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 the dark of endless night
but on crystal wings each verse takes flight.

In tangled woods of prose we stray
on lilting verse the Truth holds sway
a path of words both clear and grey
guides us true along every way.

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 knowing alone,
but from the Symphony of lived experience,
from our stories and scars.

The view is not timeless,
but ever-evolving,
as the river of life flows,
we flow along within it.

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
Ink, like blood, stains the parchment
with thoughts
Driven by an insatiable
hunger for the macabre
Loneliness clings to him,
a relentless spectre
Tormented by visions of the departed
He seeks consolation in the written word,
an eternal struggle
Haunted by silence, he listens
To groanings of the ******
and reverberating sorrows
He captures their essence,
binding them in prose
His heart, a labyrinth of grief and longing
Beats with a melancholy cadence
He exists in liminal spaces
between life and death
In the end,
he remains
A solitary figure,
surrounded by the phantoms of his creation
Eternally bound to the darkness,
a poet of the night.

I wake with the sun, the light
               spilling into my room-
A new day stretching out before me.  
Today’s actions will shape tomorrow,  
Each moment a brushstroke on the canvas of life.  

Innocent years whisper softly
their purity a guiding force,  
Allowing me to dwell peacefully in the present.

The strength of the day lies in its reality
In the desire to face life’s challenges head-on
To find beauty in the mundane

to embrace the complexity of being.  
Each step I take, each decision made
Weaves a story of resilience, of hope.

As I move through the hours
I carry the lessons of yesterday
The promise of tomorrow
And the peace of the present.  

Life’s condition is a tapestry
Woven with threads of joy and sorrow
Strength and vulnerability.

I find solace in the journey
In the act of living each day with intention
With a heart open to the possibilities.  

In the new day’s promise
I find my purpose, my peace
And the strength to embrace life
With all its truths and complexities.

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 understanding.

The caustic words, the guarded heart,
begin to soften in the face of one gesture.
The laurel invites a new beginning,
a chance to be seen, to be known
beyond the barriers of silence.

Doubt settles like a creeping mist,
clouding judgments, turning paths uncertain.
In its shadow, anger ignites,
a wildfire consuming calm,
its heat searing every thought.

Guilt stands vigilant, a sentinel of past deeds,
binding the heart with heavy links,
its weight a relentless reminder.
Grief walks beside, a silent companion,
its presence a heavy mist,
changing the landscape of the soul.

Shame cloaks itself in invisibility,
a critic whispering in hushed tones,
distorting reflections with harsh judgments.
Under life's pressure, we navigate,
seeking light in the fog of doubt,
finding resilience in the wildfire of anger.

We unshackle from guilt's chains,
embrace the silent walks with grief,
and step into the light,
casting off the cloak of shame,
transforming under pressure,
becoming stronger, shining bright.

a sail without its wind
prevailing
       and oars without waters
deep
       within heaving chest
spraying cheeks moist

Lichen, you are the quiet conqueror,
Settling where others cannot,
On barren rock and ancient trees,
You weave your tapestry.

In shades of green and gray,
You whisper the language of time,
Slowly, subtly, transforming,
The places you call home.

You thrive in stillness,
In the patience of centuries,
A symbiosis of life,
In the most unlikely places.

In your intricate forms,
We see resilience,
A testament to survival,
Against the harshest of odds.

You do not boast,
You do not cry for attention,
Yet in your quiet existence,
You teach us the power of perseverance.