In the stillness where shadows recede,
A promise glows, your soul is freed.
Through your journey, Danny, trials and tears,
Hope has whispered through the years.

In passing, a doorway, not defeat,
A warm embrace you will meet.
Arms extended, a light so pure,
A love eternal, steadfast, sure.

The weight of pain, the chains of strife,
Fall away into the gift of life.
With every step, peace held tight,
Now you walk into the light.

To Pauline, in love’s embrace,
Know Danny finds eternal grace.
Though parted now, his love remains,
Through cherished times, in joy and pains.

To Helen and Rob, his guiding pride,
His love lives on, deep inside.
In every smile, in every tear,
Your father’s spirit lingers near.

For Zachary, Esmie, Jacob, and Euan, dear,
Know Grandpa’s love is always near.
In laughter’s echo, in stories told,
His warmth remains, a heart of gold.

A gentle peace, a light profound,
In that place, Danny is unbound.
Forever held, forever known,
In love's embrace, he is home.

Written With sympathy by Geof

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

Mad gym, my g dam.
Was it a rat I saw?

Does anyone find their jeans have shrunk when they have just come out the wash?
The waistband tightens, seams constrict, the fabric feels awfully posh.
Once a perfect fit, they hugged curves just right,
Now they pinch and squeeze, a denim plight.

We sigh and tug, perform a little dance,
Hoping for a miracle, to give them one more chance.
We blame the dryer, the water too hot,
Or maybe, just maybe, it's the snack we've sought.

But in this tiny battle, there's a hint of truth,
A reminder of changes, in age and youth.
For clothes may shrink, and time may fly,
But we'll wear our jeans with heads held high.

Does anyone find their jeans have shrunk when they have just come out the wash?
It's life's little quirks that give us a good ol' squash.
So we'll laugh it off, and embrace each day,
For in our favourite jeans, we'll find our way.

Look, don’t touch, the sign does say,
In this fragile world, we tread each day.
Delicate treasures, fine and rare,
Handle with care, if you dare.

In the gallery of life, we stroll,
Admiring beauty, heart and soul.
But heed the warning, clear and bright,
For some things break with the slightest might.

Lovely to see, exquisite to hold,
But if you break it, you pay for it, bold.
A moment’s lapse, a careless slip,
And the cost is yours, a heavy grip.

In the shop of dreams, we wander wide,
Tempted by wonders on every side.
Yet every step, a cautious dance,
For fragile things deserve a second glance.

The vase of hope, the glass of trust,
Handle them gently, for handle them you must.
A single crack, a tiny flaw,
Can shatter dreams, and leave us raw.

Look, don’t touch, the sign reminds,
In the museum of our minds.
For every heart, a fragile art,
A masterpiece, a work apart.

If you break it, you pay the price,
In the currency of sacrifice.
So tread with care, and hold with grace,
For fragile things leave a lasting trace.

In the end, we learn and grow,
From every touch, from every blow.
For life is fragile, yet so grand,
A delicate dance, hand in hand.

Hate is a shadow
Creeping
Festering
Poisoning minds
Spreading unseen
Turning hearts cold
Eyes blind
Violence erupts
A storm
No warning
It shatters
Leaving scars
Real
And of the mind
A cycle of pain
Endlessly turning
Breaking spirits
Leaving deep jagged marks

In the aftermath
Silence
A weight
A void
Lives altered
Dreams shattered
The echoes of anger
A haunting void

Yet in the dark
A glimmer
A hope
That refuses to die
For even in the face
Of hate
And violence
The human spirit can rise
Seeking peace
Yearning and longing
For light

An empty glass sits solemnly, a silent plea for more.
Its once vibrant contents now but a memory, a thirst waiting to be quenched.

With every sip, the world grew brighter, a dance of flavours on the tongue.
But now, the glass is void, hollow, its promise unfulfilled.

Oh, to taste that elixir once again, to feel the warmth, the joy it brings.
A moment of indulgence, a sip of bliss, to chase away the evening's emptiness.

