Writes and rhymes sometimes, either here or Instagram. Feel free to follow, and maybe the next poem will be about you 😉⚒️
Joined November 2015
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A master of light, where the pool ripples run,
David Hockney painted the soul of the sun.
From Yorkshire’s vast fields to the Californian glare,
He captured the world with a brush held in air.
The colours now rest, the vision stays bright,
His art is a beacon of enduring light.
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One day, my son, you’ll be a champion,
Where green doth grow the vibrant grass.
That sea you’ll glide rhythmically over,
As flashing rivals fade and pass.
The sweetness of success you’ll breathe in,
An equine king of courses, born at last.
#curragh
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Deep within the Welsh ravine,
Swallow Falls carves through the green.
Flowing endlessly for eons past,
A timeless rush designed to last.
Here yesterday, here today,
Tomorrow, still it winds its way.
#wales #swallowfalls
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The gentle slope began to rise,
And climbed into a massive hill,
It reached up toward the open skies,
A mountain, towering and still.
But then it broke into a pass,
To lead me to a better place at last.
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6 decades on our screens, a 100 years of light,
Turning the world’s quiet wonders into sight.
From jungle floors to peaks of frozen white,
He champions the wild with all his might.
A century has passed, yet still we hear the call,
To guard the Earth, the greatest home of all.
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6 decades on our screens, a 100 years of light,
Turning the world’s quiet wonders into sight.
From jungle floors to peaks of frozen white,
He champions the wild with all his might.
A century has passed, yet still we hear the call,
To guard the Earth, the greatest home of all.
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The lunar dust is dry and bone-white cold,
No liquid wealth for your machine to hold.
So turn your Artemis and head for home,
Across the vacuum and the starry dome.
Us Clangers and Soup Dragon own this land,
You’ll find no oil, just soup, Trump you’re banned!
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A million silences, tightly sealed & worn,
Tethered to the pulse of a private, digital dawn.
One hears crashing waves of a synth-wave sea,
While another walks to a podcast philosophy.
Frantic city rhythm, yet each soul drifts alone,
In a universe of anthems, humming in the bone.
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The grass still holds its emerald hue,
Beneath a sky of London blue.
Though faces fade and fashions fly,
And modern towers scrape the sky,
In Soho Square, the spirit stays—
A quiet ghost of older days.
#sohosquare #london
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The grey has retreated, the shadows have run,
Omg it’s finally sunny, spring, there’s colour and sun.
Daffodils in vibrant displays,
Soak up the gold of these long-awaited days.
A floral breeze clears the winter’s last chill,
As the world finds its pulse and the city stands still
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The Tempest of the Mind
My mind is as a raging torrent grown,
Wherein the silver rills of thought do course,
And headlong fall, in cataracts unknown,
With all the fury of a river's force.
From out this spray a thousand shapes arise,
To paint new worlds before my wondering eyes.
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I’ve got sunshine in my back pocket,
Golden light tucked away for a rainy day.
Nothing’s getting me down, not even the shadows,
As the rhythm sweeps the heavy clouds away.
I can’t stop the feeling, this electric spark,
Dancing like a firefly against the dark.
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I write when thoughts can no longer be contained,
When vivid dreams set every nerve afire,
The mind behind my eyes: a blazing flame,
That fuels the furnace of a deep desire.
Though life may ache, a scent revives the soul,
Turning the spark into a wild, burning whole.
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The whisper of smoke, the shadow of death, the memory of life, the haunting is all, family trees stunted charred, psychopathic persecution, the train tracks, the pyjamas, the mountains of teeth and spectacles, a life’s luggage forever lying shut, the horror, #HolocaustMemorialDay
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Time to wake up, to wake up to tyranny, to take back the power of democracy, wake up and experience togetherness, wake up and banish the bad, the thuggery, the evil within, it’s time to wake up, stop this now. Peace and Love over the gun and power. Wake up America! Wake up World!
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The golden light has faded from the stone,
On paths where once I never walked alone.
The echoes of my footsteps sound so strange,
In every brick and turn, I feel the change.
The faces pass like ghosts of what was known,
Along these quiet streets I used to roam.
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From the red silk of Rome to the world’s grandest stage,
He draped every icon through a glamorous age.
With a "V" as his emblem and "Valentino Red",
He mastered the seams where pure elegance led.
A lifetime of beauty, high couture, and grace,
Leaving a legacy time cannot erase.
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