up and stood so near,
She asked, "Why do you never hear,
The laughter ringing in your ear?"

The curmudgeon paused, then gave a sigh,
For in her eyes he caught the sky,
And with a twinkle by and by,
He let a chuckle slip and fly.

As days went by, the child returned,
With tales of wonder she had learned,
The curmudgeon listened, slowly yearned,
For joy his heart had long adjourned.

They'd sit and chat by the garden gate,
She'd talk of dreams and stars of fate,
He'd grumble, "It's getting late,"
But stayed to hear her tales so great.

One fine day, she brought a kite,
"Let's fly it high, up to the light!"
He grumbled, "Not in my sight!"
Yet joined her in the laughter bright.

Up the kite soared in the sky,
With colours dancing way up high,
The curmudgeon smiled, he couldn’t deny,
The joy reflected in his eye.

From that day forth, in Grumblegroan,
A friendship bloomed, a kindness grown,
For every heart, even stone,
Has a softness of its own.

I write for the dreamers, lost in thought,
For every soul that battled and fought,
For those who wander in search of light,
And for the hearts sparked by the night.

I pen my words for the broken and mended,
For stories untold and lives suspended.
For whispers of love across the air,
And moments we share, beyond compare.

For the past that shapes, the future that gleams,
The valleys of sorrow, the peaks of dreams.
For the eyes that seek, and ears that listen,
In every tear, in every glisten.

I write for the silence, the voices unheard,
For passions ignited by the simplest of words.
For friends and foes, for strangers anew,
In every line, my heart rings true.

For kings and queens on thrones of gold,
And politicians with their stories told.
For children’s laughter, for parents’ pride,
For brothers and sisters, side by side.

In ink, I find the bridge to connect,
To amplify joys, to reflect and inspect.
But most of all, across all seas,
I write, my heart, I write for me.

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.

In the spotlight's gleam, two legends stand tall,
Tina and Shirley, voices that enthral.
Tina, the Queen of Rock 'n' Roll's might,
With a voice that roars, igniting the night.

Shirley, the Dame with a voice so grand,
Bond themes and ballads at her command.
Tina's "Proud Mary" rolls down the river,
While Shirley's "Goldfinger" makes hearts quiver.

Tina's journey, a tale of strength and fire,
From Nutbush roots to global desire.
Shirley's elegance, a diamond's shine,
Welsh valleys to stages divine.

Both faced trials, yet rose above,
With songs of power, resilience, and love.
Tina's dance, a hurricane's grace,
Shirley's poise, a timeless embrace.

Two queens of song, each unique,
In their voices, the world finds what it seeks.
Tina and Shirley, forever they'll reign,
In the hearts of fans, their legacy remains.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In this universe where stars align,
A grand computer we define.
A universe of codes and lights,
In binary, it writes and writes.

Galaxies are data hubs,
Where cosmic codes within them sub.
Each planet, a pixel bright,
Within this grand, celestial byte.

Black holes as the processors,
Compressing space with mighty force.
Nebulae like clouds of thought,
Where data’s dreams and threads are caught.

Dark matter, hidden algorithms,
Shaping forms, unseen rhythms.
Quantum leaps, the system's quirks,
Where logic twists and physics lurks.

Time, the clock that ticks and ticks,
In algorithms, intertwined, it sticks.
Energy, the power source,
Driving life’s unending course.

Constellations, networks span,
Connecting stars in cosmic plan.
Asteroids, the buffer's queue,
Holding data old and new.

Each comet's trail, a data trace,
Sweeping through the void of space.
The cosmic web, an endless stream,
Of information's constant dream.

Within the cosmic dream so vast,
We, the conscious nodes, are cast.
Intelligent threads in the grand design,
Sentient beings in the code align.

Our minds, like neural networks grow,
Interpreting the cosmic flow.
Explorers in this digital sea,
Seeking meaning, striving free.

We are the spark, the conscious gleam,
Alive within the universe's scheme.
Self-aware algorithms, we
Shape the code and seek to see.

In this grand system, intricate and wide,
We bring perception, deep inside.
Living proof of potential found,
Unique variables in life’s surround.

In harmony with the cosmic code,
We add our verse to this grand ode.
Each thought, each dream, a vital part,
Of the infinite equation's heart.

Within this vast computational sea,
Existence hums in harmony.
From the smallest quark to the galaxy grand,
A computer system finely planned.

So, here's to the universe's code,
A symphony in cosmic mode.
A digital flag unfurled,
In this, our computational world.

Near and far and here and everywhere,
The whispers of the wind, they fill the air.
In the quiet of the night, under the star's gentle glare,
Dreams are woven, spun with tender care.