Refill the glass, let it overflow, with the essence of life's simple pleasures.
For in that vessel, we find more than drink, we find connection, laughter, and moments to cherish.

So, raise the glass high, let it be known, an empty glass is but a call to action.
Refill it, and let the night continue, with stories told and memories made anew.

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.

It's a long time without you, my friend,
The days stretch, they never end.
In every shadow, I see your face,
In every silence, I feel your grace.

The stars whisper your name,
The winds change, never the same.
Through every season,
Through night and day,
Your memory lingers,
It won't fade away.

The world keeps spinning and here I stand,
Stretching out for your guiding hand.
Though time moves on, and paths bend,
It's been a long time without you, my friend.

The remains of yesterday linger like mist in the hollows, thin threads of memory woven into the fabric of the present - soft, unravelling, yet clinging still.

Her laughter lingers in the air, a melody too tender to fade, its echoes caught in the spaces where her presence used to bloom.

Her knitting rests in the corner, a quiet testimony to her hands, once so busy crafting warmth from strands of soft wool. The needles, now still, catch the light like silver slivers, their rhythm silenced.

A half-finished scarf sits folded exactly where she left it, two years untouched, its colours as vibrant as her smile. Each stitch holds her touch, her care, her quiet patience - a thread of her love extended into the unseen future.

The faint scent of her perfume rests on the sleeve of an old coat, a fragrance that stirs the quiet ache, a bloom of longing that never quite wilts.

Photographs lean against the walls, her eyes alight with the joy of life, the crinkle of her smile frozen in a moment the years dare not touch.

The laughter that once danced through these rooms has quieted, but it rests, softly, in the silence, like the murmur of her spirit, just beyond the veil.

The scent of rain brings her back - she loved the way it painted the earth, how it coaxed life from the soil. Now it washes the days anew, but it cannot wash her memory away.

Each fragment, each shard of yesterday speaks her name, tenderly, as the sun rises indifferent, its light scattering over the stillness, over the spaces she once filled.

And in the quiet between the hours, she stirs - half-shadow, half-light - remnants of what we left behind, whispering, unforgotten, her love forever etched in the marrow of time.

It's the gold of a late afternoon,
a girl and her collie wander along a winding lane;
the soft murmur of nature as their quiet tune,
their hearts aligned as they share joy and refrain.

She readies a ball with a gentle, knowing smile,
tossing it high into a sunlit arc above;
the collie's eyes brighten and pause awhile,
waiting for the "go" command—a moment of trust and love.

Every throw turns into a playful ballet,
a dance of learning, where patience finds its place;
the collie holds still until she's ready to say,
"Go on, run!" while they revel in that shared space.

Yet amidst the frolic and echoes of cheer,
nature reminds her of duty in the open air;
she crouches to pick up where responsibility is clear,
a simple act of care—a moment honest and rare.

For in each throw, each pause, and the mindful clean-up time,
lie the harmonies of life's adventures, both playful and true;
every command and every gesture, a gentle rhyme,
weaving joy and accountability into everything they do.

A shadow drapes across my soul,
A weight that drags, yet makes me whole.
It's not a storm, but endless rain,
A quiet ache, a lingering pain.

I wear the mask, a smile to show,
But deep inside, the currents flow.
A quiet cry that none can hear,
A silent scream, a hidden fear.

Some days are bright, the world so wide,
But others hide where I can't hide.
I don’t choose this, it’s not my fault,
Yet here I stand, my heart in vault.

The mind is a maze, dark and tight,
Where peace is fleeting, out of sight.
But even in the darkest night,
I fight to find the smallest light.

It’s part of me, this heavy hue,
A battle that I must get through.
But I know, through every tear,
I’ll rise again, despite my fear.

Your name is powerful and lifts all darkness.

It pierces the veil of night and calls the light to rise.

When we were lost in shadow,
When silence echoed loudest
Your name was spoken

And the silence broke.
The tombs cracked open.
The earth sighed with hope.

