Wander through the burrowed light, 
mud-packed walls breathing warmth, 
a kettle thrums—no rush, just the steady, 
unbroken rhythm of being.

Hands work the earth, kneading sun into soil, 
tucking seeds deep where roots raise memory.

Footsteps soften against moss, 
small strides, sure and deliberate, 
paths well-trodden yet never worn.

Bread breaks, laughter follows, 
cups ...

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The river speaks in hushed tones, its currents thick with secrets, folding into themselves— the weight of unspoken histories dredged along the silt.

I do not step in. The water remembers too much.

The city breathes metal and wire, a maze built on absence, corridors wound so tightly that voices lose their way, disappearing before they reach the ear that listens.

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They came for the feast of phrases, 

gathered ‘round the wordless flame. 

Empty cups clinked, unsated, 

as the poet shrugged—his muse unspoken. 

“There’s no story here,” he muttered, 

his mind a drought-struck desert. 

And so they sat, grasping shadows, 

a poem promised but never served.

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Shame wears a cloak of invisibility,
a shroud that hides the true self.
It speaks in hushed tones, a critic's voice,

reminding of flaws, of perceived failures.
It warps the mirror's reflection,
distorting the image to fit its narrative.

But as we peel back its layers,
revealing the truth beneath,
we see the scars, the wounds, the humanity,

and find the courage to step into the ...

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Ages passed, still reppin' strong, 

 life wrote our script, we played along.

 Throwback laughs? Still in the air, 

 like vids we’d binge- -everywhere.

We were wild, riskin’ all, 

 hoppin’ fences, takin’ calls. 

 Now we glow, still got the dream, 

 past stays fresh, know what I mean?

Years slid by, like feeds we scroll, 

 memories saved, heart on patrol. 

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The sheets loosen,
brittle with yesterday’s sweat,
my limbs heavy
with the unremembered struggle

of another dream slipping into daylight.

The tide surges again— not the sea,
but the pull of routine, a weight
pressing against the ribs.
The road throbs under hurried feet,
a chorus of engines swallowing dawn’s breath.
We rise, we move, we forget
what it was we were chasing.

Ben...

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The quill of a forgotten moment, 
a signature of time upon the sky, 
languid white clouds drifting by, 
spurs a sharp pain that wouldn't go, 
strikes paper filled with imprints, 
ink staining along a cracked soul.

The hand moves in quiet rebellion, 
scraping against the silence left behind, 
words spilling like embers from a fire 
long thought extinguished but still breathing, 
its w...

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as botanical tendrils stretch skyward
toward slivered rays of speckled sunlight
a longing for the simplicity of an all but
forgotten yesterday, tucked within
a breastplate that advances forward
today is all that is left, salve of former
melodies, always incongruous against
dissipating tomorrows, here and now
a flight of cranes in blinding light

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Many, many decades later,

time had etched its tales upon our skin.

The echoes of laughter from childhood

days still stirred like whispers in the wind.

Once, we were reckless, dreaming bold,

jumping fences we weren’t meant to cross.

Now, wiser yet no less hopeful,

we trace our past with tender gloss.

The distance stretched, a quiet river,

years rolled by like dr...

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Many, many decades later, 

 Subtrahend— —the thief of 

time—had stolen years, 

whittling away youth 

with quiet precision, 

leaving only memories as souvenirs.

Minuend, proud and steadfast, 

 stood firm against life’s relent-

less subtractions, holding onto 

         laughter, 

unyielding, even as the seasons 

adjusted the equation.

Difference, a ...

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I will not let the weight

of old winds bend

your wings any longer.

You will soar, not for escape,

but for discovery.

We will carve the sky

into new stories,

where no shadow lingers,

and no voice drags you back.

Your flight is not borrowed—

it belongs to you. So,

take-off in fresh winds’ lift.

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Kessingland
sits fog-cloaked
across the channel
from Holland.

At Zandvoort dunes
wind bites bone
ruddies cheeks raw.
Lager tins and crisps,
downed waiting—
for the flat to fill again
with stories, laughter.

