We lay our scene in a quiet canteen,

where elders sat grazing their lunch.

When in blew a twirl of younger set girls.

A group. A gaggle. The Bunch.

With high pitching drones of Californian tones,

they nestled and settled their flock.

Then moving as one they switch their phones on

- a natural feat of Attenborough stock.

But drama's afoot as the ladies all tut.

A...

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The summer bade us farewell

as he strolled the river Irwell.

His mind constantly at war.

He perched upon its banks

yet with no reverence or thanks

cast stones to make tranquil, no more.

“How is a man to be himself,

chasing dreams of elusive wealth?”

His being felt rotten to its core.

"Ravaged with external voices

I lament the infernal choices

that ma...

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In the midst of the murmur, in a bar most malign,

two men of different fortune,

whose purpose grow entwine.

The first was a man of money, though his substance of little worth.

His spirit was mean and his temper was keen.

A self-righteous fool from birth.

And drawing the tar from his Cuban cigar,

his obnoxion transcended through smoke.

His presence then drifted, to...

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The world will end, my friend.

Of that, there can be no doubt.

But the lukewarm breath of ice-cold death isn’t the issue here.

It’s the fear of missing out.

Consider this:

When comets embed or the sea boils red,

you won’t really care because

you’re already dead.

It’s highly likely (to put it politely),

but wouldn’t you rather be alive, instead?

Imagine:

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Beware the figment of natural beauty.

There-in lies a secret.

A certain natural duty.

Observe:

The liquid swirls in a rampant tornado.

The amber glows of a midnight volcano.

Your wildfire stare that hangs, forlorn.

Like hopeless peace in the eye of a storm.

I ask myself: Is the power in your beauty,

or the beauty in your power?

Or does idle ph...

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On the banks of a river,

forgotten in the wood,

two tribes lived together,

as well as two tribes, who were not one, could.

The North were mad with power,

with armies, and wealth, and a king.

But The South were farmers and craftsman,

Unconcerned with that sort of thing.

The tribes would often trade,

but The North would quarrel the price.

And in return they bo...

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The night wears late

with cataclysmic debate.

Set fire from an ember,

lit long before eight.

Our molehills worn flat,

Meandering, this point to that.

It's vendetta based pinball (2 players!).

Another soul searching spat.

But then we arrive, at last to scene 5:

the finale as you take off to bed.

So exit stage left. Big finish? “Drop dead!”

The audience lef...

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Busy switching lanes, the cars they chop and change,

except for one curious driver who seems to stay the same.

And over the miles our bond is built,

either through familiarity or some form of guilt. 

But as I wonder my head starts to tilt;

could this relationship last forever, without some wobble or wilt?

With neither of us knowing when or where the other one ...

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