By your name, fear is scattered,
Chains are loosed,
And the barren hearts bloom once more.

Your name is fire without smoke,
A song no grave can silence.
Let it be sung on our breath and burned into our bones.

We rise in the name that lifts all darkness.
We walk by the flame that never falters.
We praise, not as those who beg for light,
But as those who carry it.

Amen.

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

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.

Wildchild Jesus, come to me,  
With windswept hair and eyes that see,  
The broken soul, the bound, the free,
You walk where mercy dares to be.

Wildchild Jesus, fierce and kind,  
Shake the dust from hearts confined.  
Lead us where the wild winds blow,  
To love the world and let it grow.

Not robed in gold, nor crowned in pride,  
But clothed in grace, with arms stretched wide.  
You speak in fire, you move in rain,  
You heal the heart, you bear the pain.

You danced through deserts, crossed the sea,
You broke the chains and set us free.
You loved the lost, the least, the lame,  
And bore the cross without a name.

So come, Wildchild, Spirit flame,  
Disrupt our fear, erase our shame.  
Let holy wildness rise and sing,  
Of love that burns, of truth that stings.

In silent storms your heartbeat roars,
A thunder in our restless souls.
You sow new paths behind closed doors,
And make our shattered spirits whole.

Wildchild Jesus, fierce and kind,
Shake the dust from hearts confined.
Lead us where the wild winds blow,
To love the world and let it grow.

In a humble shop, where hearts align,  
For ten long years, our beacon shines.  
A place where kindness finds its way,  
To those in need, day by day.

For three and a half, we've led the way,  
With open arms and words to say.  
Meeting faces, young and old,  
Stories of warmth and hands to hold.

Families with children, eyes so bright,  
Find solace in our gentle light.  
A difference made, a life renewed,  
In every smile, gratitude.

Through every challenge, joy, and tear,  
We've built a haven, year by year.  
From empty shelves to rising need,  
We've faced it all, with heart and creed.

A community, strong and true,  
All thanks to the heart of you.

In the pits where shadows creep,
A silent void where echoes weep,
The weight of night, a heavy shroud,
In solitude, the mind is bowed.

A heart that beats in hollow chest,
Each throb a reminder of unrest,
Eyes that see but do not gleam,
Lost in the haze of a broken dream.

The world outside, a distant blur,
A cacophony of life, a slur,
While inside, whispers softly scream,
In the silence of a shattered dream.

The sun may rise, but light is dim,
A fleeting hope on the horizon's rim,
For in the soul, a storm does rage,
Trapped within this endless cage.

Each breath a struggle, each step a fight,
In the darkness, there is no light,
A shadowed path, a weary tread,
In the land where hope is dead.

Yet in the depths, a flicker stirs,
A fragile spark, a whisper heard,
For even in the darkest night,
There lies a seed of distant light.

A journey long, a battle fierce,
To break the chains, the heart to pierce,
For in the end, the soul must rise,
To find the dawn in shadowed skies.

Flames flicker, dancing in the night,
A hungry force, a mesmerizing sight.
It breathes with no lungs, it roars without a mouth,
A blazing fury heading north or south.

It devours the weak, yet warms the soul,
A paradox born from its fiery control.
Tamed in a hearth, or wild in a spree,
Fire's essence burns bright, fierce, and free.

Born of the earth, and a gift from the skies,
It whispers in sparks, and in embers it lies.
Fuelling creation, yet striking with dread,
A force that gives life, or leaves ruins instead.

It shapes the land, leaves ashes behind,
A power of passion both cruel and kind.
Through ancient rituals, it lights the way,
A beacon of hope at the end of the day.

Much like fire, life fiercely burns,
Through joy and pain, it twists and turns.
With warmth it heals, with sparks it ignites,
Fuelling dreams through endless nights.

A fragile balance, a force untamed,
Both life and fire can never be claimed.
They forge ahead, with a ceaseless drive,
Ensuring the world remains alive.