Night nears.
A pudgy figure
emerges
from distant reeds.
We bow in greeting.

Before the muse returns,
conversation starts.
Always this way:
Propositioned.
Gaslighted in...

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Am I not your cup of tea?
I may not be
your cup of tea
but I am your
bottle of rum --
most definitely...
so ease up that grip:
Stop strangling my neck.

Let My liquid conflagration
scorch your lying condescension
again and again and again.... without fail.

If you but remember to be true
to what lurks deep within you
I will assail your doubts
And numb their fight,
Send insa...

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A soul refrains from distant quests,

Throne, temple, summit—all forsaken.

The answer dwells, soft-spoken, near,

Its whispers carried on dawn’s breath.

Kindness becomes as oil of lamps,

A quiet deed ignites warm glow.

Within the dark, love forms a hymn,

Illuminating hearts, unseen.

Do not journey far,

The warmth you seek

is folded close,

Residing de...

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Velveteen Rabbit:
left forgotten on the floor,
overlooked, shy, sawdust-made,
snubbed by the grand and mechanical,
a world of prideful toys,
and absent understanding.

Timothy, the wooden lion,
boasts of his noble ties,
the painted boat speaks
in the language of rigging.
Yet Rabbit finds no place,
nor kinship in hollow superiority.

Only Skin Horse, aged,
fur rubbed bare and stori...

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In quiet moments, whispers softly flow, 
As shadows dance beneath the silver moon.  
The world awakens, cradled in its glow.  

With every heartbeat, time begins to slow, 
Memories linger like a haunting tune.  
In quiet moments, whispers softly flow.  

The breeze carries secrets, sweet and low, 
A symphony of night, a soft cocoon.  
The world awakens, cradled in its glow.  

Each s...

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In the warmth of a sunlit day, 
We walk through the whispers of time, 
With hearts that beat in sync, 
And eyes that hold a universe of dreams.  

Each moment, a fragile breath, 
Filling the air with hopes and fears, 
We find beauty in the shadows, 
And comfort in silence’s soft embrace.  

Life is a dance of love and loss, 
Where every tear tells a story, 
And laughter mingles with ...

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History does not pause for breath,

it moves like morning,

inevitable yet unnoticed.

We carve decisions into it,

rough edges and second guesses,

but no moment stands untouched by the past.

Some call for restoration—

others dismantle, brick by brick,

rebuilding from what remains.

The voices collide,

wary of each retort.

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They tell us to hold steady,
keep the ground firm,
but the ground itself shifts—
silent adjustments beneath
the weight of old decisions.

Change rolls in like the tide,
deliberate, insistent;
some brace against the swell, while
others dive into its forward pull.

Neither stillness nor
movement alone can hold us—
we are in the in-between,
where each choice sends
ripples across...

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The street moves beneath us,

shifting without command,

we say we walk freely,

but the road has already been carved.

Someone chose its shape

long before our steps left their weight.

A voice rises, measured, cautious,

another shouts before listening—

the argument swells, ripples outward,

each side gripping their claim

like dry earth clinging to rain.

W...

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Secrets remain shrouded, unspoken,

yet I see them seep

into the spaces between breaths.

Truth, as it stands,

refuses the grasp of words—

it thrives in the moments

we dare not recount.

The echo of vanity

envelops everything I once chased,

leaving me at odds

with the reflection staring back.

Comfort is fleeting, or perhaps,

it never truly existed for m...

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Secrets are secret
Truth cannot expound
Everything is vanity
No comfort to be found

Truth is relative
or so it is, they say
Life for us is short
no time to dry the hay

What Truth will illumine
Lies would then conceal
with ebony tusks uncover
wounds that would not heal
 

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O Dionysus, breaker of chains,  
I sing not for the meek, the tamed, the gelded—  
But for the wolves who howl against the night,  
Who tear the velvet lies from rotting thrones!  

The poets now are eunuchs, lisping hymns  
To hollow gods of equity and dust—  
But we, the few, drink deep the blood-red wine,  
And laugh as cowards beg for kinder chains! 