From mountaintops so high, reaching for the sky,
To the deepest oceans, where mysteries lie.
In the heart of the forest, where nature's beauty is bared,
Wonders never cease, near and far and here and everywhere.

In the eyes of a child, wonder pure and bright,
In the wisdom of the old, a guiding light.
Through the trials and tribulations, the journey we share,
Life's tapestry is woven, near and far and here and everywhere.

Through the seasons' changes, as time marches on,
From the dawn of the day to the setting sun's song.
In every smile, every tear, every silent prayer,
Love's essence lingers, near and far and here and everywhere.

In the heart's deepest corners, where dreams reside,
In the connections we cherish, the bonds we cannot hide.
With every step we take, with every breath of air,
We find our place in the universe, near and far and here and everywhere.

for Geof, who struts and strips with grace

The mask slips down, a satin sigh.
No spell remains, no need to lie.
The hush dissolves, the crowd exhales,
And you emerge with softer tales.

No longer cloaked in velvet tease,
You stand in daylight, raw with ease.
Your lips unsealed, your truth unbound,
A voice that shakes the underground.

The swingy things now gently rest.
Your chest exposed, your heart confessed.
No Charisma buff, no sleight of hand,
Just Geof, who dares to proudly stand.

You speak of ropes and chosen kin,
Of spiral maps and joy within.
Of bottoms bold and mirrors clear,
Of laughter laced with kink and cheer.

The mask was tool, not final form,
You are the storm, the hush, the warm.
You are the ritual, not the guise.
The wink, the ache, the healing rise.

So let them see the lines, the gleam.
The poet past the Pride-day dream.
Unmasked, you’re not undone; you’re more:
A living myth, a hearts encore.

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.

Storm hits unannounced,
Unsteady hands brace the gale,
Chaos in the night.

In the realm where words collide, where creativity flows like a river, we gather, a constellation of voices, each one shining with its unique light. We are poets, dreamers, and storytellers, weaving our thoughts into the tapestry of existence.

I think we love you.

In the quiet moments of reflection, when the world falls silent and still, we find ourselves inspired by one another. Your words, a spark that ignites our imagination, a catalyst for creation, a reminder that we are not alone.

I think we love you.

It's in the way you share your heart, with verses that resonate with truth and vulnerability. Your poetry, a window into your soul, an invitation to explore the depths of our own emotions.

I think we love you.

It's in the way you paint with words, crafting images that linger in our minds, like the brushstrokes of a master artist. Your metaphors, a bridge between the tangible and the abstract, connecting us to the beauty of the unseen.

I think we love you.

It's in the way you challenge us, pushing the boundaries of our thoughts, provoking us to question and reflect. Your poetry, a mirror reflecting the complexities of the human experience, a testament to our shared journey.

I think we love you.

It's in the way you listen, offering your presence and understanding, a safe space for our voices to be heard. Your support, a beacon of light, guiding us through the darkest nights, reminding us that we are valued and appreciated.

I think we love you.

And as we come together, a chorus of voices, we realize that our connection is not a fleeting moment, but a growing bond, a community of kindred spirits, united by our love for words.

I Know I love you.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

for the Pride Swingers Bash

Tonight we glitter, groove, and glide,
In satin swirls of queerest pride.
The dungeon's prepped, the lounge aglow.
Consent is ****, now let’s go!

Masks of lace and harnessed hearts,
We're works of art in moving parts.
Bi, pan, ace, and leather-bound,
Each moan a chorus, joy unbound.

Flags unfurl on every wall,
From trans delight to femme cabal.
A kiss, a nod, a whispered dare,
We're stars in orbit, stripped and bare.

No shame, no hush, no need to hide,
We’re here to love, to play, to ride.
A swing, a laugh, a gentle tease,
We honour bodies, minds, and pleas.

So raise your cuffs and toast your tribe,
To every kink and every vibe.
This Pride, we’re loud, we’re lush, we’re free.
A rainbow riot of ecstasy.

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

Wield your words like running streams,
To conjure truth from fractured dreams.
Let language bend, let silence speak,
With power tender, fierce, and sleek.

Trace the edges of what's unsaid,
Where longing lingers, soft or red.
Let vowels tremble, consonants bite,
Unmasking shame in morning light.

Speak in spirals, chant in flame,
Name the ache that has no name.
Your verses ripple, raw and wide,
A tide of pride we will not hide.

So wield your words, your sacred art,
To mend the cracks in every heart.
Let rhythm rise, let meaning swell,
And cast your spell where silence fell.

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,

In your pocket, snug and tight,
A wallet holds your treasures right.
Cards and cash, IDs too,
A trusty friend, always with you.