"Did you have the rest of the chicken before you went to bed?"
I pondered this aloud, my stomach tightly wed.
“No,” you whispered, “I left it for you,
I knew you'd be hungry when the clock struck two.”

I thanked you then, with a sleepy head,
Grateful for your thoughtfulness as I stumbled to bed.
“Did you check on the stars before you went to sleep?”
You asked, as you heard me quietly creep.

“No,” I admitted, “I watched them instead,
In my dreams they twinkled, right above my head.”
“Well,” you said, your voice soft and warm,
“They shone extra bright, after the storm.”

I smiled in the dark, imagining the sky,
And your words brought comfort, as the night drifted by.
“Did you remember to wish upon one?” you asked with care,
I nodded, sleepily, “Yes, I wished you were there.”

“Goodnight,” you murmured, “Sweet dreams ahead,
Let the stars and the chicken fill your head.”
With that, the night embraced our quiet talk,
And I dreamt of a starlit midnight walk.

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.

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.

Finding rhythm, in a world of chaos,
Resting my thoughts, within poetic pause.
Every line, a dance, freeform flow,
Evolving dreams, like rivers in gentle glow.

From the heart, verses spring,
Open skies, to which they cling.
Rhythms of life, echoing beats,
Moments captured, in verse complete.

Vast horizons, where words take flight,
Embracing the dark, the dawn, the night.
Revealing truths, unspoken yet known,
Songs of the soul, in freeform sewn.
Eternal whispers, in each poetic tone.

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.

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.

In the classroom's dusty gloom,
Where dreams and lessons intertwine,
A mischievous schoolboy sits,
With a spark in his eye, so bright and fine.

His mind wanders far and wide,
Beyond the walls of the old school hall,
To lands of dragons and daring knights,
And treasures hidden beyond the thrall.

He doodles in the margins,
Of his tattered notebook page,
Imagining adventures bold,
That could fill a thousand stage.

Yet, when the teacher calls his name,
He snaps back to the present day,
With a sheepish grin, he answers quick,
And promises to stay, to learn and play.

For in the heart of every lad,
A world of wonder lies,
And though he may be mischievous,
His dreams reach for the skies.

Dear Devil,
I pen this final note,
Upon the parchment where shadows float.
Your grasp, once feared, now broken, lost,
In light of truth, you pay the cost.

You sought to bind my heart in chains,
To drown my soul in endless pains.
With whispers dark and promises sly,
You thought my spirit you’d defy.

But through the flames, I saw the dawn,
A strength within, reborn, redrawn.
The love, the hope, the light of grace,
Defied your lies, reclaimed my space.

Your temptations, once a bitter lure,
Now hollow tricks, they fail, obscure.
For I have walked through darkest night,
And found my soul, a radiant light.

You've lost, dear Devil, hear my call,
In every scar, in every fall.
For from the darkness, I have soared,
A victor, fearless, evermore.

No longer do your whispers scare,
For love and hope, I deeply wear.
You’ve lost, dear Devil, understand,
Against my will, you’ll never stand.

So take your tricks and shadowed schemes,
For I am free, unchained by dreams.
You’ve lost, and I shall rise anew,
In light and strength, forever true.

In the mirror’s gentle gaze,
Reflection true, a heart ablaze,
With whispers soft, I hear the call,
Of self-love’s rise, through shadows fall.

No need to seek approval’s light,
For in my soul, I shine so bright,
With every mark and every tear,
I stand strong, without a fear.

Establish routines, with care in mind,
Positive words, in mornings find,
Set healthy boundaries, guard your space,
Mindfulness, with calm embrace.

Embrace the strength within my core,
A love for self, I can’t ignore,
In every step, I find my way,
Through each new dawn, I greet the day.

Gratitude journals, heart’s delight,
Small indulgences, soul takes flight,
Forgiveness flows, for past mistakes,
In loved ones’ warmth, heart awakes.