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they lie there-

brave, frail,

the same.

hands, cold,

pretend to hold.

no saviour.

only the knife.

the gasp.

(you think you feel?

you think you live?

steal.

join.

prize.)

priest waits,

blade bright,

arms wide.

rest now.

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They call us mad, they call us cursed,  
For we will not bow to their painted gods—  
Their temples reek of incense and decay,  
Their priests chant empty words to dying fires.  

But we—we keep the old flame alive,  
The wild song, the untamed heart!  
Let them rot in their gilded cages,  
While we ride the storm, unchained!

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The lake breathes in and out— 
an ancient rhythm, unseen, 
hidden beneath mirrored stillness.

Wind whispers across its glassy skin, 
pressing, coaxing, shaping the waves. 
The basin awakens; 
water slides forward, recoils, 
a pulse against the boundaries of earth.

No storm, no flood— 
just the restless motion, 
the silent pull of tides within 
the heart of this enclosed world.

...

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Slabs of stone

Greet the morning sun

Or is it the Sun

That warms their cold

Thawing the shiver

Of their last moments

Bringing light to that tunnel

only to dim again at dusk-

So let’s keep the torch lit

Lest We Forget 

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Once—words spilled like rivers,

ink coursing through valleys of paper,

their pencil etching trails in the grain,

each mark a rippling of thought.

Night stretched long,

lamp-light flickered like kindling.

But the mind burned— a wildfire of ideas,

embers pressed into pages,

smoke rising in the form of verse.

Then came the hum of glass screens,

words tra...

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🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻
Could vaulted vase

contain collected tears,

echoing- -with sighs,

now solidly trapped

within its chamber

where this bloom

⚱️tears away ⚱️

defying gravity

and yesterday?
➖➖➖➖➖➖

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When a poet takes up arms
their quill is orphaned quick
though the pen is mightier
the sword some bards will pick

however just the cause may be
forsake their weapon true
to lose what makes them free
sad the day when all is through

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As a projectile 
on its trajectory
the very kernel 
of this heart’s history

unfurls and beckons 
to those who’d care
allows for both sides, 
their minds declare

each line, each verse, 
each accentuated pause
all bring together- - joint longing:
their inimitable cause

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A Miscreant Yearns

A soul’s cry, released in words— chosen, picked, woven in quiet longing.

And there, in articulation, beauty finds its form...

The soul, unbound, bridges a gap, touching both heart and mind.

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🪴 
hapless indulgences
animated silences
            quiver
🪴 
hankered imagination
ambiguous synapses
quibble            
🪴 
each way you turn
each thought you churn
new lessons learn
🪴 
potted flower plants
line your driveway
mind you don't crush them
🪴 




 

© Frederick Kesner      

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We are wise not to meddle
with the words of yon Muse,
allowing them to touch us--

avowed by torchlit trysts;

each thought cradled in nettles'
elegiac vine rows muse
such fearsome elegance behold!

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Tendril wafted dunes
of barren sands waffle,
swirl across mile
upon mile in every direction-
your face appears a horizon away,
there is little comfort found
in accompanying echoes.

Drifting sticks
wail in the pitched wind,
stretched on distant recollection-
stylus of the scribe named Regret;
each flurrying breeze
turns a new page,
taking with it freshly shed tears.

Foetid dropp...

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Coal-bright heat
pulsates a primal beat,
this light burns white
in the squalid night.

The windswept fury
in a drunken flurry,
toppled kerosene lamp
leaves the table damp.

Morning slips in sly,
waking the bleary eye;
pollen grain breezes
peddles raucous sneezes.

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Drenched in heavy morning rain, 
like a glacier exhaling into the sea, 
I sit—still, marrow-shaken— 
weighed down by endless tests.

I seek the scoffer’s sympathy. 
My litanies ripple, not through a broken bell, 
but in a warped chime—its notes splinter, 
scattering my pleas into hollow air.

No restaurant on High Street offers solace. 
Then, suddenly—sanity finds me: 
a hand, warm a...