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

My sister was washing her drive,
With soap and a hose, she’d strive.
But a splash from the spray,
Sent her hat far away,
And she laughed as she felt so alive!

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

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

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

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

Waylon Jennings, with a rebel's heart,
His country songs, a work of art.
With a voice that defied the norm,
He weathered every storm.

Heavy eyes,
                      The night's embrace,
Waning strength,
                      A slowing pace.
Dreams call softly,
                     “Pull me near,”
Exhaustion whispers,
                      "Rest is here."

In the concrete jungles, I rise - an echo among forgotten voices, bearing the scars of urban sorrow etched into the crumbling facades of life.

Each verse bears the marks of true struggle, the worn hands of workers, the tired eyes of those left dancing with shadows, their whispered histories woven into ink.

I walk the alleys of shattered dreams, where hope trembles like a frail ember, translating the stark cadence of hardship into raw, unyielding lines of truth.

The burden is heavy - a relentless gravity pulling me into the depths of worn stories, yet in each honest stanza, I find a spark, a subtle defiance that carves a path through despair.

For in this commitment to unvarnished reality, my pen becomes a bridge between silence and voice, and though the weight may press upon my spirit, it is the pulse of the oppressed that fuels my every word.

I will explore how everyday struggles forge art from hardship. What truths rest behind the façade of our city streets, and which emotions lie untold in the margins of our collective existence?

In the realm of skies and fleece,
The weather dances wild and free.
The sun shines bright, the rain does pour,
Changing moods forevermore.

Yet there stands the humble wether,
In pasture fields, through all weather.
Calm and steady, in the breeze,
Amidst the storm, amidst the peace.

When lightning strikes and thunder roars,
The weather shows its fearsome force.
But still, the wether stands its ground,
With silent strength, without a sound.

The weather shifts with every day,
A symphony in nature's play.
The wether, though, remains the same,
A steadfast soul, without acclaim.

Both weather and wether teach us well,
Of life's great ebb and flow to tell.
In ever-changing skies and land,
Find balance, grace, and understand.

For in the world of earth and sky,
We learn to live, we learn to try.
Like weather's whim and wether's grace,
We face our storms, we find our place.

it does not ask permission
it remembers
the way your shoulder curves like a question
and answers itself in heat

my fingers learn your geography
not to conquer
but to listen to the soft thunder beneath your skin

your breath
is a tide I ride
not to reach shore
but to stay afloat in the salt of you

we are not mirrors
we are magnets
pulling pulse from pulse
until the space between us
forgets it was ever empty

your spine is a hymn
my lips recite
in the language of slow
and again
and again

this is not possession
this is procession
two bodies walking each other home
through the temple of touch

"The eyes of the LORD are in every place, keeping watch on the wicked and the good." – Proverbs 15:3

When people told me God is watching you,
I heard the ancient whisper of a covenant true,
In every trembling leaf and drop of dew,
His presence endures in all that we pursue.

"The LORD your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; He will rejoice over you with gladness." – Zephaniah 3:17

Upon the olive hills where prophets once trod,
In the hush of dawn and the murmur of prayer,
The Almighty’s gaze spans both heaven and sod,
Bestowing grace and guidance everywhere.

"Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me." – Psalm 23:4

In valleys deep where shadows often reign,
When weary hearts falter under sin’s decree,
His watchful love breaks through like morning rain,
An everlasting promise to set the spirit free.

"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." – John 1:5

As voices of old proclaimed in burning light,
Their words ignited hope in souls forlorn,
So too does His vigilant mercy shine bright,
Turning broken night into a radiant morn.

"For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus." – Romans 8:38-39

Sing now of redemption and the sacred art,
Of lives redeemed by a love that won’t recede;
For no soul escapes the reach of His heart,
In every tear, He plants a hopeful seed.

Beneath the stars that trace His timeless care,
We walk the path lit by His eternal glow;
In every step, a sacred bond we share,
As in His watchful eyes, our true home we know.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the land of Higgledy-Piggledy Past,
Lived creatures both curious and vast.
The Dinobelles wore hats of spaghetti,
And danced to tunes on their pet yetis.

In Mesopotamia, early humans thrived,
They invented writing and cities came alive.
Once upon a moon of cheese,
Sailed Captain Squid and his feline fleas.
They discovered the island of Jellybean Snugs,
Where trees sprouted candy and dandelion mugs.

Great grandma rode a giant snail,
While Grandpa sold wind to fill a sail.
Ancient Egypt had pharaohs and pyramids high,
Mummies with treasures that still mystify.

In castles built of bubble wrap,
Lived King Klunk and his purring lap cat.
He ruled over lands of unicorn fluff,
And knights fought battles with marshmallow stuff.