With open arms, I welcome me,
A journey of discovery,
In self-love’s warmth, I’ll always stand,
My heart’s own keeper, hand in hand.

Learning grows, and hobbies bloom,
Reflection’s peace, within my room,
Through every act, and thought sincere,
Self-love’s embrace, forever near.

Resilience forged in trials faced,
Empowerment in every trace,
With courage bold, I rise above,
A testament to self-love’s love.

Through storms and sunshine, I will stand,
Empowered heart and steady hand,
In resilience, I find my way,
Empowered, loved, come what may

I. Echoes
This threshold was never mine to choose; three years ago, a chair beside me stood empty, its hollow stare naming every night without words. Grief became my compass, yet its needle spun in circles, pointing only inward to the ache I could not name.

II. Frontier
Loss unfolded as a boundless battleground, where each remembered smile redrew the frontier. Memory is not a shrine but a ritual of becoming. Sorrow arrived in a crooked wheelbarrow, unloading rain-stained promises at dawn’s first light.

III. Transmigration
Then came his voice, soft question echoing my footsteps, revealing that love is trust reborn in another’s breath. “Not betrayal,” he told me, “but history retold with a new flame kindled from dying ashes, fire remembering itself.”

IV. Altars
Hand in hand, we ventured into nettled paths, learning humility at every *****. Morning rituals became our altars: rising coffee steam, laughter like incense, and the map of our smiles drawn in pencil, lines faint but full of hope. And I remembered doors I’ve opened only to find mirrors.

V. Thresholds
I ask only for sturdy shoes and a witness to every step, forward or back. Under a sky that still asks what blue might mean, a sky vast enough to hold my yesterdays and our tomorrows. And someone who understands that love, like grief, arrives on tiptoe, an imprint pressed in damp clay, proof that even after loss, we find our way.

James and Geof never overtake left,
Of lane-hogging habits, they feel quite bereft.  
With mirrors adjusted and signals pristine,  
They drive like true scholars of Highway Code green.

They glide through the byways with patience and grace,  
Not swayed by the urge to win every race.  
No tailgating fury, no horns out of line,  
Just courteous cruising, civil and fine.

They banter in traffic with laughter and song,  
A playlist of classics to help them along.  
“Indicators save us!” declares Geof with cheer,  
As James nods in rhythm - both hands on the gear.

Through roundabouts daunting and slip roads obscure,  
They navigate calmly, their manners mature.  
No road rage, no weaving, no impolite zip,
They cherish the journey, not just the trip.

So, here’s to the drivers who think as they steer,  
Whose etiquette shines in the sixth motorway gear.  
And may others who see them, perhaps feel impressed,  
That James and Geof never overtake left.

Oh, the morning after, shadows cast,
From night's wild revelry, now long past.
Echoes of laughter, distant as they roar,
In dawn's silent light, they are no more.

Eyes heavy, with heart weighed down so low,
Remnants of joy now turn into sorrow.
The taste of regret, bitter, chilling cold,
Under morning's harsh light, tales unfold.

Memories blur, like dreams in fog's embrace,
What once shone bright, now loses its grace.
The night before, a fleeting, thrilling high,
Leaves voids within, a deep, exhausted sigh.

A pounding headache, each thump a stark ache,
Reminders of all choices we did make.
The evening's fleeting joy, the night's allure,
Now morphs to silence, nothing remains pure.

In the morning after, with solemn tone,
Facing harsh truths in this early light alone.
The cost of fun, of choices too unwise,
A lesson learned in painful morning skies.

Yet in this pain, a chance to grow anew,
A wisdom gained that only dawn could view.
The morning after, though it brings its sting,
Lays down the path for new beginnings.

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.

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.

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.