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Hair in the wind
Brown in the sun
Midday-born light—
Silken strands of crested corn.

Jack was nimble
he was quick
but he's not taking that candlestick.
All the queen's horses
and all the queen's men
run their own courses,
then run them again.

Sparks light the sky
a brilliant welder's flash
a jewel in disguise
a jouster's winning prize;
and yet, a clockwork dandelion
sings sof...

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long, top-down drives
even shirtless-tans
sweet strawberry-kisses and
glorious watermelon stains

laughter lifting through the trees
glimpses of sun-blest promises
sugar-coated whispers
catching in the breeze

fruit bowls, waterholes
and refreshing icy poles
interlacing fingers share
starry nights and lazy days

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I love the wee and trippy hours of an
after-midnight when that glass slipper
lays glistering aloof, in soft moonlight
while weary dreamers poise inked quills

to carve their thoughts onto pale parchment
from a woozy head -- too early in the day
to be about one's inescapable routines
too late of a night to do all else but swoon.

This is the cherished witching-hour in a life
whe...

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if we stretch-out rumpled sheets

sunlit opalescent shades shape

there on an open square, each step

without a care, through a wan smile

thundrin' pain unrolls, with each flash

a stumblin' stain recedes

                 then moonlight polishes

    over each bump and every scrape

as if struck-out in utter defeat

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In the culture of poetry,

we idolize the poet,

not the poem.

Rimbaud's rebellion,

Ginsberg's wildness,

Li Po's intoxicated moon.

Literary cliques’ murmuring,

gossip of livewires,

pockets and politics,

words lie dormant.

Barthes challenges the norm,

text, free of context,

interpretations, fluid, and boundless.

Critique ensnared in cl...

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heartbeat



Poetry: my heart's beat,
A canvas of thoughts, experience’s feet,
In lines and stanzas, now laid bare,
Our emotion’s theatre,  sojourner’s fare.

From this vast expanse thoughts gleam,
The human condition its recurring theme,
Observe, discern, and then portray,
In scribbles, the essence of each day.

Tread lightly here, among my art,
For each piece, a b...

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Each tick of the clock
propels me forward


Memories play catch
dappling light from shadows
calling me away again


with every breath, I grasp


gasping at brilliant flashes
The years may be slipping
but I've forged past


that icy stream, its ripples
drive me onward still

 

©  Now, Frederick Kesner      

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Pip stands at the world's edge,
dreams vast as the sea.
A journey wrapped in every pledge,
discovering who he’s yet to be.

The past guides, not binds,
a compass in his hand.
Each step unveils new paths,
an uncharted land.

In every twist, a story speaks,
a future bright with possibilities.
Pip's journey continues,
each moment a squeak of hope.


 

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Let’s resign from Evolution
fully aware we’re barely aware;

Time’s a-wasting. With Humanity
barely brained to conjure a world
in which people are whole and equal;
mirth bound, and shackled, unrespected,

rarely eloquent beyond objections
amongst billions of biorbital visages,
seeking, queuing and devouring,
riding-cropped delivering oppressors 
recharging each new generation, each

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In the city, the cat walks its first life,

a dupe wandering through alleyways,

seeking warmth and food from strangers.

One night, it follows the scent of fish,

only to find itself locked in a cold cellar,

a victim of its own curiosity.

In its second life, it becomes the scapegoat,

taking the blame for spilled milk and broken vases,

while others watch from the sha...

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At Antwerp's port, where ships dissolve

into the horizon's mist, cultures blend

like brushstrokes on a canvas. I stand 
at the water's edge, feeling the heartbeat

of a city alive with ceaseless motion.

The cathedral's spire pierces the sky,

a beacon of faith, tenacity, and aspiration.

Its shadow reaches into my thoughts,

reminding me that dreams endure

like sto...

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In the quiet of the early morning,

I find myself staring at the empty space beside me.

The absence whispers, but I turn away,

my mind constructing walls of disbelief.

The world continues in a haze, each face

-a blur, every word a distant echo.

