Categories
Poetry

Sunday morning rituals

of filter coffee and croissants warm and buttery
lazily absorbing Saturday’s news through inked fingers and papercuts
whilst audibly inhaling songs from the twentieth century
we wear chunky scratching knits
and chunkier cotton socks that fill
well worn walking shoes
with rusted suede uppers
we fill noisy metal bottles
with water filtered through plastic beads
then tightly pack them into
a roll away backpack
awaiting adventure
that beckons from paths littered with burnt leaves
and forest floor detritus
our casual meandering scored with the sound
of mulching mud under rubber soles
the scurry of squirrels and swaying branches
memories made and recorded in 16:9 high definition
then the return voyage home
in time to prep a veritable feast
but that’s a ritual, i’ll keep to myself.

Thanks for taking your time to read this poem. I love hearing your thoughts and any feedback you may have.

(Image: taken from Canva)

Categories
Haiku & Shortform

Chimneys – A Haiku

indigo darkness
marauding across rooftops
chimneys breathe heavy

Here’s a little Monday evening haiku. The nights are setting in quickly now in Newcastle with some lovely shades of colour among the blackened blue.

Why not check some of my other writing while your here.

I love reading your feedback.

Take it easy.

Paul.

Categories
Poetry

Time Travel

Taking a carefree stroll
through an inviting burrow
of oak, ash, cedar, elm and yew
I allow myself
to talk to the trees
and travel through time
the history stored
in trunks and roots
is phenomenal
whispered secrets
shared by the world
filtered through canopies
of bronze, emeralds and golds
could fill all the libraries
in all the world
woodland sentinels
silently observing
passers-by
witnessing the same
litany of mistakes
made by multiple generations
the main one being
that your present
is already your past
and the future is now.

This is something I’ve learned
by talking to trees
while travelling through time.

I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this poem, inspired by wandering in the woods and listening. I’d love to know your thoughts.

Categories
Poetry

Atoms

It’s important
to remember
the same atoms
that felt
silent rapturous awe
at the big bang
stared with intense curiosity
at the dawn of time
that bathed
in the liquid gold
of countless stars
embraced the purity
of moons
and appreciate
the endlessly evolving
elegance of the cosmos
the same atoms
that built
and inspired
the greatest minds
and put words into quill, ink & pen
the same atoms
that are architects
and demolishers
are in all of us
and everything.

We are all
the planets and their chaos
the stars and their fury
the moons and their melancholy
we are universal
we are infinite
we may feel different
but really
we are all the same
atoms.




Categories
Poetry

Leaking Twilight

Razor sharp winds
needling heavy clouds
perforating
those miserly grey temples
the leaking twilight
beaming warmth
like celestial beacons
reminding Lady Earth
and all her children
the sun is always watching
observing
the mundane and insane
and when it may seem
the bleakest and blackest
the hope of light
is real.

Categories
Poetry

The Barley

The barley shook it’s head
in disdain
at the nonchalant breeze
it’s golden hue
dulled
by the constant
back and forth
vibrant only days ago
it now looks antiquated
a stoop has formed
and the barley
struggles
to stand tall
so it allows itself
to be cradled
submitting
to the inevitability
of losing
it’s glorious
shimmering
halo
but the barley
doesn’t despair
because it knows
it will return
shining brighter
than before
under cornflower and magenta skies
what started as seed
will return to seed
nature is endless.

Categories
Poetry

Can’t See Her Cry

She’s grateful
her kids are away
at their dad’s
for the weekend
she likes quiet
when she’s thinking
she doesn’t miss
the boiler’s hum
she wraps up
warm under
two layers of clothing
waning woollen sleeves
try to keep
the cold at bay
saving the £2.31
that’s left
of the emergency fiver
on the electric meter
she’ll dine well
she lies to herself
calling her
Chicken & Mushroom Pot Noodle
a takeaway
technically
it’s a withdrawal
from the food bank
she used to make deposits into
her account there
now in negative balance
the only levelling up
she ever witnesses
is the poverty
and the ‘isms’
fuelled by the rich
to stoke fires
in the poor.

She’s grateful
her kids are away
so they can’t see her cry.

Categories
Poetry

Parisian Lessons

It’s easy to get lost
in the romance of Paris
in the mystique of Paris
you can taste it
the aroma of sweet spice
and lingering vanilla tobacco
you can hear it
seductively whispering
notes of music
and conversations
from streetside cafes
you can see it
in the architecture
both masculine and feminine
lustily snapped by tourists
as evidence
that for a brief interlude
they were part
of the city of love
but
I’ll never be that naive
because
Paris
will always be
a den of wolves
in designer clothing
to me.

Aged 8 dawdling
feet struggling
on a cobbled urban jungle
a metre behind my parents
my protectors
when the city tried to tear me away
a candy-striped shirt
greying white trousers
that matched his hair
the strength
of his rancid breath
more powerful than his tanned arms
silent screams
searing my lungs
survival instincts kicked in
a case of
fight then flight
catching up with my father
fury igniting his face
powering his legs
as he tried to chase
the man down
like a lion
whose pride had been attacked
but wolves are cowards
and hide until it’s safe to attack again.

A couple of life lessons learned.
Aged 8.
Early for some
Too late for others.

Paris is only romantic in print.
You only see what they want you to see.

Wolves don’t scare me.
Face your fears.
Cowards retreat in the face of confrontation.

I have a lion’s blood.
Family is everything.

Categories
Poetry

The Craver

I am a craver of chaos
Isn’t everyone?

Those who say no
should skim a pebble
across__a__calm__lake
living every ripple
feeling every bo
__________-un
_____________-ce
as two worlds collide
in a fizzing
sploshing crescendo.

It intoxicates.
It liberates.




Categories
Haiku & Shortform

bamboo

we weave through life’s obstacles
like wind through bamboo
trying not to get whipped by branches
but often getting caught in the leaves.