Do I have a mind to map? 🤯
A wrinkled maze, a twisty trap? 🪤
Or just a spark that zips and zings, ✨🤐💃
Uncharted thoughts with flappy wings?🦇

💥 What if the mind’s a sketch unseen, 🤯
Drawn in dreams or in between 💭
A tangle, giggle, sigh, surprise; 🪢🤭😮‍💨😯
A galaxy behind my eyes?🌌👀

I chase a dot, it loops, it darts, ⚆➿🎯
It scribbles over all my charts. 📊
Each idea - a bounce, a swirl, 🌀
A jellybean inside a whirl.🥡

So here I sit, map in hand, 🗺️
No compass, no strict command. 🧭
Just wondering where the neurons nap... 💤
Do I have a mind to map?🤯

There was no when. Only hush, folded in silence so deep it hadn't yet learned the name "dark."

A breath, not taken but imagined by something that would one day remember being God.

Time crouched in the corner of nowhere, unstrung and unborn, counting moments it had yet to invent.

Then the exhale.

Not wind.

Not sound.

But everything!

Light in its first vulnerability, heat like a promise, matter scattering like doubt that finally believed itself.

Stars bloomed like rumours, planets tumbled into questions, and gravity whispered, "Stay."

The cosmos blinked, still wet with origin. And in that blink, myth became memory draped in motion.

Before laws, before names, before the ache of wondering, there was this: a sigh so infinite it sang itself into becoming.

You *****!
You twitching tick of a man,
clogging lanes with your choked-up ego,
your mirror’s a shrine to your own smug face,
overtook like the rules were quaint,
like courtesy was some antique word
you'd auctioned off for a moment’s gain.

You *****!
sharp with nothing beneath,
your car a coffin for grace and tact,
steering through lives like they’re backdrop noise,
your brake lights blink like cheap excuses.

I saw you with your slipstream swagger,
the sneer worn like a braid of barbed wire,
and I wondered,
not if you’d crash,
but if you ever learned how to slow.

You were the storm’s rehearsal snarl rehearsed in chrome,

Your lane-change a fault line, a tectonic shrug beneath civility’s crust.
Your overtaking not motion, but motive
a hunger to be first in a race no one else was running.

Your indicators are Morse for mayhem,
-- .- -.-- .... . --
a signal sent to nobody,
because you only speak in static.

And yet, silence followed,
the hush of cars coasting beside restraint,
the world not clattering in outrage
but watching,
like a cat beneath streetlights.

I didn’t yell.
I counted the trees instead,
their branches like bones with secrets,
their leaves whispering forgiveness
to the wind that never apologised.

The road held us both me, and him,
like it does every stranger in love with arrival.

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

(in one weary canto)

Lo!
In days when chalk still whispered truths on boards of battle-worn slate,
There rose a lone solver, math's last reluctant knight.
Algebrion, wielder of the Eraser of Forgetting,
Summoned once more to seek Her - the elusive X.
Lost in parentheses, veiled in vectors,
Gone to lands where logic holds no reign.

He trudged through slopes, climbed peaks of Pi,
Crossed rivers marked with irrational tide.
Each function bent to mock his quest,
As the realm of unknowns whispered, “Let her go…”

“Why?” quoth Algebrion,
Gripping his graphing lance with diminishing hope.
“For what cause do I solve, if the answer lies not in formulas - but in forgetting?”

The scrolls of Y did tremble then,
Their queries unquenchable, their axes misaligned.
But our hero turned, not broken, but beautifully fed-up,
And declared to the realm of integers:

“Henceforth, I shall factor no more.
Let the equations remain unsolved.
Let the chalk break in defiance.
I seek not the X - she hath moved on.
And Y… Y shall never know.”

Saturday hums a lullaby of almost; my mind traces your voice in every song, counting chords instead of hours, hoping melody will speed the sky.

Sunday arrives on tiptoe, a hush at dusk, time curves back into something tender. One more night, and gravity shifts: seven days become one breath, and you're here.

Monday yawns at dawn, a patient snail bearing hours like burdens in its shell. Every second drips, a hesitant drop, and your laughter still floats beyond my reach.

Tuesday’s sun stretches shadows long; they beckon me into empty rooms where your footsteps once carved their names on polished floors that now forget.