I tell myself this isn’t real, just a nightmare,

that you'll walk through the door any moment now.

Memori...

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In the shadows of our broken selves, 

Pieces of you linger, unable to absolve. 

A mosaic of memories etched in time, 

Yet surely will fade when we depart.

Each shard holds a story of pain, 

Locked in the crevices of our hearts. 

These remnants cannot forgive, 

And they too will vanish into the void.

When we are no longer here, 

The ripples of our past di...

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Behind this digital oracle,  
human hands guide the pulse of code.  
Not abstract threads, but paths—  
deliberate, weighted, alive with consequence.  

Zara, a young coder, sits alone—  
the quiet hum of her monitor fills the air.  
Numbers flicker across her screen;  
metrics and models form the foundation  
of an algorithm to decide loan approvals.  

Her coffee cools on the d...

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In the sprawling digital landscape,  
content creators carve their paths—  
voices ripple through screens,  
thoughts reshaped with every post.  

I remember one aspiring creator,  
a novice on the online stage,  
her work vibrant, tender, raw.  

She shared life as she lived it,  
authentic, unfiltered, free.  
Day by day, post by post,  
she forged a bond built on trust.  

Th...

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sunrise unveiled: a promise of treasure

demure as petals enjoining midday

grey clouds thin in billowy summer breeze

freezes a moment before this day consumes 

sunset reveals firefly melodies

meandering starlit rivers flow;

flowered evening fragrances wafting

welcomes a momentous nocturne 

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naught save the peddlers of art

where entertainment’s a la carte

and the menu card’s kind a faulty

yet here we’re reasonably comfy

so show us the justice of poetry

lost in the valley of minutes and years

it’s audience so glad to have been found

consumers shall ever-consume and

restlessness gaze at sighs of those at ease

the hand that wipes away all fears

nev...

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We seek to find in verses plain
an essence clear for us to gain
for words can twist and likewise blind
but Truth remains in verse refined.

In a wooded forest of ornate lines
a tree of truth whose roots entwine
in simple verse its meaning shines
clear and bright like sparkling wine..

With each word chosen and crafted right
a poet’s quest to bring truth to light
not through th...

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Tis but me spiked-up hair, y’seen, 
Doused with a lot o’spray on green! 
“Where did you get that hat!?” they say, 
Folks grind on me each passing day.

“Keep it off, tis not funny!” they cry— 
Sorry, but it’s staying on, oh my! 
Tis the hat my father never wore, 
On St. Paddy’s day, you'd swore.

I haven’t me a hat, let alone respect; 
So I’ll bug off with me head erect. 
And just...

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Whale breaches still waters

spraying mist into the twilight. 

Oil seeps through grill’s crevices 

onto bright glowing briquettes, as 

Beef sizzles to unfolding drama, 

surrounded by awe and wonder;

Hooked by the vast expanse 

of the Outback and the Sea.

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In the heart of the forest, life thrives in abundance,
trees stretch towards the sky, their canopies a verdant tapestry.
The air is thick with the scent of earth and foliage,
each breath a communion with nature's essence.

Animals move through the undergrowth, unseen yet present,
a symphony of life in constant motion.
Birds call from the branches, their songs a chorus of joy,
a celebrati...

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I am your boarding pass, 

A gateway to endless horizons. 

In my codes and numbers, 

Your journey awaits—charted and clear.

I am the key, 

Sliding you past barriers to boundless discovery. 

Through me, knowledge becomes motion, 

And the infinite unravels before you.

Grip me tight, for I lead the way. 

I am your personalised ticket to ride: 

A tool, a g...

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a queen of not so long ago
said to a queen of yesterday 
move aside, you're in my way
to which she swished her train
the other stood as frozen rain
and neither did a foothold gain

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     The essence of what was shared          

emitting from its aromatic brew…

    in spaces we once knew, together

no lunar phase could eclipse 

this regnant cue

is déjà vu.

Read and leave comments (4)

From the rugged shores of Penzance, 

a figure emerges, cloaked in the salt-spray. 