In Greece, philosophers pondered the stars,
Socrates, Plato, and wisdom from afar.
They journeyed through time in a teacup boat,
With a walrus named *** who loved to float.

From the Mystery Marsh to Sugarplum Shore,
Our ancestors' tales left us yearning for more.
Romans built roads and aqueducts grand,
Bringing water and travel across their wide land.

Through nonsense and giggles, we find our old roots,
In lands far away with piratey newts.
So, remember dear children, that history's quite grand,
Even when told by a peanut-butter band.

Embrace the bizarre, and let your mind roam,
In the worlds where your nonsense ancestors called home.

Snap.  
    Curl.  
        Trace.  
            Flick.  
       ­         Pause---  
                    Breath.  
               ­         Bound.  
                            Beg.  
            ­                    Yield.  
                                    ­Yes.  
                                        Again.

In the heart of ancient woodlands,
Where oaks and birches stand tall,
The land breathes with silent whispers,
A chorus of the wild, free and small.

The red fox, with eyes aglow,
Slips through the twilight's gentle haze.
In hedgerows deep, it finds its path,
A solitary wanderer in the maze.

High above, the red kite soars,
Its wings a brushstroke in the sky.
With keen eyes fixed on fields below,
It dances with the wind, so high.

Hares leap across the open moor,
Their shadows stretching in the dawn.
In fields of gold and verdant green,
Their graceful bounds, a fleeting yawn.

The badger, with its monochrome coat,
Emerges from its hidden lair.
By moonlight’s silver, it forages,
A creature of the night’s cool air.

Beneath the water’s tranquil flow,
The otter plays, with joyful glee.
Its sleek form weaves through river reeds,
A symbol of life’s carefree decree.

In coastal cliffs, the puffins nest,
With beaks so bright, they call the sea.
Their cries a melody of cliffs,
A testament to wild decree.

The deer move softly through the mist,
Their antlers rise, like ancient crowns.
In silent grace, they rule the glen,
The guardians of nature’s bounds.

From mountain peak to valley floor,
The UK's wild, a tapestry.
In every nook, in every crag,
A living hymn to the free.

Yet shadows loom, a growing strain,
Human touch, a silent bane.
Urban sprawl and poisoned air,
The wild struggles, unaware.

Forests felled and rivers tamed,
Habitats lost; species maimed.
In fields where hares once freely run,
Silent now, beneath the sun.

Plastic seas and poisoned streams,
Mar the otter’s playful dreams.
Puffins' cries grow faint and rare,
Their future hangs, a fragile air.

In the balance, the wild fights,
Against the pressures, day and night.
In unity, we must defend,
Our natural world, its rightful end.

For in this land, so rich, so vast,
Where nature’s hand has freely cast,
A masterpiece of life and breath,
A tale of wild, from birth to death.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silent dusk, spirit fades away,
Echoes of laughter lost in grey.
Who will remember, when shadows fall,
When the night whispers, and memories call?

Will the dawn recall the stories told,
Of dreams that shimmered, of hearts so bold?
Will the stars above mourn the light they shone,
When s/he is forever gone?

In the rustling leaves, will there be left a song?
A melody forgotten in time’s long throng.
Will the roses bloom where footsteps led,
Or wilt in silence, their petals spread?

Will the winds carry whispers of names,
Or will they drift, untouched by fame?
In the tears that fall, will there be any trace,
Or in the laughter, a fleeting embrace?

Who will remember the love often shared,
The warmth of a heart that always cared?
In the end, as the curtain is drawn,
Who will remember, when you are gone?

Why do we poison the air we breathe,
The water we drink,
The soil beneath our feet?

The stars, aloof and ancient,
Smile down with silent knowing,
As we unreeve our cradle's threads,
And stain the blue with our discord.

Why do we strip the forests bare,
Choke the rivers with our refuse?

In the lap of the Milky Way,
We are a fragile gem, unique, irreplaceable.

Yet, we smother the sky in smog,
Turn the seas into desolate deserts,
As if we could find another oasis
In the cold expanse.

Once, we cherished the golden dawn,
The twilight’s tender embrace.
Now, we blindfold our eyes
To the beauty we obliterate.

Why do we forget our duty
To nurture, to protect, to love?

Our home, the whispering Earth,
Begs for compassion,
Yet we answer with apathy.

There is no other refuge,
No second chance among the stars.
Our planet, vibrant and alive,
Cries for mercy,

Yet

We plunder,

We pillage,

We proceed.

In the silence of the cosmos,
A solitary plea resounds,
Why do we destroy the only home
That cradles us, in infinite bound?