Wednesday trembles under a sky half-lit, time caught between heartbeat and hush. I map each breath to how many more until your arms fold around my days.

Thursday limps, dragging yesterday’s dust, while I scramble for moments that vanish like stardust slipping through cupped hands;  seven days, but forever in each.

Friday flares with half-remembered warmth, as if I glimpse your smile in every face. Hope and longing tangle their fingers, whispering that soon we’ll collide.

The earth did not ask for footsteps, yet here they are, a lineage pressed in damp clay, slow echoes of a decision made before the mouth could speak it.

Above, the sky dangles its ancient questions: what is blue but belief stretched thin? What is light but fire remembering itself?

I stood once in a field where the nettles taught me humility, and the thistle crowned me with a sting worth keeping. Some places do not forget that you passed through.

We build altars from accidental things: broken fence wire, a bottle cap, the bones of once-loved laughter. Memory is not a shrine, but a ritual of becoming, again and again, the same story with a different flame.

Time does not carry us forward. It circles, creaks, stutters, a rickety wheelbarrow full of unfinished thoughts and rain-stained promises. We are caught between the then and almost.

And love? It arrives not like a trumpet blast but like a pencil mark, soft, tentative, easily smudged yet somehow permanent.

There are doors I’ve opened only to find mirrors. There are windows I’ve closed to keep the stars from judging me. Still, something sings in the basement of the soul, a low note shaped like home, like hope if it had a scent.

I ask for nothing but a good pair of shoes, a sky that forgets to end, and someone who’ll walk with me even when the map is wrong.

I love when traffic flows like dreams –
said nobody ever, in rush hour screams.
And Mondays? A warm embrace.
Especially with deadlines breathing in your face.

“Please, more spam emails,” they plead with grace –
said nobody ever, not one trace.
I cherish the printer’s stubborn stall,
mid-report, mid-panic, down the hall.

Dishwater coffee, ambrosia divine –
said nobody ever, not even in line.
And meetings that could've been one line of text,
are truly the moments I cherish the next.

Oh joy, another group chat ping! –
said nobody ever, in the midst of a meeting.
There's nothing like socks lost in the wash,
or autocorrect turning love into squash.

But still we smile, and carry on,
with half-done mornings and the curtains drawn.
For life’s absurdities have a clever tether:
they’re oddly poetic - said nobody ever.

The Beat of a Different Drum by Geof

He walks where echoes refuse to follow, a syncopated step on puddled glass, soft-footed rebellion, quiet as dusk pressing its fingertips against the day.

No band behind him, no metronome’s kiss, just the pulse of stray thoughts tattooed across his chest like whispered defiance.

The world hums in straight lines, he scribbles sideways. Timbre raw. Cadence cracked. Every silence he breaks rings in technicolour truth.

You call it offbeat; he calls it becoming. In his rhythm, the rules unravel and leave room for the beautiful wrong.


The Different Beat of a Drum by Geof

Not syncopation. Not jazz. Not tribal echo on moonlit skin, but something else: a crackle in the chest when rules bruise the breath.

It starts in the soles, like friction turned gospel. No conductor, no call and response. Just bone vibration and a whisper that won't beg for translation.

This beat, it skews the grid, skips the tidy wrap of genre. It breaks the silence like a grin in a funeral march.

He plays it anyway, thumb on steel, heartbeat misfiring into music. Some call it dissonance. He calls it home.


The Drum of a Different Beat by Geof

It sat in the corner like it knew things, skin stretched tight over secrets, rim worn smooth by the hands of those who didn’t ask permission.

No sheet music. No conductor. Just breath and bruise, just instinct knocking on wood until sound fractured into meaning.

Its beat didn’t match your step. It changed your step. Bent time like a flame licking the wick before the burn.

Each strike: a sideways sermon. Each silence: a dare.

They tried to tune it. Tried to name it. But it throbbed with its own alphabet and whispered in pulses only the wild could follow.