A privateer, pockets jingling with spoils, 

his presence a mix of legend and enigma.

Boots press onto cobblestone streets, 

each step a promise of untold stories. 

From his coat, treasures spill forth, 

gifts from distant shores, tokens of daring.

A compass, once guiding acro...

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sat down to fingernail drum rolls
staring blandly at desk's habitat
paperclips give chase at loosened
leaves blown by climate control
sporadic demi-flight, staggering
across a well-appointed bedroom

Read and leave comments (0)

Scattered like stars

thoughts glimmer:

constellations of ideas

mosaics of the mind’s workings. 

Words twist and turn

a labyrinth of meaning

each line reflects

each stanza holds a riddle

Neon lights and ancient shadows

merge in a collision of epochs

their spirit breathes through the chaos, 

a tapestry woven from tradition and innovation. 

A ...

Read and leave comments (0)

By the cool, clear waters of the billabong,

where the willows dip their branches low,

we sit in quiet reflection,

listening to the symphony of nature.

The cicadas hum a relentless tune,

a chorus of life in the heat of day,

while dragonflies dance on the surface,

their wings catching the light.

In the shade of a eucalypt,

we find respite from the sun,

a mome...

Read and leave comments (3)

Body betrays while caught in a tempest

The mundane morphs in peculiar ways

A silent storm stirring within you brews

With each surge, it claims a piece of you.

The office now a swaying deck

Unsteady ground, a wretched mess

Fingers clutch with fierce might

Against this inner sea’s harsh battle.

Eyes search for anchors in the gloom

Against the tides, t...

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And then there is ‘bear pottery’ 
farming salmon adjacent to a bear sanctuary:

while waiting for spawning season 
as the ice begins to melt, 
those that have unhibernated 
are whiling the time away 
at the potter’s wheel….

Read and leave comments (3)

The streets pulse with the rhythm of change, 
voices rising in a chorus of hope. 
Each shout, a call for justice, each step, 
a march toward a better world.

We stand together, united in purpose, 
our hearts beating as one. 
In the glow of unity, we find our power, 
a collective force that cannot be silenced.

The world watches, and we persist, 
demanding a future where all are seen, 
...

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naught save the peddlers of art

where entertainment’s a la carte

and the menu card’s kind a faulty

yet here we’re reasonably comfy

so show us the justice of poetry

lost in the valley of minutes and years

it’s audience so glad to have been found

consumers shall ever-consume and

restlessness gaze at sighs of those at ease

the hand that wipes away all ...

Read and leave comments (0)

non-existent metaphors glide past

this momentarily lucid blindspot

where Snuffalopagus intimates

a sauntering, “Hiyah, Bird!”

Read and leave comments (2)

Three dots dancing, blinking bright, 
Like marquee lights in the dark of night. 
A rhythm timed in silence creeps, 
Promises held, secrets to keep.

Each pulse a breath, a hope replete, 
In moments paused, our souls meet. 
Thread of words, fragile yet strong, 
Keeps us close, like we belong.

In those dots, life's spark revived, 
Without their glow, we feel deprived. 
So wait, heartb...

Read and leave comments (0)

An outside world, ever closes in;

eavesdropping on young lovers,

envious in every kind of way—

so envious it could transform deserts,

if not for the voyeur's curse:

Intimacy reserved always to two sets of eyes,

peering in and diving into each other's perfect abyss;

intensities inexperienced, potentials fleeting.

Read and leave comments (1)

How have you inked this palpitant heart? Let me tell you:

Your barbs extend long and deep, 
far enough to pierce the skin of my resistance, 
with the needlepoint of your persistence.

But not only skin deep— you refuse to settle for what I had to offer. 
You broke the skin and plunged deeper than anyone ever did go, 
pierced right through every venal lining, 
polluted my bloodstre...

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Shadows chase him through
narrow alleyways and wide streets.
He quickly darts - heart pounding,
mind flickering with past confrontations.

Echoes hiss with accusations,
louder than any voice -shout. 
Fear pushes him forward,
no room for bravery or heroism.

Each sunrise finds him breathless,
unyielding, and ever hiding. 
His reflection in still waters,
a reminder of those left behin...

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Years and seasons passing 

persons moving on, away 

from moments, perfectly 

converged; perhaps still 

memory, sweet in time

Parallel courses, across 

pioneering spaces, once 

again unite, wayfarers 

through portals, dusks 

and dawns of rebirth

They walk through 

landscapes ever-

changing, where 

shadows play on 

ancient stones, and 

ligh...

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In fragments, I find you,
piece by piece,
each shard a story,
a glimpse through the cracks.

Moments drift,
unanchored,
and I catch only slivers,
glints of who you are.

Splinters of knowing,
scatter through my mind,
I gather them,
building an incomplete you.

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They cling to the weight of their quill, 

the tactile sensation, grounding them, 

yet, the digital tide pulls at their resolve, 

urging them to adapt or be left behind.

Nostalgia blooms in the scent of old books, 

memories of applause, now distant echoes, 

the poet's dilemma, a struggle within, 

to honour tradition or embrace the new.

Their heart aches for ...

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In the shadow that our hearts cast,
hatred blooms, a stubborn weed
where a garden of trust once grew .

Words, once tender,
shatter like glass,
a bridge collapsing under weight;
echoes of apologies
falling into silent abyss.

We deceive ourselves,
clutching memories like
fragments of a broken mirror;
forgetting the faces we wore,
the warmth that once held us close,
burying ...

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Today refuses to break its silence,

dawn holds its breath, the first rays

glisten on dew or frost or snow,

holding back the chorus of waking sounds.

The rooster paces, crow stifled, the air remains hushed.

You step outside, feeling the stillness,

feet crunching on frost, every step a muted echo.

Yesterday's shadows cling, hesitant to retreat,

the world precludes...

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Today has yet to break its silence, at dawn
the first rays sparkle off dew or frost or snow
followed by a rooster’s crow and we know
Yesterday rescinds its front row seat for another

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And as you walk through these familiar streets, 
You notice small details you used to overlook:
The worn-out benches where people rest, 

The graffiti that boldly splashes stories;
The fleeting smiles of passing strangers…
Each moment feels so much more precious-

Each breath a gift, not to be taken for granted.
You accept that endings are part of the journey;
Finding a truth ...

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Embrace the evening, let it wrap you
in its gentle whisper, softly gilding
each breath towards a tranquil rest.

Welcome the night, with open heart,
accept its peace, its quiet song,
for life's dance needs both shadow and light.

Surrender, not in defeat, but in grace,
allowing the natural flow of time
to cradle your spirit with tender hands.

The stars don’t resist their twilight,
...

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In the flow of days and nights,
awareness intertwines with time,
each moment birthed anew.

Full consciousness breathes
within the heartbeat of change,
not separate, but entwined with life's pulse.

The truth ignites not a fire,
but a gentle dawn,
easing shadows into light.

Presence is not static,
but dances with each breath,
each blink of an eye.

Wisdom arises not from
silent...

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Don't know what to say

anymore

my mental defragmentation 

distills my thoughts

cremated and wind scattered

water tension propelled

pond-gliding chase scenes

surrealistic ballet

Don't know what to think

anymore

mince meat re-minced

mindless in Seattle

shuttling to and fro

Brownian movements

my emotional upheaval 

seat-belted turbule...

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does breaking mirrors
really alter my features?
looking glass-cripple
 

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In a darkened chamber 

shadows twist and writhe 

Pale light spills through cracked panes

illuminating dust motes 

The air, thick with the scent of age and decay

A raven, black as a void, 

perches on the windowsill 

Its eyes, piercing, stare into the soul 

Murmurs of lost hopes and unfulfilled 

dreams linger in the corners

Quill in hand, he writes feverishly 

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Culture continues

in all corners of the globe

Summer showers’ song

1693

Maruyama keep

Yoshitsune’s long sword shines

in poor wretched place

Benkei’s lone defence

Summer grass remains today

Sepuku farewell

Back wood canopy

Over swollen river flows

Mogami boat ride

Teary eyed vista 

Yudono’s vertical drop

words cannot describe

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Have we found what eases pain, it shan’t remain;
yet hardly a memory lingers that might untether,
should even that be erased, p’raps a wound reopens-
it’s angry eye emboldens a spectrum of jumbled feelings:
tangible only in laconic holds we cannot hope to break.

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Bring on kintsugi
In the night’s cathedral hour
New life starts at dawn

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bailing soat happily out to sea

glailing foat eating up my tea

So wherever it is that I may be

a goating boat is a sight to see!
 

(... been living with this for years, do it with numbers as well, even if my clerical numeracy accuracy-efficiency is quite high. It all goes back to homework when I stammered a lot & couldn't get it right the tirst fime;nowad...

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A dragon basks in my stew, scales glinting with heat
Steam curls, weaving tales of daring quests
Potatoes anchor islands, thickening the plot
Carrots float like tiny boats on a spicy sea
Pepper flames flicker, igniting bold flavours
Onions create layers of intrigue
Garlic breathes magic
Stew simmers bold.

Spoon stirs, dragon flares
Bubbles pop with mystery
Savoury secrets blend-
Cou...

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When echo lost its shadow, 
a haunting void took shadow's place. 
No longer bound by shade's gentle grasp, 
then echo drifted through empty space.

Without its shadow, echo felt cold, 
a chilling darkness, an eerie silence. 
No longer whole, it sought the past, 
its identity lost, its voice forlorn.

A slightest whisper, a lonely sound, 
echoed through the void, not fully grown. 
I...

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The echoes of laughter fade, 
hushed whispers of a time when 
innocence wove through our days
fragile threads now unraveling.

A boy stands by the edge of the river
                    eyes wide with wonder
tracing the ripples that dance 
beneath the setting sun.
The world felt endless then
             each stone a treasure
                    each tree a fortress.

He built dreams...

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word-painted pictures
along with each season’s change
colour-splashed meanings

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We part, each on our own path
                     ...no longer united.
Shards of a once unified day, scatter.
In the long shadows of the old towers,
Babel’s echoes linger, misunderstood.

Before the tongues twisted and were lost,
Voices shared, and the plains glowed with trust.
Their dreams reached skyward, unmarred and clear
And in unity, they placed their hopes and fears.

Aft...

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A figure, stern and cold,
receives a laurel leaf with surprise.
No introduction, no warmth exchanged
                . . . just the reality of presence
                 the edge of diffidence . . .

The leaf, tender and green
rests lightly in their hand
a symbol of honour, unspoken worth.
In its quiet embrace,
               a connection begins to form;
bridging the divide of understa...

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We stand at the shore's edge, gazing at the sea.
The horizon stretches before us, unhindered.
Your eyes hold the wisdom of the tides.
Your words bring the calm where truth resides.

The ocean's song provides a gentle lull.
In its waves, our bond grows ever strong.
We speak of dreams, of hopes, and fears,
Remembering incandescence of boundless years.

As the sun sets on that distant lin...

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Picking up the internal slack,
invoking an inward tension
that emboldens one to face the day
and the prospects of oncoming ones.
Wet cheeks reveal visible cues,
flipping calendars, leaf upon leaf:
          . . . existing surrenders,
like a sparkled after-rain,
bringing a moist crystalline relief
               that fills the cracks
and mends the broken places.
 
 

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flames and mirrors flash

windows and rain, pan on screen

reflective pools, still

lines, l o n g  d r a w I n g  gaze

light, topographic texture

shade; toxic mixture

ambient perspective

people together, alone

all moving me home

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What’s a decade here and there?

Perhaps a lot if you’re past 50.

People live longer these days, so 

a spritely 70 is meant to be

acceptable, looked forward to.

If you get past the wrinkles

and the short term memory loss

remember to share your secret-

youth’s fountain is found in both

      - the realm of heart and mind

Peace with self and adjusted lif...

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